Order of Battle (30 page)

He was aware of Don at his side. He had a quick feeling of protection, like a cat whose back is safely snuggled against a familiar shelter. He stared at the group around the table. All of them were clad in ordinary Bavarian clothes. Three young girls in blouses and dirndl skirts. A cripple, his right arm and right leg in steel-and-leather braces. An old man in gray kneebreeches, a coarse green shirt and a gray Bavarian jacket with carved bone buttons.

Farmers . . .

Something collapsed within him, leaving a bleak void. It had been their last chance. There was nothing left to do now. Somewhere along the line they’d muffed it. He was still convinced the Werewolves existed. Just as Plewig had revealed once his cover had been broken. But now . . .

He felt drained. Deflated. He was tempted to give in to his feeling of failure, but something nagged the edges of his mind, something elusive that teased to be remembered, something he was missing. . . .

Plewig. Something Plewig said . . .

He looked searchingly at the group around the table—and suddenly he knew. Suddenly he could hear Plewig’s voice: “Some of them are war wounded.”
War wounded . . .

The cripple!

And the old man?

Only seconds had gone by. The Germans were still staring at the intruders in stupefaction. Erik barked an order, his voice sharp and authoritative:

“General Krueger! You are coming with us. Get up!
Now
!
"

The scrape of the wooden stool on the rough floor was like the rumble of a giant landslide as the elderly Bavarian farmer at the table automatically half rose from his seat—and stopped dead in midmotion!

For a full four seconds the strange
tableau vivant
held frozen as the two groups of figures stared at one another in mutual abysmal astonishment.

Then Krueger sat down heavily as he suddenly realized his inadvertent admission of his identity.

Erik’s heart drummed wildly as if to make up a hundredfold for the single beat it lost when the old farmer stood up. He and Don had bagged the Werewolf general himself! With a bluff! He shot a quick glance at Don. Fine. Don was watching the Werewolves, a grim, set expression on his face.

Erik felt a surge of triumph. They’d done it! Dammit,
they’d done it!
They’d been proved right. Evans be damned. The Werewolves were exactly where he and Don had said they’d be! They had the general himself to prove it!

The general . . .

And suddenly he was staring cold reality in the face.

If that Bavarian farmer was indeed General Karl Krueger—if he was the Werewolf general—he would not be far from his headquarters. His Werewolves would certainly be nearby. Forty? Sixty? What did Plewig say? Crack troops. Fanatics. Armed to the teeth. They’d be all around. . . .

They were in the middle of the hidden Werewolf lair. He and Don.

Alone.

Only one thing could possibly save their necks. His instinctive bluff had worked on the general. He had to keep it up. He had to turn it into one hell of a big-assed bluff!

His mouth was dry; his palms moist. Hell of a mixed-up reaction, he thought, with the detached incongruity of an uninvolved observer. He had an overwhelming desire to lick his lips. He didn’t. He knew how clearly such little unconscious actions betrayed nervousness. Uncertainty . . .

And if he’d ever needed to appear utterly confident and self-assured,
now
was it.

“Up!” he barked. “All of you. On your feet!”

He gestured with his gun.

“Over against that wall. Hands clasped behind your neck!
Move
!
"

They moved.

Krueger first, then the three young girls and finally the cripple lined up at the wall next to the door, never taking their eyes off the two Americans covering them with their guns. The hate seething in their eyes was almost tangible, especially in the girls’. They might have been pretty, Erik thought. But they were not. Their faces were marred by the hate. Only Krueger’s penetrating blue eyes seemed without emotion as he regarded Erik and Don steadily.

“Turn around!” Erik ordered. “Lean against the wall with both hands. Legs apart.”

The five prisoners obeyed.

The crippled man had difficulties; he seemed to lose his balance, and the girl next to him quickly took his arm to steady him, helping him into the awkward position. Before she turned to lean against the wall herself, she shot a withering glance of contempt at Erik and Don.

It had been a small diversion. It had drawn the eyes of both Don and Erik for only a couple of seconds.

But it had been enough.

As the girl standing next to Krueger and farthest away from the cripple turned toward the wall, she quickly fumbled at the waistline of her skirt. Deftly she extracted the tiny Lilliput automatic from a small pocket hidden in the lining; she palmed it, unseen, in her right hand, then placed her hand on the wall and leaned against it.

Erik covered the prisoners as Don frisked them. The girls endured the search in venomous silence. Don joined Erik.

“They’re clean,” he said.

He followed as Erik walked toward the fireplace out of earshot of the prisoners, who stood off balance against the opposite wall.

“Okay,” Erik said, his voice an urgent whisper. ‘Take off!”

“You crazy?” Don took his eyes from the Germans to cast a startled glance at Erik. “We’re right in the middle of the whole damned Werewolf nest! I can’t leave you here alone!”

“Two are no better than one!”

“We can take them along. . . .”

“We’d never get out alive. Go get help, dammit! Fast! I’ll keep bluffing.”

For a few seconds Don stared at his friend, stared at him as if he’d never seen him before. He felt trapped. He knew Erik was right. He knew they
had
to have help. And he knew
he
couldn’t stay behind. His German wasn’t good enough to pull off the bluff. It
had
to be Erik’s game. But just leave him? . . .

Without a word he turned and walked from the hut.

Erik was alone.

He stared at his prisoners lined up at the wall. Five of them. Five backs. Five Werewolves . . . God, he never knew five were so many.

Leaning against the wall, they looked tense, coiled, ready to explode into action. Were they?

He didn’t move. Neither did the prisoners. The silence was absolute. Time itself, oozing on, was quiet. As quiet as a mouse pissing on a blotter, he thought. He used to think the expression hilarious. He didn’t now.

He glanced at the gun in his hand. Colt .38 special. The sum and substance of his superiority. No. Not quite. He did have an ace in the hole to back up his bluff. Knowledge. Knowledge his prisoners didn’t know he had. It was about time he started to use it; he thought he could feel the Werewolves getting edgy. . . .

Suddenly the silence was destroyed by the distant sound of a jeep starting up and racing away.

Erik was genuinely shocked.

God! he thought with cold alarm. Is Don still here? He’s been gone minutes and minutes already! What the hell’s the matter with him?

He saw the Germans react to the unexpected sound. He knew he couldn’t allow them to start thinking. He had to counteract. Now!

He forced himself to calm down. It
had
been only seconds since Don left the hut. He forced the strain from his face, the tension from his hand, gripping his gun. He knew he had to appear composed and confident.

“All right,” he said easily. “You can turn around now. Just keep your hands behind your neck.”

The five prisoners turned slowly to face Erik. They stood glaring at him. With a show of supreme unconcern he sat down on the edge of the stone fireplace.

“I hope you are not thinking of doing anything foolish,” he said pleasantly. “The entire area is surrounded by troops, moving in on this hut.”

He smiled at Krueger.

“We knew we’d find you here, General.”

He watched them for a reaction. There was none. He knew they were still sizing him up, evaluating the situation. He had to keep talking. Keep showing them how much he knew about them. Make them think he knew much, much more. Keep them from thinking and appraising their position correctly.

“In fact,” he continued, “we know quite a lot about you. And the whole
Unternehmung Werwolf.
You’ve been with the organization a long time, haven’t you, General? Two years, isn’t it? By the way, did you like your quarters in Poland any better than the ones in Thürenberg? In Czechoslovakia?”

He kept talking. And watching. They were listening to him. They
had
to be wondering. But they were good. They did not betray their reactions.

“Incidentally, General.” Erik’s voice took on a confidential tone. “Your horses, all one hundred and twenty of them, they’re all being rounded up. Since they were Wehrmacht property, they are, of course, the property of the United States Army now.”

One of the girls quickly glanced at Krueger; then immediately caught herself and stared straight ahead. The general’s expression did not change.

“It’s quite a haul, all told,” Erik commented quietly. “Quite a blow to your superior officer, SS Obergruppenführer Hans-Adolf Prützmann, I’d imagine, losing Sonderkampfgruppe Karl like this.”

He looked straight at Krueger.

The German officer returned his gaze. His lips drew back in a tight smile. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly.

“I congratulate you,” he said, his voice firm and even. “We had not expected to hold out forever, but we did not look for capture this quickly.”

He looked toward the crippled man, then back to Erik.

“Will you permit my executive officer, Hauptmann Schmidt, to sit down? His leg cannot support him for long.”

Erik nodded.

“Of course. Sit down, Captain.”

Schmidt drew one of the stools to him and sat down, his braced leg sticking out stiffly. The others watched him. The girl next to Krueger made a small move with her hand behind her neck, her eyes fixed on Erik.

“The girls,” Erik asked. “Are they administrative personnel? Or are they trained for field duties?”

Krueger made no answer. Erik nodded to the girls.

“You may take your hands down,” he said. “Clasp them in front of you.”

The girls glared at him defiantly.

None of them moved.

The Road to Schönsee

The jeep came hurtling down the narrow forest path, slammed around the corner onto the road without slowing and raced toward the little town of Schönsee.

Don was tensed over the wheel. As he sped past, he hardly noticed the small group of men walking on the road shoulder in the direction from which he had came. They were carrying farming implements. One of them, who wore a dirty leather cap, was pushing a bicycle, an old rucksack strapped to the handlebars. The bike had no tires.

The jeep negotiated a sharp curve. Ahead the road was straight. In the far distance a column of vehicles could be seen approaching.

Don rammed the gas pedal to the floorboard. The jeep literally flew down the road. . . .

He didn’t see the little group of men with the bike turn down the forest path into Schönsee forest. . . .

The Hut

Erik smiled pleasantly at the young Werewolf girls.

“Suit yourselves.” He shrugged. “I only wanted you to be a little more comfortable.”

With deliberate contempt one of the girls spat on the floor. It was a melodramatic, childish display, and yet a chilling gesture of insolence and defiance.

Krueger smiled a thin smile.

“I am afraid my secretarial staff does not think very highly of American officers,” he said.

“In that case their taste is not as good as yours, General. I understand you are very fond of roses.”

Krueger regarded his adversary attentively. A look of speculation crept into his eyes.

Erik recognized it. It was the how-much-does-this-man-know look. He racked his brain to dredge up every scrap of information he’d wrung from Plewig. What else? If only he’d let the guy ramble on. . . .

“And, of course, Armagnac,” he said with nonchalance. “Now there I agree with you. It’s great. Too bad it looks like you’ll have to go without it for a while.”

Krueger watched him with a faint smile.

“You seem well informed on my personal tastes,” he observed. Almost imperceptibly he moved his head.

Erik didn’t miss it. He’s listening, he thought. He’s beginning to wonder why we stand here bullshitting. I can’t lose him now! Aloud he said:

“Of little importance, General. I agree.”

He made himself comfortable on the edge of the fireplace.

“Frosting on the cake. Of course, the more significant details
are
more interesting. I had quite a fascinating talk with a certain gentleman recently. I believe you know him. Reichsamtsleiter Manfred von Eckdorf?”

For the first time Krueger couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Von Eckdorf?

“Yes. Just before he died.”

The Road to Schönsee

Don skidded his jeep to a halt diagonally across the road, blocking it, forcing the oncoming column to stop. He saw with satisfaction that it was an I & R platoon convoy. Armored cars. Top firepower. A jeep came racketing to the front of the column and screeched to a stop. A first lieutenant jumped from it before it was fully halted and strode toward Don. Two GIs covered him with their tommy guns.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the lieutenant shouted angrily. “Get that fucking jeep out of here!”

Don faced him urgently.

“Lieutenant! I’m a special agent. CIC—Counter Intelligence. I’ve got a buddy back there in real hot water. I need your men. Follow me. Immediately!”

The lieutenant stared at him. Then he grinned.

“CIC, huh? The ‘Christ I’m confused’ boys! Real true to form, aren’t you?”