Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [44]
Cray had only been able to get within a block of the building. Ein- heit and Borgward trucks in camouflage paint with black crosses on their doors passed a checkpoint where Wehrmacht soldiers looked at the identification cards of all drivers. Part of the armory had been destroyed in a bombing raid, but the portion that remained was still being used as a storehouse. The armory was surrounded by concertina wire, and soldiers patrolled the exterior of the building. Many important buildings in the Reich were now being patrolled by Werksschutzpolizei, the Factory Protection Police, who at this point in the struggle were the old and infirm or were pubescent boys. But this Leipzig armory still commanded regular troops, and a good number of them, and they were well armed. Cray had found no way to penetrate the wire and the patrols. He hobbled along the street.
When a troop truck passed, its wheels throwing mud, he felt the eyes of the driver on him. Cray reached down to the cobblestones for a discarded tin can, running his fingers inside the container, searching for anything edible. He licked his fingers. The truck's driver did not look a second time at Cray.
Cray passed an antiaircraft battery, four soldiers manning a Flakvierling 38. Next to the flak crew was a twisted skeleton of the last AA battery that had tried to defend the armory against Allied dive- bombers. The Reich thought the armory still worth protecting. Down a side street ten refugees stood with their hands out toward a bonfire. When one of them threw a broken wood siding onto the fire, a pillar of sparks rose skyward.
Three blocks from the armory Cray turned toward the Parthe River. He passed a coal yard, ash capping each mound of coal, resembling a miniature Alps. The yard was guarded from looters by two Protection Police who gave Cray no notice. He passed a row of five gutted trucks, reduced to blackened hulks in a bomb raid. Then came a machine shop, a bindery, and a glassworks, all intact and operating, slits of light coming from under their doors. Workers' shadows were visible on blackout paper on the windows. The sweet scent of brewery malt turned Cray's nose. Their city was devastated, yet Leipzigers could still run a brewery. He grinned quickly at the thought of a beer, his teeth flashing like a half- hidden knife.
On the riverbank were the remnants of a warehouse, hit long ago. Brick pickers and iron scavengers had been through it, leaving only a concrete foundation, burned and fractured timbers, and scattered brick and glass shards. Glass crunched under Cray's feet as he moved across the warehouse floor toward the water. He stepped around a pile of broken barrel staves. Ash partly covered a stack of rotting gunnysacks. The American walked carefully in the grainy purple light, leaving the warehouse by wooden steps that went down to the river. He crossed gravel, then passed through damp grass as he neared the water. He stabbed his shoes into the mud for traction as the riverbank steepened.
The veil of darkness was beginning to obscure buildings across the river. Most of the structures had been damaged, and brick walls bad spilled into the river, forming rough piers of rubble. Smoke rose from a few stacks across the river, and wind whipped the haze away. Power lines crossing the river were still up. Blackout curtains hid the window light from occupied buildings, and as night fell, the black city's gloom became palpable.
Defenders usually overestimate the value of water. Cray was guessing that he would be able to approach the armory from the river side. He removed the scarf and his jacket, then gripped the branch of a small elm tree that grew next to the river, and lowered a leg into the water.
The Parthe was shockingly cold. Yet Cray let himself sink into the river, and he shoved himself away from the bank. He idly kicked his feet, doing most