Mission: Alpine Redoubt

By Alexander Molnar Jr

In late 1944/early 1945 the Nazi government began to earnestly shift its records, funds and key personnel into the Alps of southern Germany. Massive amounts of looted treasures and art were shifted into nearby caves, tunnels, and other hideouts, while some 60,000 Nazis swarmed into the region. It was here, in the Alpine Redoubt, constructed with the sweat and lives of thousands of concentration camp victims that our story begins; It was here, the Werwolfs were attempting to slow the Allied advance by killing Eisenhower and other leaders; It was here, that a lone Allied agent discovered the unthinkable, Hitler is alive and in the Alpine Redoubt; It was here, that the remnants of the collapsing Reich would fight the advancing Allied armies for another 2-3 years, costing the lives of an additional 300,000 Allied soldiers; It was here, beneath the ashes of the old Reich, that the dreams and fortunes of a new Reich would spring forth when the time was ripe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 8, 1999
• ISBN: 9781462810819

Alexander Molnar Jr

Al Molnar is currently the Senior Intelligence Analyst at the Naval Oceanographic Office in Stennis Space Center, Ms. He spent over 20 years in the military, retiring in 1987 as a CWO. He has one best-selling novel currently in bookstores, Mission Hong Kong: 1944-1945. He holds Two Purple Hearts, and 47 other medals, citations and commendations. He currently resides in Diamondhead, Ms.

Book preview

MISSION:

ALPINE

REDOUBT

Alexander Molnar Jr.

Copyright © 1998 by Alexander Molnar Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this book are the author’s and do not reflect the official policy or position of the US Department of Defense, Department of the Navy, Army or US Government.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

MUNICH ZEITUNG 19 May 1991

MUNICH ZEITUNG of 25 May 1991

CHAPTER ONE Early 1945

CHAPTER TWO Mauthesen Concentration Camp

CHAPTER THREE Near Bernau

CHAPTER FOUR Near Lake Chiemsee

CHAPTER FIVE SHAFE

CHAPTER SIX Mauthausen Concentration Camp

CHAPTER SEVEN FUHRERBUNKER, BERLIN

CHAPTER EIGHT Obersalzberg

CHAPTER NINE SHAFE HQ

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN WVHAHQ

CHAPTER FOURTEEN OBERSALZBURG

CHAPTER FIFTEEN EBENSEE CONCENTRATION CAMP

CHAPTER SIXTEEN ALT AUSSE MINE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN OBERSALZBERG - KITZBUHEL

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINTEEN

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY FAMILY

(MY FATHER, MOTHER, BROTHER PAUL AND HIS

WIFE, COOKIE, MY SISTER, ANNETTE, HER HUSBAND,

JOE AND THEIR SON JOSEPH ALEXANDER),

AND TO ALL THE MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN

WHO HAVE SUFFERED AND DIED IN WAR.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to thank the following persons: Rhonda Herring and Cecily Cummings who provided continuous encouragement, editing, artistic support and advice; to my entire family for the same; and to my co-workers Frank Moore, John Daniel, Christine Kirby for editing and constructive criticism; and to Mark Wielgus for his technical advice and support regarding World War II era German explosives and explosive ordnance; and to my long time US Army buddy, fellow retired warrant officer and friend, Dick Mills for encouragement, editing, comments and advice as well as for the truthfulness which hopefully will make me a better writer; and for detailed editing, I thank Janne Lady. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Any mistakes or problems with the book and its contents are mine alone.

INTRODUCTION

In late 1944/early 1945 the Nazi government began to earnestly shift its records, funds and key personnel into the Alps of southern Germany. Massive amounts of looted treasures and art were shifted into nearby caves, tunnels, and other hideouts, while some 60,000 Nazis swarmed into the region. It was here, in the Alpine Redoubt, constructed with the sweat and lives of thousands of concentration camp victims that our story begins. It was here, the Werwolfs were attempting to slow the Allied advance by killing Eisenhower and other leaders. It was here, that a lone Allied agent discovered the unthinkable: Hitler is alive and in the Alpine Redoubt. It was here, that the remnants of the collapsing Reich would fight the advancing Allied armies for another 2-3 years, costing the lives of an additional 300,000 Allied soldiers. It was here, beneath the ashes of the old Reich, that the dreams and fortunes of a new Reich would spring forth when the time was ripe.

MUNICH ZEITUNG

 (NEWSPAPER)

19 May 1991

PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN

NAZI BUNKER DISCOVERED

BY FARMER

By Siggi Runfred

Ibersakzberg/Berchtesgaden, Germany — Yesterday, the German Government sealed off a tract of land in this beautiful Alpine village. Why would they take such extreme measures? This reporter discovered the answer to that question. It began a week ago when Herr Gertea, a local farmer, was clearing tree stumps and rocks from a tract of 45 year old woods on the side of the mountain. Shortly after blowing out a stump, he attacked it with his tractor attempting to haul the stump away. As the stump broke free of its 45- year-old hold on life, the chain snapped almost nailing Herr Gertea. He ducked, cursed, and grabbed another length of chain. He hopped to the ground and was re-stringing it around the stump when suddenly he felt the earth give way under his feet. He slid underneath the stump disappearing into the depths of the earth, forever. Herr Gertea probably lurched to an unexpected stop against a concrete wall. He probably looked around and discovered that he was in some wort of a concrete room high enough to stand in. He presumably looked back at the ramp which he had just slid down, and realized that they were in-fact steps. He doubtlessly began inspecting the walls and discovered a hatchway and a latch, which he may have undone and yanked open. Suddenly, the hatch popped open emitting a dry stale airy smell. Herr Gertea disappeared inside the hatch never to be seen again. The Polizei believe Herr Gertea found the darkness haunting and struck a wooden match. The match flared, and whatever Herr Gertea discovered, will remain unknown to us as he has not yet been found. Hours later Polizei discovered a few drops of Herr Gertea’s blood near the burnt match.

It was Frau Gertea who discovered her husband was missing. She was in the habit of bringing her husband his lunch out in the fields. This way they could spend time together and still not lose any time in clearing the fields. She had come upon the tractor, calling out his name repeatedly. Her husband was not there. She walked around the tractor and noticed the hole in the ground under the tree stump. She felt goosebumps run up her spine. Again, she called out his name. Still, no answer. She leaned over the hole and saw her husband’s cap lying near the bottom of the hole, and knew something was dreadfully wrong. When asked later, she stated It was something in the air. Frau Gertea, turned, bolted away from the hole, and ran back to the farm house where she called the Polizei. Within minutes the Polizei arrived, checked out the bunker, and sealed off the site. Her husband was still missing. Within hours a group of men in business suits arrived on the scene and were identified as agents of the Federal German Government. They immediately took over the investigation, completely shutting off access to the site.

A polizei officer, who will remain unidentified, told this reporter that he was first on the scene and searched the bunker for the missing farmer, finding no one inside nor any evidence that the farmer was even there, other than the cap, the burnt match and the drops of blood. He also gave a description of what he saw inside, The bunker is huge. I saw thousands of empty cans, bottles and cardboard cartons strewn about. As I moved about, I noted a generator room, a fairly sophisticated radio room with the equipment still inside, a series of living quarters with the beds still covered in sheets and blankets, bathrooms with running water, air intake vents, a kitchen, a conference room, recreation room, a library with many of the books still intact, and a vaulted hatch on the far end. The polizei officer continued, I entered a room on the right side and saw what appeared to be a sitting room. I noticed one of the books was bound in leather with bold gold lettering. It was ‘Mein Kempf’. I moved into an adjoining room, probably a study, and saw a large framed picture of ‘Frederick the Great’ hanging above a large polished wooden desk. The last room in the suite was a bedroom for two people. It was here I found some linen marked with the letters, ‘EBH’ and ‘AH’. I checked out the rest of the bunker and believed there had been enough food, water, and petrol to keep about 50 people alive for some seven years. These were the facts discovered by the polizei before the government agents shut the place down.

Even this reporters’ film was confiscated. When asked why, I was threatened with arrest or worse. Why? I ask you the reader. If this bunker was occupied by fleeing Nazi personalities of the collapsing Reich, who were they, and most importantly, where are they now? We all know the framed picture of ‘Frederick the Great’ was Hitler’s favorite; the linen marked with AH’ and ‘EBB’ probably stood for Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun Hitler, his wife; a Collectors Edition of Mein Kempf was also one of Hitler’s most valuable possessions. Was this the hideout of Eva Braun and Adolf Hitler? If it was, after seven years, could they have re-entered

German life in 1952 with little to fear from their fellow Germans?

If this was Hitler and Braun’s hideout then who died in the Berlin BUNKER in 1945?

Extensive research reveals that at the end of World War II, Marshal Stalin, Marshal Zuhkov and General Eisenhower all stated publicly that Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun’s bodies were never found or identified. Stalin and Eisenhower both believed that Hitler escaped.

A German Government spokesman (who wished to remain anonymous), asked by this reporter about the bunker, stated This bunker was apparently built during the Nazi reign of terror. However, it was not on the listing of secret bunkers constructed for the Fuhrer by any of his acknowledged chiefdesigners. So it was an ultra secret bunker built, as the crow flies, within 10 km of the famous Berghof, and only 3 km from Martin Bormann’s former house as well. Both were destroyed in April 1945.

The question remains: Who used this bunker? Was it Adolf Hitler, Eva Braun-Hitler, and/or Martin Bormann? If so, who died in Berlin? How did the leadership escape? Where are they today? Are they still alive?

MUNICH ZEITUNG

of 25 May 1991

REPORTER KILLED

We regret to inform our readership that one of our senior reporters, Siggi Runfred, was discovered dead yesterday. A Polizei spokesman stated that Runfred’s burned corpse was found in the rubble of his apartment building. The spokesman indicated that Runfred was probably murdered by a person or persons as yet unknown. Runfred’s office, here at the newspaper, and his car were both vandalized just before the discovery of his body. What was taken remains unknown, as all his computer files, notes and film are missing.

Two other bodies were discovered in the rubble of Runfred’s apartment complex. One has been identified as Frau Gertea, the wife of the farmer who disappeared on May 19 th in the vicinity of an old Nazi bunker south of Munich. The other body was believed to be a Polizei officer who helped search for Frau Gertea’s missing husband. He was also the first official to search the inside of the old bunker. All three bodies showed signs of possible torture and evidence of a bullet wound to the back of the skull. No further information is available. Funeral services will be held on May 28th at the Rot Square Catholic Church at 1100 hrs. Siggi Runfred has no surviving relatives. Siggi will be greatly missed by all of us at the paper and by his loyal readership.

CHAPTER ONE

Early 1945

The flames were intense. The Japanese Captain raised his sword above his head to the right and began his final pivot, which was intended to severe my head from my body. Not waiting around for the blow, I dodged to the left, away from his intended angle of attack, and hit the deck sliding under the rocket sled. Sparks flew as steel glanced off steel. I scampered out from under the sled just as the Captain swung around. Now he was facing me, my back against the bulkhead. The wall registering a strange feeling, being neither steel nor metal, but some type of wood.

Just as the Captain came in for the kill, I was physically lifted off my feet, shoved backwards, into and through the wall(lucky for me it was indeed thin wood), and into the air. I felt the pain and heat from the flames followed by the icy cold of the ocean as I went under.

I must have blacked out for an instant for when I came to, the salt water was washing my wounds making me scream. Gulping salty water, sputtering, screaming, and whipping my head back and forth to clear my vision, I realized I was still alive and kicking hard to stay afloat.

Eventually the pain lessened and I stroked slowly in the direction of the Japanese merchant ship now totally engulfed in flames and listing to starboard. The metal, white hot, was hissing and creating a steam cloud around the sinking ship.

Off to my right, about 30 meters or so, I thought I saw a body drifting past, but I was too tired and damaged to care or do anything about it. I just floated with my mouth and nose above the foamy waters. Within minutes I saw the ship tip on end, and dive straight into Davy Jones Locker. So much for those rockets, I thought. The Marines on Saipan should be safe now.

I was tired, wasted, and wounded, and I knew swimming was not the way to survive. I stopped kicking and stroking, and slowly began pulling my legs up toward my chest. With an even greater effort and more pain than I could imagine, I wrapped my arms around my shins, shaping my body into a ball. My body bobbed with my back exposed, my face and head just under the water. I knew from Marine bootcamp I could bob in the water like this for 72 hrs or so with no problem. However I wasn’t in a pool now; this was an ocean, a really big ocean.

Every couple of minutes, I would tilt my head backwards up out of the water. My balled body followed suit. As soon as I cleared the waters, I gulped air, noting that it was still filled with the fumes from the explosives, fire, and burning flesh. Before I bobbed back under the water, I scanned the dark surface of the seas for signs of rescue or trouble. I spotted trouble in the form of a small triangle- shaped fin sticking above the waterline, cutting a v line straight for me.

I tried not to panic, but, as the shark came closer, I almost lost it. I hoped that Chinese fisherman I met while serving with the 4th Marines in China had been right. Splash and you die; stay still it may pass you by. If not,…He never finished the sentence.

I saw the fin dip below the surface, I forced my fears aside, and strained to keep my eyes open. The shark swam by, not 2 meters away. As it passed I got to look into its eyes. They were totally lifeless, pure black, and emotionless. I was scared silly and didn’t care who knew it.

I stayed balled up, but formed fists with my hands ready to nail the bastard on the snout if it came in for the kill. I saw it coming, a little closer this time. The shark turned, its dorsal fins angled slightly downward, as it came in for the first run. I saw the mouth angle back slightly but not opening. It passed so close to me that its rough skin shredded what was left of my shirt, and made mincemeat of my chest and rib cage. I watched the shark swishing back into view, this time its fins pointing almost straight beneath the body. A bad sign. I saw the shark angle its shout back, opening a huge mouth, filled with row upon row of razor sharp teeth. A shiver passed down my spine. I kept balled up with great effort. The body wanted to run and time seemed slow down. I watched as it was closing in on me. I tried to time my punches with its arrival. I screamed aloud into the water, striking the shark with all my strength. I kept slamming my fists into its snout and eyes again and again. I felt new pains as the shark got hold of me, pulling me deeper. The shark began wiggling, twisting and turning, as I got a good hit on its eyelid. I see blood, unfortunately my blood, turning the water a blackish color. But to stop was to die, so I kept assaulting the shark’s eye, while my lungs starved for air. They were ready to burst, the pain intense. It was just too much… I opened my mouth and screamed…

Sir… Sir, wake up… wake up… your screaming…

Slap!!! Slap!!! I popped my eyes open, coughed, spitting out nonexistent water. I opened my mouth, drawing in the cold fresh air, not seawater. I was shivering. I quickly ran my hands over my chest and legs. They were all there, in one piece.

My breathing began slowing down to a somewhat measurable rate, as I took in my current surroundings. The stinging on my cheeks were slaps delivered by the British jump-master, who was still leaning over me. He was hanging onto a static line.

In a loud, deep English voice he said, Sir, are you all right?

I could barely hear him above a loud drone. I read his lips, what little I could see, then nodded as I looked around, still lost in deep fear.

One-five (15) minutes to target, Sir!

I nodded again, unsure what he meant.

I watched as the Brit Sergeant(Sgt) moved toward the one end of what appeared to be a short, narrow, dark tunnel. My eyes took in the walls and ceiling. They were rounded and made of wood or sheet-metal, covered with what seemed like hundreds of wires hanging in bunches from the ribbed walls. The noise continued, and was unbelievable as was the cold. I looked to my right and saw a hatch or hole set in the floor. No bloody wonder it was cold. The bloody door was open to the night air. What the hell? Where did I pick up the word bloody? Must have been when I was in jump school with the Brits. I glanced back to where the Sgt was standing. A light, reddish in color, glowed in the darkness.

Suddenly my stomach bounced into my throat. The whole tube began bouncing repeatedly up and down. The bile tasted strong in my mouth.

Now I remembered where I was and why. I was in an Allied aircraft en route to a drop zone in Nazi Germany. Bloody hell. I thought that the dreams and nightmares were behind me. After all, it had been more than six months since the last nightmare. I was a former Marine, had fought in Hong Kong; was wounded and then repaired in Washington DC; then transferred to the OSS, Office of Strategic Services, in England, in late 1944. Yeah, I did my jump training there. That’s right, I thought as I looked down at my body. I was covered in a canvas jump suit. Just looking at it brought back more memories of the mission briefing about the suit. The instructor was telling us …a mottled dark green/brown/ tan patterned suit. It provides effective camouflage for parachute drops and air operations. The suit has two full length zippers which will allow a rapid exit from it upon landing. The zippers run from the bottom of each leg up to the neck. You will wear your civilian clothing or uniform underneath the suit. Remember: this suit contains enough equipment to sustain life if you get separated from your supplies or are not met by your reception committee. Inside the special pockets are a gravity shroud knife, a folding shovel, a flashlight, a .22 caliber-silenced pistol, a fighting knife, a medical kit, maps, paper money and gold coins, a spine pad, and the L- tablet (a lethal pill).

Damn, I was a walking hardware store. The enemy would probably think a junkwagon was falling out of the sky. Hell, if the fall didn’t kill me, the hardware probably would.

I smiled to myself, remembering the instructor telling us we were to take that L-tablet if caught. This would prevent our passing on secrets to the enemy. Fat chance.

I reached up to scratch my head, but my fingers encountered a covering. I forgot I had a cap on. It was padded, with a set of earmuffs extending over my ears, offering my head protection. Atop the helmet was a set of goggles.

Within seconds, or so it seemed, the Sgt was back yelling in my ear Sir, time to hook up to the static line. I tried to stand up, finding it very difficult, but with the Sgt’s help I made it. He hooked me up to the static line and motioned to yank on it. We both did, twice each. I was hooked up. He motioned me over to the open hatchway set in the floor. I hobbled over, grabbing the Sgt’s arm, and sat down very carefully. With a lot of urging, I lifted my feet and slowly lowered them into the blackness of the hold. Almost immediately, I could feel the pull of the slipstream. My legs began bouncing in the freezing night air. I felt as if my legs were being pulled toward the rear of the craft, and, for a moment, I feared being yanked out. Grabbing my sleeve, the Sgt steadied me. Then I remembered he had told me of the pulling sensations and the noises. The roar of the engines was filling the night not to mention the plane’s cabin. A steady drone screamed on and on without letup. Finally, I relaxed, and glanced up at the three colored lights on the bulkhead directly in front of my eyes: red, yellow, and green. The Brit Sgt had filled me in: the red light, still lit, meant STOP or WAIT; the yellow, meant - GET READY; and the green meant - GO.

My hands gripped the sides of the hole set in the floor. I’d be willing to bet that if I didn’t have on gloves you could have seen my knuckles turning white as they squeezed the metal handles into pretzels. Regardless of the fear of falling out, I kept my eyes locked on the lights.

Suddenly, it flashed yellow, then green and I felt a tap on the shoulder. I tried to lean into the hole, letting gravity do its job, but something in me refused to do it. I was getting ready to turn around to ask the Sgt to shove me out, when I felt something ram into my back. I went tumbling out of the aircraft into the cold, rushing, black sky. I was glad the Sgt assisted me, as I’d never have done it on my own.

With my eyes closed tight, my fists gripping the lines crossing my chest, I had the sensation of being flipped over and bouncing against something hard. Maybe I hit a bird, or, even worse, the aircraft’s body. The wind was ripping past my face when suddenly I was yanked upward by the chute, the straps ripping into my armpits and shoulders, not to mention my crotch. My family jewels would never be the same.

I was swinging back and forth, trying to keep my feet and legs together, but the wash from the aircraft seemed to go on forever. Finally, I forced my eyes open, looking up toward where the plane should have been. It was gone.

I did, however, see my chute billowing out above me. I remembered to keep my chin against my chest. I had to force my eyes open, even with the goggles on, as the pressure from my falling body seemed to increase. I was straining to catch a glimpse of light from the ground, but nothing showed except blackness. It was like falling into a deep, black grave. Shivers flew up my spine. I hoped this wasn’t an omen.

Suddenly, there was a change in the color below me. The earth, now barely visible, was rushing toward me at 200 km per hour. I froze for a couple of seconds, trying to remember what to do for the landing. The seconds disappeared as the ground lifted up and hit me so quickly and hard that my feet felt like they were where my Adams apple used to be. I was prepared to tumble to the ground and roll, but my feet seemed to sink into something soft and mushy. The wind was knocked out of me as I felt my body tip forward and suddenly, I was face down in the mud. After a few seconds, I lifted my head up and looked around, straining my neck backwards.

At least I didn’t hit the trees, which were 20 meters off to my left. My legs were still attached and I was in one piece.

Quickly, I checked the rest of my body for breaks, sprains, or whatever. Nothing noticeable. I reached up and ripped off the goggles and hat shoving them into a spare pocket. I lifted my legs one by one. Step by step, I moved out of the muck. Now free of the mud, I began gathering up the parachute and the shroud lines, balling it into a bundle, which I carried into the treeline.

Once there, I dumped the bundle and began to check out the surrounding area. To the north and south, the sky was full of bright flashes, followed by muffled explosions. Our bombing raids over Munich to the north, and the area of Bad Tolz (an SS school) to the south, were occurring. I guess a diversion for my insertion. Right. Delusions of grandeur already and my mission just starting.

I heard something off to my right rear. I whipped around, my hands ready to strike out. I held my breath, narrowing my eyes, concentrating on hearing the forest with every nerve in my body. Nothing moved, or made a sound except for the beat of my heart. Nothing in the nearby fields, nor in the forest. It must be my nerves, I thought. I turned back to continue with the task at hand.

Opening the pocket with the folding shovel, I pulled it out and began to dig a good size hole beneath a nearby bush. When it was deep enough, I shoved in the parachute and a large backpack I had carried down with me. I began opening the pockets on my jumpsuit and removing the contents. I prepared them for burial, placing them on the ground near a second hole. These would be my safety net, my back up weapons. I couldn’t risk being picked up with weapons and medical items on me.

I unzipped the jumpsuit, stepping out of it, and looking down at my civilian clothing, I had worn underneath. They looked none the worst for wear. My suit, the coat and pants, was of a matching pinstripe; the shirt collar was stiff, but not starched, and slightly frayed. The solid colored tie was stained with authentic German mustard and sauerkraut juice. My heavy soled shoes were not the best, but wearable, of middle class German manufacture. I guess I had that lived-in look. I would be acceptable, or so I hoped.

Before I departed the safe-house back behind Allied lines, my Headquarters had triple checked my clothing for labels. Only German, Austrian or Italian labels were used. Even the stitches in the seams of my clothing were of a German style, criss-crossed threads, versus the US style of parallel-threaded rows.

Finally, I took out my oversized German wallet checking the papers and monies it contained. I shuffled through them: food ration card, travel passes signed by the Waffen SS HQ, military driver’s license, military wound certificate, service exemption papers, and, the most important one, my discharge papers which cited my wounds as debilitating. Attached to the discharge papers were my orders for the civilian job at WVHA HQ (Wirtschafts- und Verwaltung-shauptamt) in Chiemsee. The last document had an Eagle/Swastika stamp plastered on it with a number of equally impressive signatures.

I reached up to my neck and throat area, feeling through my clothing for the object. Yep, the Silver Warrant ID Disk was still there. It identified my service in the Waffen SS.

Well, my papers were OK, so I slipped them back into the wallet, and the wallet into my inside coat pocket. I reached down and picked up a smaller Waffen SS buttpack from the larger backpack. I also pulled out a civilian overcoat, hat and gloves. I shook them out and lay them over a nearby bush. Finally I shoved the large backpack deeper into the hole.

Ah, I was almost ready. Quickly, I checked that nothing was laying outside the hole which now contained the parachute, jumpsuit, and pack. I kept the weapons, med kit and wireless. I filled the hole, covering it with dirt and leaves. Then I stamped my feet back and forth over the hole, pushing the dirt down until a depression formed. I shoved more dirt into the depression and repeated the process. Finally, I gathered up more leaves and branches scattering them over the well-packed earth. When the hole was completely covered, I moved to the second hole, and deposited my weapons, first aid kit and the J&E (my Joan-Eleanor) transmitter-receiver.

I was amazed that the J&E