Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [127]
Katrin's voice was oddly calm, "We were just out on our bicycles."
"I will not ask again," the captain said. "Give me your papers."
Cray still carried the documents manufactured by the Colditz escape committee. He moved his hand toward his jacket pocket.
Then the captain recognized him. He barked, "Don't move, you." He stepped forward, and pushed back Cray's cap with his pistol barrel. The captain smiled meanly. "I'll be damned, Jürgen. It's the chateau killer. I'll be goddamned."
The driver—a corporal—stepped back to better cover Cray with the submachine gun. "Let's kill him now, Captain. It'll be easier to take his body back than him back."
"Maybe the general will want to talk to him."
"This American is too dangerous, Captain. You heard the same briefing I did. Stand back and let me do it. The lady, too, for all that matters."
The captain appeared to think about the suggestion. He had a smooth face, with a nose as straight as a blade and thin, bloodless lips. He asked Cray "Do you have weapons on you?"
"A few."
The captain laughed. "I would imagine so. Get up against that wall and spread your legs. You too, lady."
Cray stepped to the wall, spread out his hands, and leaned against the stones. Sergeant Kahr's farmhouse was down the lane, and was dark. Cray could see some of the goat shed behind the house, leaking strings of light through the siding. Katrin stood beside Cray, her arms out. She glanced fearfully at him. The corporal moved closer, his weapon roaming between Cray and Katrin.
The captain pressed his pistol into the small of Cray's back, then Cray could feel the man's hand begin with his boots.
The SS officer said grimly, "Here's a knife." He held it up to show the corporal. "I wonder if it's the famous one, the one you used at the chateau."
He continued his search, yanking Cray's pistol from his belt. He tossed it away, and it skittered on the mud road. After he had patted Cray's back, he moved to one side to rudely explore the crotch of Cray's pants.
"Nothing here you don't know about, that right, lady?" The captain laughed again. "All right, get over to the wagon." He stepped against the wall to roughly shove Cray toward the Kübelwagen. "Get going."
And those were the last words he ever said. The tines of a pitchfork emerged from the captain's coat, three of them in an even row, sliding out of him. He looked down at his coat, his jaw drooping, his eyes wide with the puzzle.
From the corner of his eye, Cray saw Ulrich Kahr at the handle of the pitchfork. Run through thrice, the SS captain lifted his gaze to Cray.
"Sir?" the corporal asked. Katrin blocked his view of Kahr.
The captain sagged. His hand tried for Cray's shoulder for support, but Cray was no longer there. He had lunged for the corporal. The Schmeisser was coming around, but not fast enough. Cray's fist hit the corporal squarely on the nose, the sound as loud as a shot. The corporal collapsed instantly.
Kahr had pulled out the pitchfork as his victim had fallen. Carrying the pitchfork, he walked along the wall to his driveway, then onto the road. He stood over the corporal. "He's still alive."
Gripping his fist in his other hand, Cray grinned at Kahr. "The corporal's face is going to hurt when he comes around. As much as my hand hurts, if there's any justice."
Kahr stared down at the SS corporal. The Schmeisser lay in a puddle. "When he wakes up, he talks his head off about this farm, and me and you.
"Yeah, well..."
Ulrich Kahr jabbed the pitchfork into the corporal, lifted it out and did it again, then again, moving the tines around, stirring the corporal's bowels like soup. He lifted the pitchfork, and blood dribbled down the tines. "No sense risking that."
Cray stared at him. "Christ, he was just a boy. There wasn't any need to do that."
"What were you going to do with him?"
"Well. .."
"I just solved a big problem for you." Kahr pointed the bloodied tool at Cray. "I want my son back. We've made our deal. You go and do your goddamn