Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [62]
Cray smiled to prove it. "Americans are friendly people."
"Enge, you are stupid even for the Wehrmacht," Keppler said. "You and I are already dead. This man here just needs to decide exactly when."
"What town is that?" Cray nodded north.
"The outskirts of Potsdam," Enge answered. "I can see the white steeple. I've been in that church."
"And then what town is next?"
"Berlin is only a few kilometers beyond." Enge paused and squinted down the road. "Something is coming." He pointed. "A motorcycle and sidecar."
The motorcycle had rounded a bend in the road. The two riders bounced high as the motorcycle found pocks in the road.
Cray reached into his boot and brought out a two-edged knife that gleamed like evil in the gray sunlight. He removed the clip from the Mauser and put it in his pocket, ejected the shell from the chamber, then handed the rifle to a startled Enge. He abruptly caught Sergeant Keppler around the neck, the knife at Keppler's throat, but the blade hidden in Cray's hand.
"Tell them I'm your major, and that I've been injured." He put his other arm across Private Enge's shoulders. Cray let his head slump to his chest. He pressed the blade into the skin of Keppler's neck.
"What if they don't believe me?" Keppler's voice was a frightened, ragged whisper.
"Make something up," Cray said. "The minute I sense they are doubting you, I'm going to cut your throat from ear to ear. So you'd better put your heart into your acting." He dragged his left foot as if it had been injured, and sagged so that Keppler and Enge had to lean into him to support his weight. They each held one of his arms.
Keppler gasped, "The knife, it's cutting into my skin." "Not yet it's not," Cray replied under his breath as the motorcycle closed on them. "You won't have any doubt when it does, though."
He held the knife high on the blade, the blade and handle hidden by his hand. His left arm was around Keppler's shoulder, and his hand at his neck. Cray's head seemed to hang loosely.
The BMW and sidecar stopped in front of the three walkers. The passenger was holding a Schmeisser, its barrel pointed at the ground just in front of Cray. Both driver and passenger wore rubberized motorcycle coats and shiny metal ornaments that read FELDGENDARMERIE around their necks. They were military field policemen. The BMW's engine popped and roared.
"Get out of my way," Keppler yelled at them. "I've got to get to the aid station."
A bit defensively, the sidecar passenger said, "We've been ordered to look for the American commando. He's been..."
Keppler growled, "I know all about him. Everyone does. Do the three of us look like an American commando? Now get out of my way or you'll be responsible for my major's death."
"I need to see your..."
With his free hand, Keppler brought out his identification card and waved it at the policemen. "Give me your motorcycle. We'll take the major back in the sidecar."
The driver shook his head. "This belongs to my unit."
Keppler half-stepped toward the motorcycle. "This is life or death."
The driver shook his head. "I hear that every day. It's all life or death."
"I'm giving you an order," Keppler barked. "Get off the motorcycle. I'm commandeering it."
"Goddamn know-it-all lifer sergeants." The driver turned to his sidekick. "Hang on." The driver accelerated the engine and kicked the motorcycle into gear. The rear tire spun gravel as it passed Cray and the Germans.
The driver called over his shoulder, "L.M.A., Sergeant." The abbreviation was universally understood in the German services, and was short for Leck' mich am Arsch—lick my ass.
The motorcycle sped away to the south. Cray brought his hand away from the sergeant's neck. The American said, "Shakespeare it wasn't, but not bad." He pulled the Mauser away from Enge and inserted the clip.
"You weren't really going to kill Sergeant Keppler, were you?" Enge's eyes were wide. "With that knife of yours?"
"Nah. I was pretending." Cray's knife had disappeared.
Keppler said, "Enge, you are dumber than a stone."
"I'm going on alone,"