And how many bombs could Abraham develop-one, three, or maybe none. Success had been promised and failure would bring an agonizing death, but what if success was impossible? The Americans had vast resources, while Abraham had a few dozen scientists in a cave. Had he been a fool to believe Abraham?
He now had a mission. He and Magda had once agreed to kill their six children and themselves to keep from falling into the clutches of Stalin and the Red Army. The Americans were not savages like the Russians, and he was confident that they would not harm the children. As for himself, he would hang. Magda might just live, but would likely be imprisoned for a period of time, maybe even for the rest of her life.
It was sad, but so be it. He would speak with Magda and make the necessary arrangements.
* * *
Lena and her tent-mates had gotten a little drunk after hearing the news about the American atomic bomb. One of them got her hands on a couple of cases of real beer and not the heartily despised low alcohol beer issued by the U.S. Army. They kept their find to themselves rather than risk a stampede by GIs who hated what they felt was government-issue junk. The soldier’s rationale was very simple. They were fighting Germans and risking their lives so what the hell if they got a little drunk every now and then? Even though the women weren’t directly in combat, they weren’t about to share their find.
Lena didn’t drink very often or very much and drank beer but rarely. Her preferred drink was wine. The beer was an Austrian brand and must have been in someone’s basement for years. Lena had at least three and possibly four bottles. They all had gotten giggly and it was a good feeling of release. When it was gone, they had gone to bed.
About three in the morning Lena awoke with a headache between her eyes and a bladder that was about to explode.
“Damn it,” she muttered. Her fellow sinners were all snoring and sleeping soundly. She slipped on her army pants and, over her T-shirt, a pink robe that she’d bought from a refugee for just a few pennies. She didn’t feel she’d taken advantage of the woman who was going to throw it away because she no longer had any use for it. Along with covering her when she had to go to the latrine, the pink color made her feel feminine.
She thought for a moment and decided to take the Luger. The robe had baggy pockets and she didn’t think the bulge was too obvious. Besides, even though she and the others were allegedly safe on an army base, there had been incidents where some oversexed and horny GI-was there another kind? — had attempted to assault a woman. Don’t take chances was their motto. And if they were assaulted, it was highly unlikely that the soldier would face severe punishment. The men would stick together. The soldier might lose a stripe or get his butt kicked by an NCO, but doing serious jail time was highly unlikely. It wasn’t fair, but such was life in their corner of the world.
The latrine was primitive but clean since the women took turns caring for it. She relieved herself and splashed some cold water on her face. Engineers had rigged the piping to deliver warm water, but that wasn’t what she wanted. The cooler water refreshed her just a little. She took a couple of aspirins and swore never to drink Austrian beer again, unless, of course, someone wanted to have another party. She could not help but exult in the fact that she was actually, truly free.
As she walked the short distance to the tent, she looked up and saw a million stars. She wished Tanner was there to share it with. So many times when she’d been with the Schneiders she’d done the same thing. Only then she’d been wishing for a way to escape.
She caught motion to her right. She waited and saw it again. Someone was skulking out there. She stood still and put her hand in her pocket, grabbing the pistol.
She wished she wasn’t wearing pink. She must be standing out like a neon sign.
The man suddenly decided to cross the roadway and she saw that he was carrying what looked like a German submachine gun. Luck was with her. The man hadn’t turned in her direction, but then he did and they recognized each other. It was young Hans Gruber.
“Gruber,” she hissed and pulled out the pistol.
“American whore,” he screamed and fired a burst in her direction. She threw herself on the ground and almost felt the bullets whistle over her. She fired twice at Gruber and also missed. “Help!” she screamed. “Germans!”
Gruber looked at her, fired again and missed again. He swore and disappeared. More gunfire had erupted in the distance and a siren finally started screaming. She heard an explosion. Gruber had thrown a hand grenade, but not at her. Thinking it was a bombing attack, hundreds of men and a handful of women spilled out of their tents and into slit trenches. Lena needed no prompting and found a corner of a trench. Mud quickly covered her pink robe, ruining it.
Gunfire was increasing and it seemed to be close to division headquarters. She groaned as she realized that Tanner’s quarters were near the general’s.
She recognized a couple of the men in the trench with her. “This ain’t no air raid, is it?” one commented. “By the way, Miss Lena, nice outfit.”
* * *
The sounds of gunfire had sent Hill out of his bunk and onto the earthen floor of the tent he shared with a number of other sergeants. The others were a little slower on the draw but when bullets stitched the canvas they moved with alacrity, joining him in the dirt. The bullets were joined by the sound of grenades exploding.
“What’s happening, Sarge?” asked a confused buck sergeant.
“We’re under attack, you flaming jackass. What the hell did you think was happening? Where’s your weapon? Everyone, get your goddam weapon!”
There was more scrambling as men moved to comply. Even those with a couple more stripes quickly decided he was their leader. When this was over, he would have to ask for a raise.
He sliced the canvas with a very large knife he’d won from a sailor in a poker game and led them single file out of the back of the tent. The loser had called the knife a Ka-Bar but it looked like a Bowie knife. Just about everyone had complained about having to live in tents, but there weren’t enough undamaged buildings to house them. Now it might just save their lives. Instead of having to use doorways, they could cut their way out anywhere they wished.
Hill had a dozen men, all NCOs. He had them form a defensive line and take what shelter they could find. More gunfire and screams could be heard. He began to wonder if the bullets that had struck the tent had simply been fired wildly or were even spent. He decided that it didn’t matter a helluva lot.
“People coming,” he yelled. “Hold your fire until I tell you. They might just be friendlies.”
The issue was decided when one of the approaching men stopped and hurled a grenade that exploded several feet in front of them. “Open fire,” Hill screamed. There were only four attackers and they quickly fell in a heap. The Americans continued to fire until Hill ordered them to stop. “Enough. They’re dead already.”
Hill’s little group began to approach the pile of bodies. Hill had a terrible thought. “Don’t anybody touch anything. One of them might be playing possum.”
“Screw that, Hill,” said a more senior sergeant named Baker. “I’m gonna get me a souvenir. And just remember, Hill, you don’t give me no orders.” He ran off to the bodies and started moving them around. Suddenly an arm thrust up and grabbed the sergeant by the neck, pulling him down. A couple of seconds later, the grenade the German had been holding exploded. The American sergeant was lifted into the air and dropped back down, but without his head and an arm.