The Haigerloch Project

With a little gesture of anger, Erika plunked the basket of eggs down on the table. Tossing her blond hair, she turned and joined her mother at the stove.

Dirk watched her. He was concerned. He did not want to leave behind any kind of antagonism — which might be expressed to the wrong person at the wrong time. Or the right time, depending on your point of view…. When he and Sig left, he wanted only two feelings to linger. Goodwill — and greed. He would have no trouble with the second, but the girl presented a dilemma in regard to the first one. How in hell could he overcome her hostility?

Eichler was frowning in concentration over a scrap of paper, writing on it with a stubby, blunt pencil which he periodically wet on the tip of his tongue. Arithmetic obviously was not one of his strong points.

Dirk turned to the woman.

“We must thank you for your hospitality, Frau Eichler You and your daughter have been most gracious” He looked at his watch. “But we must soon be on our way. I want to be in Lahr first thing in the morning. And with only my broken bicycle for the two of us, it will take a good deal of time.”

Eichler looked up from his labors.

“We can fix your bicycle for you,” he said.

“You can?” Dirk asked eagerly. “You have extra tires? Tubes?”

“We do.” Eichler licked his lips. “They are of first quality. But they will not cost you too much,” he added quickly.

“That would be great,” Dirk said. “Say — perhaps you even have an extra bike? We would purchase it. We need it badly — and we would be willing to pay well for it.”

Eichler thought. He nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said. “I have such a bicycle.”

Erika whirled on her father.

“No, Vati!” she cried. “It is Konrad's!”

Eichler refused to look at her.

“He will not need it,” he stated flatly. He glowered at the table top. “He was killed,” he explained quietly. “My son. Only last September. In Holland.” He looked up at his daughter defiantly. “Better his bicycle should help his family than turn to rust in the barn!”

Erika turned away, bitterness in her face.

Dirk had a sudden idea. It was worth a try. It had been the only big action in Holland at that time.

“Herr Ortsbauernführer,” he said solemnly, “you said your son fell in Holland? In September?”

“Yes.”

“Was it — was it at Arnhem, by any chance?”

Eichler looked at him in surprise.

“Yes. It was. Arnhem.”

Dirk shook his head in wonder.

“Unglaublich,” he said. “Incredible…” He looked at Eichler. “I was there!” He pointed to his arm. “That is where I got mine!”

Eichler stared at him.

“Konrad was a Panzergrenadier—in the Armored Infantry,” he said slowly. “With the Tenth SS Panzer Division.”

“Oberführer Heinz Harmel's Frundsberg Division!” Dirk exclaimed. “Of course. Their home station is Stuttgart. Wehrkreis V!”

A sudden bond had sprung up between Eichler and Dirk. The two women were listening with evident interest.

“You were in the same division?” Eichler asked.

“No,” Dirk answered regretfully. “I was in the Ninth SS Panzer Division. Same corps, though. The Hohenstauffen Division. Under Standartenführer Walter Harzer. We were on Frundsberg's right flank on the river.” He shook his head. “Those boys from the Tenth — they fought like demons.”

The two women had drawn near, listening to Dirk.

He rolled up his left sleeve. The long, deep scar running across his elbow looked red and shiny fresh.

“I nearly left an arm and a lung there,” he said, patting his side.

The Eichler woman stared, wide-eyed. She crossed herself. “Josef-Maria,” she mumbled. The daughter took her mother's arm. She looked at the scar in fascination.

“It would have been a small loss against the one you suffered,” Dirk said gravely. He rolled down his sleeve. “Imagine,” he said. “Your son and I. Both in the Second SS Panzer Corps!”

He looked earnestly at the woman.

“I am sorry your son had to give his life for the Fatherland, Frau Eichler. But you can be proud of what he did.”

The woman sniffed loudly. Once. She turned to her daughter. “Perhaps Konrad's Feldkamerad would like some more hot coffee,” she said.

“Ja, Mutti” Enka lifted the pot from the stove She filled Dirk's cup.

“Dankeschön,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He smiled at her. For a moment their eyes met.

The animosity was gone from her face.

“Bitte,” she said.

Dirk looked away. He did not want the girl to see the relief that would certainly show in his eyes…. Hell — in another few minutes he could have her in the sack! He sighed to himself. It would be some time before that sort of pleasure became a priority matter again.

Eichler turned to his daughter.

“Erika. Go to the barn and get the bicycle,” he said. “And the set of fine new tires and tubes.”

“Ja, Vati.”

The girl hurried from the room.

“I have made the total count,” Eichler said ponderously. “Including the bicycle. Perhaps you had best look it over.” He handed the paper to Dirk.