The Haigerloch Project

Rauner eyed him maliciously. He'd be damned if that peasant would make him look incompetent in front of Harbicht. With measured steps, he walked behind Oskar. Suddenly he grabbed one of his arms and twisted it to his back.

“One last time,” he snarled “What is your name?”

Oskar did not answer.

All at once Rauner pulled his twisted arm upward with as much force as he could muster. There was an audible snap as Oskar's shoulder left its socket.

Harbicht was watching him intently. A low, hoarse groan escaped the man's throat, but it was quickly cut off. Pain flooded his eyes and the muscles in his strong jaws knotted. He did not turn. He stared straight ahead, eyes hooded. Interesting. Not bad for a curtain-raiser…

Rauner let go of the arm. It fell, hanging useless at Oskar's side.

“Now, now, Obersturmführer,” Harbicht said, his voice mildly reproachful. “The man is quite right. We do not have to ask him his name. We have his papers, do we not?” He turned to the desk behind him. “Ah. Yes. Here they are.” He studied them briefly. “Weber,” he said “Oskar Weber. Foreman at the railroad yard at Hechingen.” He looked at Rauner. “You see, Obersturmführer, we already have that information.” He turned back to Oskar. “You must forgive the Obersturmführer, Herr Weber. He is impetuous.” He shook his head regretfully. “I am afraid you have been hurt needlessly. This time.” He looked at Rauner. “Have this man taken to the infirmary,” he instructed him. “Have them take care of that arm of his I will talk to him there.”

The infirmary was antiseptically white and clean. There was the usual pungent odor of disinfectants. Glass cases with glass shelves and glass doors held trays of gleaming instruments and rows of bottles and jars. Two stony-faced female attendants in white smocks were on duty. A variety of medical equipment and machinery stood neatly against one wall. The only thing out of place was a massive wooden chair with a high back and long, broad arm-rests standing in the middle of the room.

Oskar stood, stripped to the waist, held by the SS guards as Harbicht entered.

“Ah!” he said “They are taking care of you. Good. That shoulder of yours must be set”. He nodded quickly to the attendants. The two women walked over to Oskar. They looked at him dispassionately. One of them took hold of his shoulders, the other grabbed his limply dangling arm. With a quick, powerful pull, she jerked the arm forward and upward.

Oskar winced. For a second he screwed his eyes tightly shut. Then he looked at Harbicht.

Harbicht nodded. “You stand pain well, Herr Weber,” he observed quietly. There was a trace of admiration — and regret — in his voice. “Perhaps we should find out just how well….

Again he nodded, his head moving with a quick, jerky motion. “Strip him!” he said

The attendants at once obeyed.

Harbicht was watching closely. It was always a moment of humiliation. He did not want to miss it. He was interested in seeing how this man Weber would handle it. He could make use of that knowledge.

Oskar stood stock still. Like a mannequin. Letting the attendants manhandle him. Interesting. The man had enough sense to know when resistance was useless — and enough obstinacy not to cooperate.

They pulled off his shoes. On one foot the man was wearing a black sock. On the other — nothing….

Harbicht started. The man wore only one sock. Why?

A fleeting thought invaded his mind. There was another annoying puzzle still unsolved. A pair of abandoned boots. The boots left behind by the missing Decker. It still gnawed at him. And now this. A missing sock. Why? With the unerring instinct of a good investigator, he knew that the two ridiculous incidents were nevertheless significant. It greatly irritated him to know also that he had little chance of ever learning why. He resented being defeated by a pair of boots and a sock….

Oskar stood naked. Roughly the women attendants pushed him down in the large chair. Quickly — with the expertness born of practice — they fastened a leather strap from the back of the chair around his chest. They clamped both his wrists to the long arm-rests with two more straps, his hands lying flat on the ends of the boards And they trussed his feet to the sturdy legs of the chair. He sat naked. Utterly helpless. Utterly vulnerable…

Harbicht contemplated him….

A railroad worker. It would be he who had engineered the ambulance feint — although he surely had not thought of it. It would be he who had rigged the crates filled with bricks that he brought to Haigerloch. It was he who had been the brawn at the communications-center takeover. Had he also planned it? Harbicht dismissed the idea. It had to be the work of the two verfluchte enemy agents….

He felt uneasy. The nagging feeling just below the level of consciousness still disturbed him. Something was not right about the sabotage mission. What was it?