D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

“One learns to keep one’s own counsel if one wishes to remain above ground,” Rainer replied, his eyes fixed on the sparkling reflections inside his tumbler.

Emboldened by the brandy, Thorley leaned closer to Rainer. “Who did this? Who killed them?”

“Are you sure you really want to know? And will your people act on it?”

“You asked them to send someone, they did. So why are you playing coy with me?”

Rainer exhaled. “Forgive me. I’ve become far too paranoid for my own good. May I ask you a question?”

Thorley nodded.

“What did your people tell you?”

“That the man who would contact me was a member of—” he stopped and looked around, afraid to mention the name.

Rainer raised his hand in an assuring gesture. “Please, you have nothing to fear. I trust my men implicitly. You may speak freely.”

“They told me that you belonged to Der Weisse Adler, The White Eagle, and that this was an organization of junior officers dedicated to ending the war and bringing democracy back to Germany. Do I have that right?”

“You do.”

“They also told me that they had no idea why you wanted someone sent.”

“And now you do.”

“Yes. Now I do. And I wish to God I didn’t.” Thorley paused to take another generous swallow of the 180-proof brandy, then asked the question that had nagged him ever since they’d left the site of the massacre. “How long have they lain there?”

Rainer gulped the rest of his Akvavit and poured another two fingers into his tumbler. “Our medical man estimates that they’ve been dead for about six weeks.”

This last revelation surprised Thorley. “My God, if what you’re saying is true, that means they were here—”

Rainer nodded. “Since the before the beginning of our campaign against the Russians. Exactly.”

“But you chaps have been in Finland all this time, why has it taken you so long to find them?”

“We’re not in Finland, Major, we’re more than twenty kilometers inside Russia.... I would say your government owes you an explanation.”

Though the rebuke was a mild one, Thorley understood its import. Britain’s policy regarding the Winter War between Russia and Finland had been one of emphatic refusal to become involved, a fact at odds with what they had just seen. But before Thorley could comment, someone turned up the volume on the radio as a popular song began. The tune was mournful and the voice was at once familiar and strange, a husky feminine contralto that could turn a man’s knees to water.

“Vor Der Kaserne, vor dem grossen Tor. Stand eine Laterne und stedt sie noch davor. So wollen wir uns wiedersehen, Bei der Laterne woll’n wir stehen. Wie einst Lili Marlene, wie einst Lili Marlene....”

Marlene Dietrich. A woman without peer.

Some of the soldiers began taking up the tune on the second verse, and very soon most of the men were singing it.

“A sad song for a sadder age,” Rainer said, smiling wistfully.

“It’s popular in Britain, too.”

Rainer’s expression became inquisitive. “Is it really?” He pursed his lips, then laughed. “I guess we all have someone waiting for us.”

“Family?”

“Just Gerda, my wife. We wanted to have children right away, but the Führer’s war got in the way.”

The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

“Does she know about—”

Rainer shook his head. “No. And the less she knows, the safer she will be.”

“That must be an awful burden, keeping secrets like that.”

Rainer’s glass was empty again, but he made no move to refill it. “And I would bear it for eternity if it would keep her safe.”

“What about the Gestapo?”

“Those Schwein! If I didn’t have to deal with them, I wouldn’t make the effort to spit on them.” Rainer’s eyes bulged as he spoke these last words in a low voice taut with anger and bitterness. “It is they who will bring down Germany. It is they who sully our honor.”

A chilling thought ran through Thorley’s mind. “Was it them? The SS? Did they do this?”

“No,” Rainer said, shaking his head and reaching for the Akvavit. “It wasn’t them. It was—”

Rainer stopped speaking and listened. A sound like that of a banshee screaming dopplered overhead. And then the explosion came, rocking the mess hall to its makeshift foundation.

A soldier stood up, his face flushed red from fear and excitement. “IVAN!”

The room erupted and Thorley felt the hard fist of panic punch him in the solar plexus when another banshee screamed overhead. It sounded closer.

They were being shelled.

“Bloody fucking Ruskis!” Rainer bellowed.

The next explosion took out part of a wall and caused a stampede for the door. Thorley snatched up his cap when Rainer grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic, propelling him toward a side door. In moments they were outside.

Soldiers were running every which way in a blind panic to find shelter. More incoming rounds shrieked overhead and one smashed through the roof of a building. It flew apart in a cloud of wood splinters and dirt, and Thorley felt Rainer tug on him again. “Come on!” he screamed.

They ran with other soldiers toward a series of trenches. At best, it was marginal protection, and none at all if it suffered a direct hit. Suddenly, a lorry careened around the side of a building and sped toward them, weaving erratically as the panicked driver fought to maintain control.

A shell hit the lorry dead center, blowing up the cab, shredding the driver, and setting it on fire. But instead of checking its momentum, the explosion only seemed to accelerate the wreck in its headlong rush.

More shells screamed earthward, stitching a line of craters that passed within fifty feet of where Thorley and Rainer lay sprawled in the dirt.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Thorley shouted, trying to