He found what he was both seeking and dreading in the first room on the left — perhaps once the dead woman’s bedroom considering the size of the feather bed within. In the cot beside it, the baby’s cries continued unabated, and from his vantage point in the doorway, Ritter could see the child’s tiny hands clutching in the air as it sought solace from a mother who’d never again hold it in her arms. That image itself would’ve been enough to bring the Luftwaffe officer to his knees had his complete attention not been consumed by the sight of the feather bed itself and the devastation that lay upon it.
Ritter forced himself forward into the room, his body beginning to shake involuntarily as his eyes took in what he couldn’t bare to see. Blood…so much blood: more than Ritter had ever seen at one time in his life or so it seemed. Blood in torrents staining the stark whiteness of the sheets and yet there was still enough to spill down onto the stones of the cold floor below on either side of the bed.
That afternoon, an innocent girl had held his Knight’s Cross in her hands and stared in awe. Less than twelve hours later she now stared lifelessly at the ceiling of that room, the crimson essence of her body lost to the floor and the sheets around her. There were no gunshot wounds this time: instead her delicate throat had instead been crudely cut from ear to ear. He stared on in silence, slowly shaking his head as if unable to believe what he was seeing. Her body was bruised and battered, and her thin nightdress was torn and hung in bloody tatters about her waist and thighs: it required no medical qualification to determine what else they’d done to her.
“May I ask what you’re doing here, Herr Oberstleutnant?” The soft voice behind him caused the pilot to stiffen visibly, a hard and emotionless expression crossing his features as he turned slowly toward them. Two of them stood there in the doorway, just inside the room. It was the captain who’d spoken the question, a man barely in his twenties it seemed to Ritter, with ice-blue eyes and straw-blond hair beneath his peaked SS officer’s cap.
“What am I doing here?” Ritter hissed slowly, his rage building quickly now. “What have you done?” Nothing in all his years could’ve prepared the pilot for what he’d seen there that night.
“What exactly do you mean?” The voice was calm and laced with confident contempt. “I’m doing my job, Herr Oberstleutnant…are you doing yours?” As he locked eyes with Ritter, his expression solid and unfazed, he added: “I suggest you put that weapon away and tend to your own affairs.” He placed both hands on his hips. “Go back to your planes and your airfield — what’s going on here has nothing to do with you.”
“‘Nothing to do with me’…?” Ritter repeated in sickened disbelief, an involuntary shudder coursing through his body. “‘…Nothing to do with me’…?” A wild and righteous fury was evident in his eyes now as he bellowed the words a second time, the force of it causing the SS officer’s smug demeanour to waver slightly. “You dare to tell me my job, hauptmann?” In his fury, Ritter used the Wehrmacht equivalent of the man’s SS rank as an intentional insult and display of distaste. The vile creature might be an officer of the Waffen-SS but he was nevertheless still a junior officer. That the fact might be completely irrelevant under such bizarre circumstances didn’t even occur to Ritter as he raised his pistol at arm’s length before either man could react, pointing it directly at the officer’s face.
“Herr Oberstleutnant…” The captain began, his tone one of warning but also containing some personal fear for the first time. It was quickly becoming apparent he’d misread the situation and underestimated the pilot’s resolve.
“You’re both under arrest!” Ritter continued coldly, cutting him off completely. “Take your weapon from its holster and place it on the floor…carefully, I warn you!” There was the flash of movement from one side as the senior NCO who’d accompanied the SS officer began to move forward, right arm rising with great speed. Ritter was faster and was far too nervous and pumped up to react with anything but pure reflex. His own right arm pivoted slightly and the Luger bucked in his hand, the report painfully loud within the confined space of the bedroom. The staff-sergeant fell backward under the impact of the 9mm slug, flesh and skull fragments spraying against the wall behind and out into the hall through the doorway as the bullet punched into the far wall.
There was a moment of stunned silence during which a trio of SS troopers with sturmgewehrs (assault rifles) arrived in the hallway, drawn by the sound of the shot.
“You’ve signed your own death warrant, Herr Oberstleutnant!” The officer snarled as the troopers appeared. “Place this man in custody for the murder of your oberscharführer!”
“This man is under arrest for the atrocities committed here tonight!” Ritter bellowed in return, riveting them to the spot with a wild look in eyes that stared at them over the iron sights of his pistol. “That NCO tried to kill me!” The long-bladed stiletto that had fallen out of the dead man’s hand was lying in the middle of the floor beside the body for all to see, and the expressions on the soldiers’ faces suggested to Ritter that they were as sickened by what was happening there as he was. “I suggest none of you do anything to implicate yourselves in this.”
“I am your commanding officer!” Stahl screamed hysterically. “Do as I say!”
Had there been any inclination to obey those orders, and it appeared that there wasn’t, the chance to act in any case came and passed quickly as Willi Meier appeared in the hallway behind them, a troop of armed Luftwaffe guards in tow.
“You’re all right, sir?” Meier inquired with concern, pushing his way into the room.
“Yes, Willi — I’m all right…” Ritter replied, the croaking quality of his voice suggesting otherwise. “Have your men clear the hallway please…” With a word from Meier, the air force troopers began moving the others out of the hallway and back into the kitchen.
“Take a look, Willi…” Ritter snarled, his eyes and pistol never leaving the SS officer. “Take a look at the courageous war efforts of our esteemed Schutzstaffeln!” There was a short pause, during which Ritter heard his XO draw a sharp breath as he had earlier.
“Mein Gott!” Meier groaned finally, equally revolted.
“I’ve placed this ‘man’ under formal arrest for the crimes committed here. Take his weapon if you would, Willi.” As Meier stepped in to take the man’s service pistol from the holster at his belt, Ritter added: “You! Your name?”
“Hauptsurmführer Pieter Stahl, Third SS Division.” Stahl hissed vehemently in return.
“Outside…!” Ritter growled, gesturing with the Luger. “…And move carefully…I’d be more than happy for you to give me an excuse to fire this weapon a second time tonight!” Turning slowly, Stahl moved out into the hallway and headed for the kitchen with barely controlled fury showing on his features.
“Remember my name, pilot!” The man spat with distaste and contempt as they crossed the kitchen floor, heading for the front door and the open air. “I have powerful friends. You’ll be lucky if you end up before a firing squad!”