Mila 18 - Leon Uris [203]
“Run, you lousy bastards! Run! Run! Run!” Andrei screamed, spewing death into them.
A calmer Simon Eden picked his shots, sharp-shooting the stunned Germans. A hidden fire bomb came out of Tolek Alterman’s shirt and arched into an alcove filled with cowering SS. They shrieked out into the streets, trying to put out the flames devouring them.
“Scatter!” Simon commanded. “Alex! Tolek! Ana! Move, everybody! Go!”
The captives fled from the street.
“Sons of bitches!” Andrei screamed. “Sons of bitches! Die!” He tore down Zamenhof, looking for the terrified enemy. Bullets came back at him. He knelt and poured fire.
And then he was whirled around with a sudden impact that cracked his head on the side of a building. He slid to the sidewalk. On hands and knees he tried to fight to his feet, but he could not get up and it all became a blur. His face hit the sidewalk ... blood oozed from the corners of his mouth ... oblivion.
Chapter Four
“IDIOT!”
SS Oberführer Funk slapped Sturmbannführer Sieghold Stutze across the mouth. The Austrian winced, then came Stiffly to attention.
“Imbecile!” He slapped Stutze again, leaving streak marks on his cheek. Stutze stood at an even more ramrod posture.
“Swine!” Another slap.
“Herr Oberführer,” Stutze whined.
“Chased by Jews! Eleven SS men killed!” Whap! Whap!
“Herr Oberführer. We were attacked by fifty madmen!”
“Liar! Coward! Assemble your officers at the barracks immediately.”
“Jawohl, Herr Oberführer!” Stutze snapped his heels together. “Heil Hitler!”
“Get out of my sight, you worm.”
Horst watched the performance, somewhat amused. “It seems,” he said when Stutze had left, “that I detect flaws in the lofty theories of absolute obedience. Oh, I grant you that the German people are the most likely to succeed as robots, but we are still riddled with human frailties. Stutze is a coward, Schreiker a damned fool, Koenig a thief, and myself—well, I’d rather not go into that.”
Funk didn’t hear a word. He was too immersed in his own sudden dilemma. “Has the world gone entirely mad?” he said. “First Reinhard Heydrich is assassinated by Czech bandits, and now—this.”
“Yes, dear Reinhard. We shall all miss his noble soul,” Horst said.
Funk kept talking aloud to himself. “Ach! Himmler will have a wild tantrum when he learns about this.” He lit a cigarette and pressed his fingertips together in a rapid motion, noticing the nails needed trimming and cleaning. Better get it done. Dirt annoyed him. “Tomorrow I personally will direct operations to begin the liquidation of the ghetto.”
“Do you think that’s wise, Alfred?”
“What?”
“To go into the ghetto tomorrow.”
Funk took it as an immediate affront to his courage. He was no Stutze!
Before he could answer the challenge Horst held up his hand. “Just a moment. Today the Jews have burst another one of our pet theories like a bubble. They have discovered that we are not supermen at all. Hit a German with a bullet and he will drop dead like any other man. This delicious taste of blood after three years of torment will obviously spur them into greater efforts.”
“I have no time for your nonsense today,” Funk cracked back with the full cruelty revealed in his eyes. He was incensed with the very idea that the sub-human rabble could present an obstacle, but he did not wish to argue, for Horst had a needle under his skin and was prodding him.
“Do you have any idea of the Jewish strength?” Horst asked.
“What difference does that make!”
“A good general should know the weight of the enemy forces.”
“Enemy forces, indeed! Since when do we recognize Jews as a fighting force?”
“I should say that as of today would be a good time.”
Funk slammed his fist on the table. Horst refused to be intimidated and obviously was not going to be slapped around like the Austrian. Funk recalled why he had hated Horst von Epp in the beginning. That attitude of knowing something Funk did not know. That ability to operate on a level of shrewdness that eluded the stern, dogmatic, rigid SS devotion. Funk smiled faintly in an attempt to play the game with Von