“I’m not sorry at all. If you’re hungry, we can get something to eat.”
She looked at him in surprise and backed off.
“Did I say something wrong? If I did, I’m sorry.”
She smiled at him. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m still not used to people being nice to me. I think I’ll get over it, and yes, you can find some place for us to eat even if it’s just another mess hall. I’ve developed a taste for Spam or even that delicious dish called shit on a shingle.”
* * *
Schafer and Sibre flew their heavily armed planes low down the valley that led to Innsbruck. Low and fast was one way to avoid the numerous antiaircraft guns that had been emplaced and were extremely well hidden. This morning, their target was a line of haystacks. Their orders were to kill those haystacks. Six other planes followed them and all were armed with semi-armor piercing rockets. To the best of their knowledge, theirs were the only P51s with rockets, although a number of P47s carried the weapons. They’d had a chance to practice with them and thought they were pretty damn good at hitting their targets.
“There,” Schafer said. The line of haystacks was coming up quickly as was flak from antiaircraft guns. The various pilots peeled off and chose their targets. Sibre fired first and a pair of rockets streaked away. One missed by a few feet, but the second hit, sending hay and debris skyward. The explosion exposed a dug-in German tank and men were running away from it even though the tank didn’t look badly damaged. A second pass and another hit. The tank blew up. Other tanks were dying as well. Napalm was dropped, turning wrecks into charnel houses. Both men later swore that they had flown so low that they could smell human flesh burning.
Their work done, they turned and headed for base. They counted noses. One P51 was smoking and the pilot would land first if he made it that far. Otherwise, he would have to jump. They teased him about having to jump like Sibre did and got an obscenity in return.
They had destroyed a number of Nazi tanks and word was that the tanks were irreplaceable. If they lost one plane it would still be a good day. If the pilot and plane got back safely, it would be a great day.
“I wonder how the intelligence guys found out about those tanks,” Sibre mused.
“Maybe a little bird told them.”
“A bird?”
Schafer couldn’t help himself. He started giggling. “Yeah, a stool pigeon.”
* * *
SS General Hahn was in a good mood. A sweep by some of his elite SS soldiers had resulted in the capture of four men who were not only planning to desert, but inciting others to desert as well. He watched as the men were interrogated. They were stubborn but they would soon break. Everyone did. Sometimes just the threat of torture would cause a man to collapse, while others had to endure some pain in order to prove to themselves and others that they’d done what they could. Hahn did not like to wait. Experience had taught him that sending currents of electricity from a car battery through prisoner’s bodies via clamps attached to very sensitive parts of their bodies generally resulted in a quick reaction. His favorite places were the nipples and the genitals of both men and women. The anus was another excellent alternative.
Two of the four men were naked and strapped to chairs. They had already lost control of their bowels and bladders and were screaming and babbling incoherently. In a very short while they would confess and implicate others. Those too would be interrogated and still others would be named. He knew that some of the prisoners would lie through their teeth to put a halt to the agony. Therefore, he had to be very judicious. As Field Marshal Schoerner had said, if soldiers keep ratting on other soldiers, soon there won’t be an army left. Hahn had thought that the field marshal was kidding, but there was a distinct message. Don’t arrest everyone.
As Hahn watched, the third man began to howl and then the fourth. It was a very nice serenade.
The would-be deserters were asked if they were ready to talk. Three of them said yes while the fourth shook his head. “More power,” Hahn ordered and the juice was turned up. The man screamed like he was on fire, which, in a way, he was. His body spasmed and then stopped. His head hung low on his chest.
“Shit,” said Hahn and signaled that the power should be cut off. A quick check proved what he’d suspected. The man had died. His heart had likely given out. Well, it had happened before and it would doubtless happen again. He had no way of knowing who could stand what level of agony before falling apart. It was a nuisance when it happened after all his good work.
He enjoyed torturing men, but he truly enjoyed making women howl in agony. Sadly, there were very few women in Germanica and none were part of the military. He hoped there would be other times.
When the remaining three men were finished spilling their guts, they would be hanged or garroted. By order of the field marshal, no bullets were to be used in executions. It was a grim reminder that their existence in the Alps was fragile.
On the positive side, the deaths of the four men meant that their food rations would not be squandered keeping traitors alive. The thought made his stomach grumble. He tried to remember the last time he had a full meal.
His aide, Captain Eppler, approached and saluted crisply. Hahn returned it and wondered if he could get the man a promotion. A general should have at least a major for an aide.
“What is it, Captain?”
“Sir, I believe a prodigal has returned.”
“And what the devil do you mean by that?”
“Sir, the young Werewolf, Private Gruber, has returned from the Americans’ clutches. He was wearing an American soldier’s uniform and carrying an American rifle. He says he’s fine but quite hungry.”
Hahn paused and then laughed hugely. “I wonder just how the hell he managed to pull off that feat. Get him fed and into a decent German uniform. I will talk with him then.”
CHAPTER 12
When it was decided that OSS teams would try to sabotage the food shipments to Germanica, Winnie was the first to volunteer. She was also the first to be rejected.
“Your German and French are very good,” Dulles said, “even excellent, but you could never pass for a local. Your American accent would give you away immediately. You would then fall into the clutches of the Gestapo who would wrench from you everything you know about us. Then they would kill you. I have had enough agents fall into enemy hands and be executed. They were brave and you are brave for asking, but accepting your offer would be the same as signing your death sentence. I will not permit useless deaths. I have another team coming here and they will arrive shortly.”
Winnie moped for a while. She was disappointed that she couldn’t go in harm’s way, but she understood Dulles’ rationale. Another part of her was relieved that she had been rejected. The idea of capture and torture followed by death was frightening. The incident in Bregenz where she’d been brutally beaten for no reason at all by an SS officer was still fresh in her mind. The physical scars were gone, but not the mental ones. Thank God, she thought, that she had Ernie to depend on.
Her spirits were buoyed when the new team arrived. It consisted of two very tall and athletic young men and a short and boyish-looking woman. “Marie!” Winnie screamed on seeing her, and the two women embraced.
“Obviously, you know each other,” Ernie said with a grin.
“Absolutely. Marie was a junior and I was a senior in high school. She was an exchange student and we were good friends.”
Marie was warm and friendly but did size Ernie up. “He’ll do,” she said. The two men were introduced as Sven and Hans and it was understood that those weren’t their real names. Even Marie would have been using a different name if Winnie hadn’t recognized her and blurted out her real one.