Part 11 (2/2)

But I did not think I would be visiting those hills in the months to come, for fear of what lay beneath them. I set my heels to the sides of the mare and rode hard for home, along the river sh.o.r.e.

DONOVAN SENT US.

Gene Wolfe

The plane was a JU 88 with all the proper markings, and only G.o.d knew where Donovan had gotten it. ”We're over London,” the man known as Paul Potter murmured. Crouching, he peered across the pilot's shoulder.

Baldur von Steigerwald (he was training himself to think of himself as that) was crouching as well. ”I'm surprised there aren't more lights,” he said.

”That's the Thames.” Potter pointed. Far below, starlight-only starlight-gleamed on water. ”Over there's where the Tower used to be.” He pointed again.

”You think they might keep him there?”

”They couldn't,” Potter said. ”It's been blown all to h.e.l.l.”

Von Steigerwald said nothing.

”All London's been blown to h.e.l.l. England stood alone against Germany-and England was crushed.”

”The truth is awkward, Herr Potter,” von Steigerwald said. ”Pretty often, too awkward.”

”Are you calling me a liar?”

Listening mostly to the steady throbbing of the engines, von Steigerwald shrugged.

”A d.a.m.ned b.l.o.o.d.y Kraut, and you call me a liar.”

”I'm just another American,” von Steigerwald said. ”Are you?”

”We're not supposed to talk about this.”

Von Steigerwald shrugged again. ”You began it, mein herr mein herr. Here's the awkward truth. You can deny it if you want to. England, Scotland, Wales, Australia, New Zealand, India, Burma, and Northern Ireland stood-alone if you like-against Germany, Italy, Austria, and Vichy. They lost, and England was crushed. Scotland and Wales were hit almost as hard. Am I wrong?”

The JU 88 began a slow bank as Potter said, ”Franco joined Germany at the end.”

Von Steigerwald nodded. ”You're right.” He had not forgotten it, but he added, ”I forgot that.”

”Spain didn't bring down the house,” Potter conceded.

”Get back by the doors,” the pilot called over his shoulder. ”Jump as soon as they're open all the way.”

”You're really English, aren't you?” von Steigerwald whispered as they trotted back toward the bomb-bay doors. ”You're an English Jew.”

Quite properly, Potter ignored the question. ”It was the Jews,” he said as he watched the doors swing down. ”If Roosevelt hadn't welcomed millions of European Jews into America, the American people wouldn't-” The rest was lost in the whistling wind.

It had not been millions, von Steigerwald reflected before his chute opened. It opened, and the snap of its silk cords might have been the setting of a hook. A million and a half-something like that.

He came down in Battersea Park with his chute tangled in a tree. When at last he was able to cut himself free, he knotted ornamental stones into it and threw it into the Thames. His jump suit followed it, weighted with one more. As it sunk, he paused to sniff the reek of rotting corpses-paused and shrugged.

Two of the best tailors in America had done everything possible to provide him with a black Schutzstaffel Schutzstaffel uniform that would look perfectly pressed after being worn under a jump suit. s.h.i.+vering in the wind, he smoothed it as much as he could and got out his black leather trench coat. The black uniform cap snapped itself into shape the moment he took it out, thanks to a spring-wire skeleton. He hid the bag that had held both in some overgrown shrubbery. uniform that would look perfectly pressed after being worn under a jump suit. s.h.i.+vering in the wind, he smoothed it as much as he could and got out his black leather trench coat. The black uniform cap snapped itself into shape the moment he took it out, thanks to a spring-wire skeleton. He hid the bag that had held both in some overgrown shrubbery.

The Luger in his gleaming black holster had kept its loaded magazine in place and was on safe. He paused in a moonlit clearing to admire its ivory grips and the inlaid, red-framed, black swastikas.

There seemed to be no traffic left in Battersea these days. Not at night, at least, and not even for a handsome young S.S. officer. A staff car would have been perfect, but even an army truck might do the trick.

There was nothing.

Hunched against the wind, he began to walk. The Thames bridges destroyed by the blitz had been replaced with pontoon bridges by the German Army-so his briefer had said. There would be sentries at the bridges, and those sentries might or might not know. If they did not- Something coming! He stepped out into the road, drew his Luger, and waved both arms.

A little Morris skidded to a stop in front of him. Its front window was open, and he peered inside. ”So. Ein taxi dis is? You vill carry me, ja?”

The driver shook his head vehemently. ”No, gov'nor. I mean, yes, gov'nor. I'll take you anywhere you want to go, gov'nor, but it's not a cab.”

”Ein two-vay radio you haff, drifer.”

The driver seemed to have heard nothing.

”But no license you are haffing.” Von Steigerwald chuckled evilly. ”You like money, doh. Ja? I haf it. Goot occupation pounds, ja? Marks, also.” He opened a rear door and slid onto the seat, only slightly impeded by his leather coat. ”Where important prisoners are, you take me.” He sat back. ”Macht schnell!”

The Morris lurched forward. ”Quick as a wink, gov'nor. Where is it?”

”You know, drifer.” Von Steigerwald summoned all of his not inconsiderable acting ability to make his chuckle that of a Prussian s.a.d.i.s.t, and succeeded well enough that the driver's shoulders hunched. ”De taxi drifers? Dey know eferyding, everywhere. Make no more troubles vor me. I vill not punish you for knowing.”

”I dunno, gov'nor, and that's the honest.”

Von Steigerwald's Luger was still in his right hand. Leaning forward once more, he pressed its muzzle to the driver's head and pushed off the safety. ”I vill not shoot now, drifer. Not now, you are too fast drifing, ja? Ve wreck. Soon you must stop, doh. Ja? Traffic or anodder reason. Den your prain ist all ofer de vinds.h.i.+eld.”

”G-gov'nor . . .”

”Ja?”

”My family. Timmy's only three, gov'nor.”

”Longer dan you he lifs, I hope.”

The Morris slowed. ”The bridge, gov'nor. There's a barricade. Soldiers with guns. I'll have to stop.”

”You vill not haf to start again, English pig.”

”I'm takin' you there. Only I'll have to stop for 'em.”

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