Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [4]
Winge shoved Dietrich against the trestle and wrapped leather straps around his chest and knees. Lying on the board belly-down, Dietrich was then lowered to horizontal. The trestle was on rails. The executioner slid Dietrich forward until his head was through the lunette. The neck beam was lowered and secured with a metal clasp. The Gestapo agent removed the safety bolt from the upright.
On his stomach Dietrich could see the plank and surrounding stone floor, blackened by a century of blood. He fought for breath, trying not to sob.
The Gestapo agent moved around the guillotine's ground beam so that Dietrich could see him out of the corner of an eye. "Have you truly told us all you know about Joachim, Inspector?"
"I have," he whimpered. "I have nothing left to tell."
It was the truth. The Gestapo had broken him. Dietrich had told them all he knew about his brother, his family, his career, and his religion. He had known nothing about his brother's treason, but Dietrich had held back nothing. He was bitterly ashamed of his weakness, but he was helpless against them.
"Well, it hasn't made any difference anyway, has it? Get on with it, Sergeant."
Dietrich closed his eyes, blocking out the light for the last time. Winge stood motionless for a respectful ten seconds before pressing the button on the upright with his thumb.
With a searing squeal, the blade dropped in the post grooves. It fell for an eternity, for the blink of an eye.
And with a ringing crack, the blade stopped one inch above Dietrich's neck. The Gestapo agent had replaced the safety bolt.
"Not today, then, Inspector. Not today."
The executioner released the neck brace and pulled Dietrich from under the lunette. The detective was quickly brought upright. When the straps were released, Dietrich swayed against the sergeant, who seized his arm to lead him from the execution chamber and along the hallway.
Dietrich was propelled into his cell. He collapsed onto his cot.
From the cell door Rudolf Koder said equably, "We'll return again tomorrow. Right at noon. You may survive our next visit. You may not."
The door creaked shut. Dietrich pulled the vile blanket over him and brought his legs up against his chest. For twelve consecutive days he had been taken to the guillotine, then returned to his cell.
Dietrich groaned, tightening the blanket around himself and laying his cheek against the cold metal of the cot. His entire frame shook with relief and with dread. His thoughts came only in simple pulses. All he wanted was to get out of this cell. Or out of this life. He didn't care which.
2
THE POWs heard the crippled bomber long before they could see it. Allied planes based in occupied Italy now flew so often over the castle ninety miles south of Berlin that the prisoners could identify them by the pitch of their engines. This was an American B-25 Mitchell, and one of its engines was sputtering. Several POWs lifted to their toes for a better view.
"Stay in formation," shouted Lieutenant Gerd Heydekampf. "Close up there."
Heydekampf was five feet three, and was known by the POWs and his fellow guards as Dreikasehoch, three cheeses high. The lieutenant was wearing a greatcoat, short boots, and trousers with ankle-length gaiters, which the Wehrmacht had begun issuing that winter to conserve leather that would otherwise be used in the army's tall marching boots. He had a square chin and a gold front tooth. He was almost sixty years old, a reservist recalled to duty when the younger guards had been transferred to the front. Most Colditz guards were in their fifties and sixties.
"You there, Davis," Heydekampf ordered, pointing