The Haigerloch Project

“I want you here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning Precisely! Understood?” Harbicht's voice was suddenly sharp and authoritative. He had, of course, no intention of wasting more time on the miserable little wretch, but it never hurt to let them sweat — literally and figuratively.

Staudinger bobbed his head.

“Gewiss, Herr Standartenführer—certainly.”

“You know what we shall be — ah — discussing.” Harbicht waved a hand in dismissal. “You may go.”

“Thank you, Herr Standartenführer. Heil Hitler!”

He was gone.

Harbicht turned to Lieutenant Rauner.

“Get me the commanding officer of Sector 47-R,” he snapped. “At once!”

“Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer!”

Rauner hurried from the room.

Harbicht felt uneasy while he waited for his call to come through. He drummed his fingers on the desk top. Something he could not pin down was gnawing at the edges of his mind. Was the action just reported to him designed to test the strength of the Westwall in that particular sector — several units having been pulled north just that morning to oppose the French assault on the Siegfried Line? Possible. Or did the operation have a different purpose?

His thoughts were interrupted by the single shrill ring of his telephone. He grabbed the receiver.

“Harbicht!” he barked.

The voice on the phone sounded distant. Guarded and formal.

“Hier Major Alpers—Major Alpers here.”

“Alpers — what the devil is going on in your sector?” Harbicht demanded.

There was a slight pause.

“I am addressing Standartenführer Werner Harbicht? Gestapo?”

“Ja!” The word exploded into the phone.

“Herr Standartenführer, I am not familiar with—”

Harbicht interrupted the officer.

“Major Alpers,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I shall say this only once. I suggest you listen — and listen carefully. I have personally taken charge of security in the Haigerloch-Hechingen area seventy-five kilometers east of your sector. Is that understood?”

“Selbstverständlich — naturally, Herr Standartenführer, but—”

“Wir sitzen auf einem Pulverfass!” Harbicht broke in. “We are sitting on a powder keg! I want to know about everything that occurs in a hundred-kilometer radius from here. I want to know of every pin that drops. Is that clear? I have the authority to demand your full cooperation. Or do you wish to contradict me?”

“No, Herr Standartenführer. Certainly not, Herr Standartenführer.” A note of alarm had crept into the officer's voice. “I–I, too, am concerned about security, of course. That is why I–I merely wanted to—”

“I am waiting for an answer to my question, Major!” Harbicht's voice was cold.

“A combat patrol, Herr Standartenführer,” Alpers said quickly. “Strength, twenty to thirty men. Not an effort in force. They have been repulsed — with heavy losses — retreating across the river.”

“Any prisoners?”

“No, Herr Standartenführer.”

“Major Could it have been a cover for a penetration attempt? Could the patrol have been an infiltration escort?”

“Infiltration, Herr Standartenführer?” Alpers sounded surprised. “I do not believe so. No one was observed.”

“I see. I want you to send out patrols, Major. Cover an area up to twenty kilometers behind the lines.”

“Herr Standartenführer, we are — not up to strength. We—”

“I don't care how you do it, Major!” Harbicht exploded. “Use your clerks. Your cooks if you have to. But I want those patrols out! At once!”

He slammed the receiver down.

15

Sig stared at the two men looming before him. Both seemed middle-aged, dressed in coarse clothing with dirty, scuffed boots. Obviously farmers. The man with the shotgun wore a stained leather cap.

Sig clenched and unclenched his fingers He was surprised how fast his arms, held high above his head, were becoming numb. Defeat soured his mouth. They had barely begun their mission — and they were already caught….

The burly man with the shotgun never took his eyes from his captives as he spoke to his companion, his voice grim.

“Get Karl and Anton,” he said. “Bring them here. Los!”

Without a word, the man turned on his heel and hurried toward the dark shapes that were the houses of Langenwinkel.

The man with the shotgun glowered at his two prisoners.

“If you have ever seen a roebuck with its belly blasted open by a shotgun, you won't move an inch,” he drawled. “I do not know who you are, but I will blow you wide open if you try anything, the both of you!”

He looked from one to the other.

Sig's mind was in turmoil.