Order of Battle Read Online Free PDF Page B

with the broken wood were a number of crude gold bars! As one the men looked toward Kratzer. And frozel
    The SS major was contemplating them regretfully. His Schmeisser machine pistol was aimed directly at them.
    “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said softly.
    Two brief staccato bursts from the submachine gun raked in short arcs across the men.
    The bullets cut them in half. One of the SS men stared in disbelief at the bloody entrails spilling out of his torn abdomen into his hands, before he collapsed across his comrades.
    A flock of black crows in a nearby tree took wing in alarm—and flapped away with raucous cries of protest across the bleak fields.
    Willi felt the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. His knees were suddenly weak. He forced himself to swallow. He stared at the SS major.
    Holy Mother of God, he thought, they were Germans! They weren’t just Jews—they were Germans!
    Kratzer’s face was without emotion as he looked intently at the three bodies. For a split second Willi had the illusion that the man’s eyes were mere jet-black hollow pits. Against his will his own eyes were drawn toward the lifeless bodies. Again he felt the bile rise in his throat. He seemed to have difficulty getting enough air.
    Kratzer was unaware of him. He stared raptly at the bodies. He walked up to them, taking small, mincing steps. He prided himself on the fact that he was an expert in detecting fakers. But he was also very efficient. There was no need for any Genickschuss. The three men were all dead.
    Kratzer suddenly became aware of Willi. He seemed to read the young man’s thoughts.
    “Willi! Come here,” he ordered quietly.
    Willi joined him. He was still shaken.
    “They knew where we are going,” he said. “We can’t afford to have rumors spread around that twenty million Reichsmarks in gold can be found in Rattendorf.”
    He is right, of course, Willi thought. He was getting hold of himself again. He felt a little ashamed. He’d almost gone to pieces.
    Kratzer kicked the gold bars with his boot.
    “Teeth!” He grinned. “A hell of a lot of teeth!”
    He laughed coldly.
    “The Jews are not all bad,” he said. “There’s a kernel of gold in most of them.”
    He laughed again. A chilling sound.
    “And enough good little Jewish kernels will help the Third Reich survive. We’ll see to that.”
    He turned to Willi.
    “Come on. Let’s get the rest of it on the truck. The sooner we get to Rattendorf, the sooner we can return to Thürenberg. . . .”
    The old wood burner made good time rumbling down the dirt road. Willi was driving. It was a beautiful afternoon. There were only a few gray clouds in the sky. Or was it smoke from the crematorium? . . .
    Kratzer was dozing beside him. Willi again began to whistle softly his old favorite nursery tune that Mutti used to sing: “ Du kleine Fliege —”
You little fly,
When I catch you,
Then I’ll tear out your little legs.
Then you must hobble
On your hams—
Then you’ll never again get to your home.
    He gave it up.
    For some reason his mouth was dry.
Berlin
    2337 hrs
    The Berlin Stadtmitte —the city center—was in flames. An RAF bombing raid had just rained down destruction upon the German capital. Many buildings had. been severely damaged by the high explosives; some, like the big, fashionable Adlon Hotel at the corner of Unter Den Linden and Wilhelmstrasse, were ablaze. But the Propaganda Ministry down the street was relatively undamaged.
    The mortally wounded city was fighting for its existence. Fire trucks, ambulances and military vehicles roared through the rubble-strewn streets, where soldiers, civilians and firemen were trying desperately to swamp the raging holocaust, and Red Cross workers, wielding their heavy utility daggers, were tearing and hacking and digging at the smoking debris in their efforts to reach the dying and the dead trapped below.
    The flames from the remains of the Chancellery licked toward the now empty night sky and were mirrored in