Kelly suspected that this institutionalized hatred was compounded by a deep personal antagonism between Rotenhausen and Beckmann. Indeed, he had the strong feeling that neither man would hesitate to kill the other if the time was ripe and the opportunity without peril. And that was no good. If the krauts were so insane that they were ready to kill each other, how much closer must they be to ruthlessly slaughtering innocent French villagers, priests, and nuns who got in their way?
Kelly twisted his hat more furiously, wringing it into a shapeless lump of sweat-stained felt
“Too much attention to rules and form makes dull minds and witless soldiers,” Beckmann said. He tried to make it sound like the prelude to a pleasant debate, but the goad was quite evident. “Wouldn't you say that is true, General?” Beckmann asked. He knew that, while Rotenhausen outranked him, the terror induced by the SS image would keep the other officer from responding as he might have to a subordinate officer in the Wehrmacht. “Don't you want to venture an opinion, Kamerad Rotenhausen?” He used the Kamerad only to taunt the General, who was not a member of the Nazi Party.
“Gewiss, Sagen Sie mir aber, bekomme ich einen Preis, wenn meine Antworten richtig sind?” The general's voice contained a note of sarcasm which even Kelly could hear.
The major had no idea what Rotenhausen had said. But the tone of voice had made Beckmann pale even more. His lips drew tight and curved in a vicious rictus as he fought to control his temper.
Kelly nearly tore his hat to shreds.
“Nein,” Beckmann told the general. He maintained his false serenity with a bit more ease now. “Sie bekommen keinen Preis….”
Rotenhausen smiled slightly. Whatever the nature of the brief exchange, however meaningless it had been, the Wehrmacht officer plainly felt that he had gained the advantage.
But around Beckmann, the air seemed charged with a very real if well restrained violence.
The two Wehrmacht oberleutnants who were Rotenhausen's aides stood at attention by the door to the kitchen hallway. They exchanged angry looks with an SS Haupt-sturmführer and an Obersturmführer, Beckmann's aides, who stood stiffly by the front door.
Though he was unaware of the fine points of the situation, Major Kelly knew that he must change the subject, get the two men thinking about something besides each other. “Will there be more officers who will require quality lodging for the night?” he asked Rotenhausen.
The general seemed to be relieved to have an excuse to break off his staring match with Beckmann. “Other officers? But already we have put out the other priests who live here, rousted your housekeeper from her room. We would not want to inconvenience you even further.”
“It would be no inconvenience,” Kelly said. “And… will your men want shelter for the night in the homes of my people?”
“Not at all,” Rotenhausen said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “We would not dispossess nuns and deaf-mutes for the convenience of soldiers. Besides, Father Picard, I am known as a tough commander. My men must be constantly battle-hardened. They've had too much good living in Stuttgart. It is time they slept out and endured a bit of hardship.”
“If it should rain—” Kelly began.
“So much the better for them!” Rotenhausen said. He was, Kelly thought, putting on quite a show for the Standartenführer.
Trying not to pray, Kelly turned to Beckmann. “And your men, sir? Will they require lodging tonight?”
Beckmann's broad face was set like a lump of concrete. “You know little about the Schutzstaffeln, Father Picard. I have but fifteen men with me — however, each one is tougher, more dedicated, more battle-hardened than any five other troopers the Third Reich commands.” He looked at Rotenhausen and cracked a concrete smile. “Present company excepted, of course.” To Kelly, he said, “My men will sleep out by the side of the road with the rest of the convoy. If rain should come, it will not perturb them, Father.”
Major Kelly twisted his hat and hoped that the meager light from the two large kerosene lanterns would not reveal the immense relief that must be evident in his face. Yesterday, he had decided that it would be best to offer the krauts shelter in order not to seem suspiciously secretive about the town's houses and schools. Of course, had either Rotenhausen or Beckmann accepted the offer, the hoax would have fallen down like a village of cards. In this respect, their personal feud and the interservice rivalry between the SS and the Wehrmacht had worked to Kelly's advantage. Neither wanted himself or his men to appear weak and soft in the other's eyes. And thus far, neither bad mentioned the necessity for a building-to-building search. They were so involved in their reciprocal hatreds that they might actually blunder through this whole long night without even suspecting the secreted enemy around them.
Kelly almost smiled at this thought — and then realized that he was indulging in hope. The deadly disease. If you hoped, you died. It was that simple, but he had forgotten. He began to tremble twice as badly as he had done, scared witless.
Rotenhausen took a pipe from his shirt pocket, a thin tin of tobacco from his trousers. As he prepared his pipe, he stared at the top of Beckmann's head and discussed the procedure for standing down the convoy until dawn. “The Panzers should be parked on both sides of the road, at least twenty feet between them. Likewise, the trucks and artillery wagons. Only the 88 mm guns and the antiaircraft kliegs should remain on the road where they have a good base for counterattack in the event of a raid. No vehicles will be pulled into St. Ignatius; there is no need to jeopardize nuns and deaf-mutes.” He finished tamping the tobacco. “We will post guards at all the intersections. Two-hour watches. Would you care to commit any of your men to this enterprise, Standartenführer?”
“Certainly, Kamerad,” Beckmann said. He propped his jackboots on a small table before the sofa. “We will take responsibility for the bridge.”
“Good enough,” Rotenhausen said. He looked past Kelly at the two Wehrmacht junior officers who waited by the hall door. In German, he gave them orders for the bedding down of the convoy.
Even while Rotenhausen was speaking, Beckmann gave his stone-faced aides their orders for the establishment of an all-night guard patrol on the bridge.
One Wehrmacht soldier left, and one remained.
One Schutzstaffeln man left, and one remained.