The Haigerloch Project

To the right of the entrance stood a wooden shed, a lean-to built against the cliff wall. Nearby a maze of wires and cables converged on a small house. That would be the communications center. The public-address system. Telephone and radio control rooms. Oskar had mentioned it.

Flanking the cave entrance at some distance from the cliff were two large buildings. The nearer one whitewashed, four stories high, two stories in the steep-peaked roof along with an attic, judging by the windows. That would be the former Gasthof Schwan — the Swan Inn. Conference rooms Billets for the top scientists on the project Professor Dieter Reichardt Security staff. A pile of lumber was stacked in front of it.

Opposite, a half-timbered building set on a massive stone foundation six to eight feet high, its crooked, unevenly set timbers giving it a patchwork look. In front of it stood several pieces of construction equipment. A cement-mixer. A brick-saw. A pile of wheelbarrows…

On a siding two spurs removed from where the men were working, Dirk could see a lone boxcar. It was obviously sealed. Two SS guards could be seen on the near side. He assumed there would be two others on the far side. What the hell was in that car? Hitler's family jewels? Unobtrusively he squinted to make out the routing chalked on the side of the car. He could read one word. It seemed to be the place of origin. STADTILM. It meant nothing to him.

Farther out was the high barbed-wire fencing. He could see the guardhouses flanking the boom, barricading the entrance, and the patrolling SS soldiers. Even as he was watching, a staff car was being cleared through the checkpoint. It drove to the large white inn and he saw two SS officers dismount and briskly walk into the building….

They had almost finished the unloading. Dirk and another worker were heaving a heavy crate up on the stack. Momentarily the man lost his footing, and in an effort to steady himself without letting go of the crate, he banged his elbow into the sharp corner of a crate. He swore a lusty oath. He began to rub his elbow, the left one, as he walked away.

Suddenly one of the SS guards leveled his gun at him.

“You there!” he shouted. “Come here!”

The worker walked over to him.

“Roll up your sleeve. The left arm!” the SS man ordered.

The worker looked puzzled. Since when was an SS guard even remotely concerned with the injury of a foreign worker? He began to push up his sleeve.

“Is fine,” he said. “Only little—”

“Maul halten!” the guard snapped. “Shut your mouth! Let me see your elbow!”

The worker complied.

One of the other SS guards, observing, motioned to another worker.

“You!” he called. “Over here! Roll up your left sleeve!”

Dirk was watching. He felt his legs grow limp. His heart pounded in his throat. The two workers summoned by the guards were of the same age. The same build. The same coloring. His!

They knew!

They were spot-checking.

He turned his back to the guards. He did not want to meet their eyes. He began pushing at the crate stack, aligning it. His left arm suddenly burned with pain. He resisted the overpowering urge to rub it. Any second he expected a rough voice to summon him. The skin on his back crawled….

Sig watched the guards in horror, heard their commands. He felt himself go cold. If they challenged Dirk….

Frantically his eyes searched for Oskar. There! At the railroad car. He wanted to run to him. But he did not. He walked over.

“Oskar!” he whispered with hoarse urgency. “Get us out of here! Now! They are on to Dirk!”

Oskar started. His eyes grew wide. He shot a quick glance toward Dirk at the stack of crates. He pulled a big whistle from his pocket and gave a shrill blast.

“Los-los-los!” he shouted. “Let's go! Quickly! Back to work. We're behind schedule! Los!”

As the laborers began to climb onto the railroad cars, the SS guards took up the cry.

“Schnell” they shouted. “On the cars! Move!”

The men piled on. Dirk ran for the car with Sig. The guards took up their posts — and the cars, empty of freight, slowly began rolling along the branch-line tracks out of the Haigerloch security area.

Dirk felt sick to his stomach. He did not know how. He did not know how much….

But — they knew!

As soon as the SS guards dropped off the train at the barbed-wire perimeter, he rubbed the scar on his elbow. Rubbed and rubbed and rubbed….

* * *