Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

sir,” the corporal shouted.

“Get this bastard back to his cell. Get him his breakfast.”

“Jawohl, mein Herr,” Kruger snapped.

Stawitzky looked down at Canaris, then shook his head and left the interrogation room.

Kruger hurriedly untied Canaris’ hands and legs, yanked him painfully to his feet, and started him toward the door. The other corporal appeared. He smiled.

“It’s all right, Hans. I will take the prisoner from here.”

Kriiger hesitated a moment, but then shrugged. “Take the little traitor. The sight of him turns my stomach.” He shoved Canaris aside, then left.

“I am Corporal Binder, Herr Admiral. I think your treatment will begin to get better now,” the man said reasonably. He looked like some young big-city executive, only with a uniform.

He took Canaris’ arm and led him out of the interrogation room and down the corridor to his cell.

This was some sort of a trick, of course. A clever method to make him slip up and perhaps tell this one something the others couldn’t get from him.

One of his suits, freshly cleaned and pressed, was laid out on his cot along with clean undergarments, a clean white shirt, and a tie. His shoes had been cleaned and were aligned neatly at the foot of his cot.

“There is fresh warm water for you. As soon as you have cleaned yourself and gotten dressed, I will bring your meal.”

The corporal turned and left the cell, locking the steel door behind him. |

Canaris stood in the middle of the tiny room for a long time, staring at the clean clothes. Gradually he realized that his cell had been cleaned as well. There were fresh bedclothes on his cot.

He went to the water bucket. There was a small piece of soap in the warm water. Beside the bucket was a towel and washcloth as well as his shaving things and a small mirror on a stand.

He turned and glanced toward the door. Were they watching him? Were Stawitzky and Kruger having their little laugh now?

What were they trying to do to him?

Of course, if he was going to be tried soon, they’d want to keep up the sham that he had been treated well here, especially if they were uncertain as to how the trial might come out. If he actually was acquitted and was set free, with apologies, there would be hell to pay. He’d make damned sure of it.

He peeled off his shirt and began to wash, the soap and water sensuous on his emaciated frame.

Lunding tapped.

Canaris glanced toward the wall. It would wait, he told himself as he continued with his bath. Lunding would understand.

His hands shook, so he did a poor job of shaving, nicking himself twice in the process, but he did feel much better. Much fresher. He got dressed in his clean clothing and then tapped for Lunding.

“Interrogation easy. Breakfast coming. No leg irons or handcuffs. Talk later.”

“Be careful,” Lunding signaled.

Canaris climbed up on his bunk and sat there, his knees together, waiting for his promised meal. His stomach was so empty it was hard to sit still. He almost always felt nauseous these days from the lack of food. But this morning he felt worse than he ever had.

It was well after ten before Corporal Binder returned with a small stool which he set down in front of Canaris. He went back out into the corridor and returned, bearing a large tray laden with a bottle of wine, a large iron pot filled with a thick, rich stew, and a small loaf of heavy dark bread.

Canaris’ mouth filled with saliva as he smelled the wonderful odors.

“I am sorry there is no butter in the camp at the moment. Even the commandant has none for his table,” Binder said.

Canaris tore his eyes away from the food and looked up. He was shaking. Binder smiled.

“Take your time, Herr Admiral. The Kriminalrat wishes to speak with you later this afternoon. But until then, you will be left alone. When you are finished, you may signal, if you wish, and go out to the exercise yard.”

“Why … why …”

Binder smiled again. “I only follow my orders, Herr Admiral.

But the stew is very good. I promise you. I had some myself.”

He turned and left the cell.

Canaris looked at the door. Were they watching him now?

Watching to see if he would attack his food like an animal?

He turned back to his tray, poured a glass of the red wine, which was surprisingly good, and then tore off a small piece of bread, dipped it in the stew, and slowly ate it, the wine hammering his stomach, nearly making him vomit.

He looked up at the door again and smiled. He would not give the bastards the satisfaction of watching him get sick.

Slowly he ate the stew and most of the bread, and he drank more than half the bottle of wine. His stomach finally settled down somewhat, and although the food and drink were far too rich for him in his present condition, he managed to hold the meal down.

For a long time after he was finished, he sat back, his mind, as well as his body, numb. But then he had the urge to be outside, and he got up and rattled his door.

Binder came almost immediately, “May I go out for a few minutes?” Canaris asked.

“Of course, Herr Admiral,” the corporal said.

Canaris got his overcoat, then went with Binder down the corridor and outside, two SS guards coming out with him.

He stood just outside the doorway for a moment or two. One of the guards lit a cigarette; he offered it to Canaris, who started to refuse, but then shrugged and took it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Jawohl, Herr Admiral,” the guard said respectfully.

Canaris looked at him in amazement. It had to be the trial. If he were to be acquitted, Stawitzky would have this good treatment to fall back on.

He turned and slowly headed across the exercise yard. The morning was gray and overcast. There was still something of the winter chill in the air. Canaris