The Haigerloch Project

He was a civilian. A farmer. He stumbled — caught himself and stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, nervously clutching his grimy cap in big, callused hands, close-set eyes in a waxen face watching Harbicht with apprehension. Rauner closed the door behind him with a thud of finality and silently took up position beside it.

Harbicht glanced at the clock on his desk. It was precisely 0800 hours. Monday, March 26. He smiled inwardly. Rauner was learning to be punctual.

Deliberately he moved a file folder in front of him. He opened it. He began to study it, frowning. He was gratifyingly aware of the effect he was creating in the man standing in front of him. The man had been brought to Hechingen the night before. On orders from Harbicht, he had been treated coldly, roughly — and given no reason for his arrest and detention. His belongings, his suspenders, his shoelaces had been taken from him. He had undergone a humiliating search, and he had been kept in a bare, brightly lit cell overnight with nothing to eat. It was standard procedure to soften up a suspect before interrogation.

Harbicht took his time. The longer he could keep the man uncertain, giving his imagination ample opportunity to conjure up countless dark fears, the easier it would be to make him talk.

Finally Harbicht looked up, his face stern.

“You are Ortsbauernführer Gerhard Eichler from Langenwinkel?” he asked curtly.

Eichler started He bobbed his head eagerly. “Zu Befehl, Herr Standartenführer!” he croaked subserviently. “At your orders! I—”

“Just answer when you are spoken to.”

Eichler cringed. Harbicht consulted the file.

“During the night of the twenty-third/twenty-fourth you issued special rations to two men in your home.” He looked up, fixing Eichler with a penetrating, hostile gaze. “Two enemies of the Reich!”

Eichler started convulsively. The last shade of color drained from his pasty face, leaving it a sickly gray. His legs began to tremble.

“No, Herr Standartenführer!” he cried, terror in his voice. “No, I—”

“Did you or did you not give food to two men?” Harbicht shouted at him.

“Yes, but the—”

“Silence!”

Eichler froze in mid-word. Horrified, he stared at Harbicht. The officer contemplated him coldly.

“You do not deny that you gave supplies to the two enemy saboteurs?” he asked. The tone of his voice was distant, yet murderous.

“I–I did not — I ha-had no… I—” Eichler stammered in terrified confusion.

“The men were there?”

“Yes, but—”

“You heard the firefight with the enemy patrol that brought them across the river?”

“I–I did I went—”

“You knew who the two men were!”

“No!” Eichler was shaking uncontrollably. “No — I—”

“You were expecting them!”

“No! Please, Herr Standartenführer. Please! It was nothing like that!” He was wringing his cap in sweaty hands. “Please…”

Harbicht sat back in his chair. “Perhaps you had better tell me the whole story, Eichler,” he said “Every detail of it. Then we shall be able to determine if you are going to — eh, survive this little interrogation — a matter that is still not absolutely certain….”

Eichler gaped at him, speechless.

“Now, Eichler!” Harbicht snapped impatiently. “I am waiting.”

And Gerhard Eichler, Ortsbauernführer of Langenwinkel, talked. Talked as if his life depended on it. He was certain it did….

Standartenführer Werner Harbicht felt cheated. The farmer Eichler had been no contest at all. Harbicht enjoyed the process of breaking a man's will. He liked the feeling of power it gave him. But Eichler had offered no such pleasure. He had talked. At once. He had poured out every detail of his sordid little escapade into the black market The man was nothing but a stupid, avaricious hog. Beneath contempt.

Harbicht had had to cut through the feverish flow of words to get the few facts of any value. Eichler had been so intent on playing up his own alertness and patriotism that his account of his exploits that fateful night overflowed the borders of fact.