Part 12 (2/2)
”Certainly, we shall speak with him,” Lenz said. ”Do call the General and advise him we are on the way.”The sentry waved them on through. ”Heil Hitler!” he stiff-armed.
Lenz forced a smile, returned the stiff-armed salute, and mouthed the hated words. Then he spat out the window. ”Up yours, a.s.shole,” he muttered, when they were past the checkpoint. He grinned at his driver.
”He'd probably s.h.i.+t on himself if he knew he'd been standing this close to a Jew, Zuckerman.”
Zuckerman then proceeded to heap some highly uncomplimentary remarks on the heads of the Blacks.h.i.+rts and Lenz laughed aloud. Down the road, the convoy pulled over and he ran back to Ben's vehicle, an armored car seized from one of many Rebel ambushes 152.
of Blacks.h.i.+rts. ”That's the hard part,” he told Ben. ”Von Hanstein will have fresh coffee and cake waiting for us.”
”I can't believe that sentry didn't smell a rat,” Ben said. ”We're not exactly a small force.”
”I must admit, I was a bit apprehensive. You ready?”
”Let's do it.”
Lenz chuckled. ”If we pull this off, it'll send this Hoffman b.a.s.t.a.r.d spinning right through the ceiling.”
Von Hanstein stood for a moment after receiving the message from the checkpoint. Something bothered him about this. Why did this officer take the northern route instead of the much safer southern route? ”Oh, well,”
he finally muttered. ”Make fresh coffee, Carlos,” he told a Blacks.h.i.+rt.
”Company is on the way from Schleyer's Eighth.”
The sergeant paused and narrowed his eyes. ”From a hundred and twenty five miles east of us, sir?” he questioned. ”At this time of high alert?”
”Odd, isn't it, Carlos?” von Hanstein said softly. ”Ah! I have it. The party must have set out long before the alert. That's it.”
”Yes, sir. I'm sure that's it.” But the sergeant was far from convinced as he set about making fresh coffee and laying out cookies and small pastries. Something about this just didn't feel right to him. His duties done, he checked his sidearm and made certain his rifle was close at hand.
Carlos looked outside. Not enough men, he thought. The camp is nearly deserted. General Raines is crazy enough to do something this daring ...
Bah! He shook his head and pushed those thoughts from him. The guards at the checkpoint would not have allowed the convoy through if anything had seemed out of the ordinary.
153.
You're letting your imagination run away with you, he silently admonished himself.
”Sergeant Rogillo!” the voice broke into his thoughts.
Carlos looked up. ”Sir?” he said to a lieutenant.”Daydreaming, Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked, a smile on his lips.
”I ... ah, guess so, Lieutenant,” Carlos admitted, red-faced.
”That's not like you. What's the matter?”
”Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”
”Be alert then. We don't want a bad report going back to General Schleyer, now, do we?”
”No, sir.” On this last day of his life, Carlos busied himself setting out cups and saucers.
General von Hanstein sat in his office, behind his field desk and drummed his fingertips on the wood. He again read the message. Odd that the officer did not give his name. Perhaps he should give General Schleyer a call? He opened his mouth to call for an aide, then sighed and shut his mouth. What was he thinking of? Schleyer would think him a fool!
He rose and walked into his communications room. ”Have there been any further attacks from the Rebels? Anywhere along the front?”
”Just a few skirmishes, sir. Nothing of any significance.”
Something is wrong, von Hanstein thought, returning to his office.
Something is very, very wrong.
Sergeant Carlos Rogillo had gone to communications and spoken with the guard at the checkpoint. The guard had been very indignant. Of course, he was certain the men were from the Eighth. He'd recognized Sergeants Zimmerman and Rozas. And the colonel was SS.
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SS, Carlos mulled that around. SS? No way. Why would an SS colonel be acting as a messenger boy? Those t.u.r.ds thought themselves to be above such mundane tasks. Especially a colonel. Carlos felt eyes on him and turned, looking at Major Schlosser, looking at him.
”What's the matter with you, Sergeant?” the major asked. ”Your behavior is quite odd.”
”I ...” The sounds of approaching vehicles cut off his reply.
Major Schlosser waved him silent.
General von Hanstein stepped out of his office, straightening his tunic.
”SS troops, sir,” Lieutenant Bachman said. ”A lot of SS troops.”
”SS?” von Hanstein said. ”That explains a few things. Those arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.ds think they're invincible. That's why they took the northern route. s...o...b..ating. Do you recognize any of them, Hans?”
Hans Bachman peered out the freshly cleaned window of the old farmhouse.
He shook his head. ”I ... I'm not sure. I think I know this colonel, sir. I mean, I've seen him around.””Show them in,” von Hanstein said, then walked back into his office.
”Bring them to me.” He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd grovel to a colonel, even if he was one of those G.o.dd.a.m.ned SS people.
Boots sounded on the porch.
Sergeant Carlos Rogillo opened the front door for Major Schlosser to greet the visiting troops. The major stepped out, smiling. Carlos stepped to one side and looked around the Major. There were women in this group. That's odd, he thought. The SS did have women in its ranks, but they were usually office personnel. The 155.
colonel and his senior officers were probably making a lark of this trip, carrying their personal c.u.n.ts along with them. That's usually what those perverted SS females were used for. All of them were twisted in some deviant manner. Carlos looked for a familiar face. He knew Sergeant Zimmerman. He couldn't find him in the milling crowd. Odd, the SS troops seemed to be taking up a loose defensive position. Paranoid bunch of b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.
Carlos turned around and walked to his desk, automatically straightening his uniform. Like most regular troops, he was slightly afraid of the SS.
They just were not normal people.
”Good afternoon, Colonel,” Major Schlosser said. ”Please come in. You must be tired. After you've freshened up, we have coffee and cake.”
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