Nothing happened.
“I’m serious. Come on out right now or I’ll be forced to shoot,” said Freytag.
He was about to edge forward a couple more feet when suddenly the light behind him vanished. Instantly, darkness enveloped Freytag.
“Quit screwing around Zabel. Turn the bloody flashlight back on,” snapped Freytag, his eyes still fixed on the line of trucks.
Silence answered him.
Freytag turned about and let out a frightened yelp. Zabel was gone. Fumbling into a jacket pocket, he brought out his lighter and lit it. The flame flickered in the blowing wind. Looking down, his blood instantly turned colder than the snow around him. He could see a thick trail of blood and footprints in the snow leading away. The footprints seemed to be dragging something heavy through the freshly fallen snow. Raising his head slightly, Freytag could see that the trail led away from him and towards the trucks. Hesitation and fear gripped his mind. He knew he should run and call for help, but then it might be too late. Zabel was in danger. Screwing up his courage, Freytag decided to follow the trail.
Moving over beside the first truck, Freytag paused for a moment, happy to be out of the wind. Gripping his rifle with both hands, he turned sharply around the side of the truck expecting to find Zabel and whoever had attacked him standing there. Instead, only darkness and more footprints greeted him. Staying close to the trucks, Freytag edged his way down the line of vehicles. The sound of his heart pounding away in his ears had long drowned out the roaring wind. Making sure his finger was on the trigger, Freytag pushed on. He was beginning to fear that he had been too slow to react that Zabel’s attacker had already gotten away. He was about to give in and go for help, when he saw a pair of legs sticking out from underneath the next truck in line. Carefully, he bent down and looked at the body lying face down in the snow. Flicking his lighter, Freytag could see blood seeping out from underneath the body. Placing his lighter away, with his rifle held firm in his right hand, Freytag reached down with his left hand and rolled over the body. He leapt back when he saw that it was Zabel lying there with a look of sheer horror on his face.
A chill ran down Freytag’s spine. Taking a quick look around to make sure that he was alone, Freytag lit his lighter once more. The flame struggled to stay alight in the winter storm. Looking down, he could see that Zabel’s neck had been broken. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, looking up at Freytag, begging for help. As he moved his lighter down his friend’s body, he saw that his greatcoat had been ripped opened and that his chest had been cut wide open.
His head began to spin. A second later, bile from deep down in his stomach shot up into his mouth. Turning his head, Freytag emptied his stomach onto the ground. An uncomfortable feeling of being watched from the shadows crept into Freytag’s mind. Suddenly, self-preservation took over. Freytag had to get away. He had to get help before it was too late. Standing up, he turned to run when suddenly a dark shape stepped out from behind the truck and stood in his path.
Freytag’s heart began to race in his chest. He blinked his eyes a couple of times. Standing there looking as if nothing had happened was Zabel. His weapon hung loosely in his left hand.
“Zabel?” said Freytag, sure that he was losing his mind.
“Yes,” replied Zabel.
“Is it really you?”
“Yes, of course, it is, Heinrich. Who else would it be?” said Zabel, with a disarming smile upon his face.
The hair on the back of Freytag’s neck shot up. Something wasn’t right. Zabel was lying dead in the snow. The man in front of him couldn’t possibly be Zabel. Feeling his mouth turn dry with fear, Freytag felt as if he were trapped in a horrible dream and that he would wake up at any second and be back inside the barracks, safe and warm.
Although it only took mere seconds, to Freytag they were the most terrifying seconds of his life.
In an instant, Zabel’s outward demeanor changed. His smile evaporated and a look of cold indifference spread across his face. Fixing his gaze on Freytag, his attacker shot his right hand out until it wrapped tightly around Freytag’s throat. Dropping his rifle, Freytag’s hand scrambled to pull the man’s hand from his neck. Like a boa constrictor killing its prey, the imposter effortlessly crushed Freytag’s throat. Only a sickening gurgle escaped Freytag’s lips as his life was squeezed out of him. A second later, it was over.
Letting Freytag’s body fall to the ground, the man took a look around. Satisfied that he hadn’t been seen, he reached down and pulled out a long, sharp bayonet from its sheath on Freytag’s belt. Stepping over to the fence, he effortlessly sliced through the chain-link fence and then placed the bayonet back. Grabbing Freytag’s lifeless body by the collar, the man dragged Freytag through the gap cut into the fence. He had gone perhaps fifty yards from the camp when two darkened shapes approached through the driving snow. With a smile on his face, the man dropped the body to the ground and watched as the closest animal edged forward, smelt the body, placed its massive jaws around the head of the dead man and then dragged it back into the darkness. The sound of crunching bone and flesh being torn apart filled the air. Turning his back on the creatures, the man walked back inside the camp. Resisting the urge to hunt and feed once more, he knew that he had work to do. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused his mind. It was getting harder by the hour. Fatigue was taking its toll on him. Remembering his training, he cleared his mind and then felt more at ease. It wouldn’t be long now. Picking up a discarded rifle, he turned on his heels he started to run towards the barracks with a scream of terror on his lips.
Muller heard the cry and began to run.
A second later, Freytag almost ran headlong into Muller. Grabbing the soldier by his shoulders, Muller turned the man and looked into his face. His eyes, filled with fear, were as wide as saucers.
“What is it? Get a hold of yourself, man. Tell me what happened, Freytag,” said Muller.
“Back there…someone cut a hole in the fence and killed Zabel,” said Freytag, pointing back towards the fence.
Cocking his weapon, Muller said, “Show me.”
With Freytag beside him, Muller advanced towards the fence line. Stopping to check the hole, Muller saw that there were footprints leading in and out of the camp. Partisans, flashed in his mind.
“Zabel is under there,” said Freytag, pointing towards the nearest truck.
“Stay behind me,” said Muller as he cautiously approached the vehicle. Bending down, Muller grabbed his flashlight and turned it on. Cursing, he saw Zabel’s body lying face up in the snow. His jacket was open and Muller could see the deep red gash in the man’s chest. It was just like the four other men. Killed and then gutted. His skin began to crawl. Something wasn’t right. Standing up, Muller started to holler at the top of his lungs. Within seconds, men from other parts of the camp began to run towards the sound of Muller’s voice.
Behind Muller, Freytag stood off to one side with a slight grin on his face. Fear was his biggest ally. All he had to do was stay alive for another day or two. After that, his salvation would be assured. His stomach grumbled. He was getting hungrier by the hour. His metabolism on this frozen planet was working in overdrive. He couldn’t risk killing another man. It was too early for that, but he could volunteer to guard the remains. He would eat soon enough. The thought was enough to calm his system. Changing the expression on his face to one of sheer horror, Freytag moved over by the sergeant and began to babble to anyone who would listen that an intruder had killed his friend that an intruder was somewhere out there in the dark coming and going as he pleased. Like a wave, alarm and angry accusations began to race through the growing crowd of frightened soldiers.
No one was going to get any sleep tonight.
23
Weather Station
An old wash bucket served as the only place to go to the bathroom in their small cell. For privacy, an old moth-eaten blanket had been draped around it.
Shaw felt for Anna more than himself or Bruce. Until
they left the camp, he had no doubt that this was as good as it was going to get for them. Finishing his business, he moved over back by the stove. The roof of their building creaked and moaned each time the strong northerly wind whipped through the camp. He half-expected the roof to rip off at any moment.
“Captain, you got to see this,” said Bruce, looking out the snow-speckled window.
Shaw moved over and watched as German soldiers seemed to be running from all directions. A corporal stood with his back to the blowing wind, trying to get the soldiers into formation. Several men looked scared and glanced nervously over at their building.
“I wonder what’s happening?” said Bruce, not liking one bit what he saw.
“Whatever it is, I suspect that we won’t have to wait long to find out,” said Shaw. His gut told him that he needed to be wary. Whatever was going on did not bode well for them.
Taking a seat, Shaw poured himself and Bruce fresh cups of coffee. He took a long sip and then sat back wondering how long it would be before the Germans would want to speak with him. Barely five minutes later, there was a loud knock at the door. Shaw walked over and opened the door. Standing outside covered in snow were two young soldiers; their eyes glared up at Shaw.
One of the men pulled down his scarf from his mouth and said, “Get dressed. You are to come with us right away.”
“What’s going on?” Bruce asked Shaw.
“They want me to go with them.”
“I didn’t like that German’s tone. Be careful, Captain.”
Shaw nodded his head, grabbed his parka and stepped out into the blustery night. Turning to the soldiers, he asked, “What has happened?”
“As if you didn’t know,” said the soldier as he grabbed and then slammed the door closed in Bruce’s face.
Anna instantly sat up and looked about. Seeing Bruce standing by the closed door, she said, “What is going on? Where is Captain Shaw?”
“I don’t know what is going on. The Germans have taken Captain Shaw, and they seem really worked up about something,”
Running a hand through her tangled hair, Anna stood up and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. Looking out the window, she could see a couple of German soldiers standing guard outside of their building. They tensely held their weapons in their hands and seemed to be standing back away from the building as if it were somehow dangerous to them. Seeing a soldier point at the building and then load a bullet into his rifle, a cold shiver ran down her spine. Saying a silent prayer on her lips, Anna feared that things had taken a turn for the worse and that things would spiral out of control before too long.
Shaw walked between the two soldiers with his head bent down trying to keep the bitterly cold wind off his face. He could make out through the swirling snow that he was being led back towards the mess hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several more German soldiers standing about holding their weapons tight to their chests; their eyes followed him, blaming him. Stepping inside the building, Shaw pulled his parka hood down, brushed off the snow from his body and then followed the soldiers over to the far side of the building where the four mutilated bodies had been laid out. A feeling of dread slipped into Shaw’s body when he saw the SS Major standing there looking down at the remains.
“Captain Shaw,” said Wagner, “I’ve been told that you speak German fluently. Is this correct?”
“Yes, I speak German,” replied Shaw. He knew the man’s rank; he just didn’t feel like showing any member of the SS any respect.
“Come here and tell me what you see,” said Wagner, waving Shaw over.
Remembering to mask his feelings this time, Shaw walked over and stopped by Wagner. Looking down, he was stunned to see a fifth body laid out on the floor. He had been killed and butchered just like the others. The body was still covered in fresh snow and blood. He’s just been killed, realized Shaw.
“Do you know this man, Captain?” said Wagner.
“No, I do not,” replied Shaw, wondering what was going on. Had they all missed something? Was there still a killer loose inside the camp?
“His name is Private Rudiger Zabel. He was killed and butchered by partisans who infiltrated this camp, not half an hour ago. What do you know about this attack?”
“I know nothing about this.”
“You are lying,” yelled Wagner. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. “They were here to either free you or to kill us in our sleep like they did to the Germans lying about on the floor of this room.”
Shaw looked into Wagner’s eyes. What he saw, he didn’t like. The man seemed to be seething in hate and anger. All it would take is one little push and the man would fall off the precipice into madness.
“I know nothing about this or any other attacks. I’ve told Major Vogel all that I know and even that isn’t much.”
In a flash, Wagner drew his pistol and aimed it straight at Shaw’s head. “Tell me what I want to know, or I am going to kill you as a spy and saboteur,” snarled Wagner.
Shaw took a deep breath to calm his wildly beating heart. He didn’t want to die, but his options were limited. He had nothing he could say that would mollify the livid SS officer. Looking Wagner in the eyes, Shaw stood up straight and steeled himself for the inevitable. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to plead for his life. The Sturmabnnfuhrer could go to hell, thought Shaw.
Suddenly, a voice boomed out, “Lower your weapon and step back from the prisoner.”
Turning his head, Shaw could see Major Vogel standing there, his jacket caked in snow. Standing beside him with his submachine gun aimed at Wagner was Sergeant Muller.
“This man is a prisoner of the German Army, not the SS. Therefore, he is under my protection. So I repeat myself, lower your weapon and step away from my prisoner,” said Vogel, his voice leaving no doubt that he would kill Wagner if he disobeyed.
Shaw could feel the tension in the room rise by the second. The look of hate in the two men’s faces for the other was unmistakable.
Wagner angrily placed his pistol back in its holster and then stepped back from Shaw.
Vogel brushed the snow from his jacket and then ordered Muller to escort Shaw back to his room immediately.
Shaw didn’t know if he should thank Vogel or not. He had come within a hair’s breadth of being shot. His gut told him to be quiet. If he said anything now, it would only further exacerbate an already strained relationship between the two officers.
Doing up his parka, Shaw felt the cold air push against his body as he walked back under guard towards his building.
From out of the dark a snow covered woolen hat came tumbling across the ground. Bending down, Shaw grabbed it and then stood up. A man stepped out of the driving snow to take the hat. Looking into the man’s face, Shaw’s stomach instantly knotted. The man standing in front of him wasn’t a German soldier. Confusion gripped his mind. Once again he was looking into his brother’s face. Barely a yard away, Andrew’s sparkling brown eyes looked back at him. He stood there in his perfectly pressed naval blue uniform.
“Thank you,” said Andrew as he held out his hand for the cap.
Shaw stared at the man. His voice, his mannerisms were Andrew’s. He stood there unable to speak. You’re dead. I got the telegram from home. You shouldn’t be here, screamed inside Shaw’s confused mind.
Seeing the look in Shaw’s eyes, Andrew suddenly reached over and pulled the cap from Shaw’s hand. In the blink of an eye, his face turned to stone. Stepping back, Andrew closed his eyes as if lost in thought. A second later, to Shaw’s utter disbelief, he found himself looking into the face of a young German soldier. Placing the snow-covered woolen cap on his head, the soldier smiled at Shaw, spun about on his heels and then ran off to join a couple of men as they made their way back towards the barracks. Seconds later, the blowing snow hid him from view.
Shaw stood there unable to comprehend what had just happened. He was tired, of that he had no doubt, but why did he keep seeing his brother’s face
on other people?
“Herr Captain,” said Muller to Shaw, shaking him from his stupor. “I must lock you back up.”
Turning to face Muller, Shaw wanted to ask who the soldier was, but found that he could not speak. His mind was still unable to comprehend what had just transpired. Simply nodding his understanding to Muller, Shaw was relieved to get out of the cold as he stepped back inside the dimly lit room. Moving as if in a dream Shaw sat down beside the stove and then stared blankly out the window. He never heard Bruce or Anna asking him what happened; he quietly sat there in a daze struggling to understand why he kept seeing his brother. Was he going mad?
Inside the barracks, Freytag removed his heavy greatcoat and then sat down at the end of his cot. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a dirty cloth and began to wipe the snow from his rifle. Looking about the packed room, he could see the fear in the soldiers’ eyes. It was happening just like before. With a grin on his face, the imposter looked around the room, trying to pick his next victim. He needed to eat, and the soldiers needed to die or be so incapacitated that they couldn’t interfere when it came time for him to leave. He would have preferred to have hidden in the woods until help arrived, but the bitter cold outside was something he was not used to nor trained for. Besides, he had a ready available food source where he was. He knew that it was best to stay where he was for now.
A young soldier with jet-black hair walked over and then sat down on the cot next to Freytag. He held an unlit cigarette in his shaking hand. The soldier was so scared that he had forgotten to light it. “What the fuck happened out there?” asked the soldier.
“Zabel and I heard a noise and went to investigate,” said the imposter. “I don’t know how, but we got separated in the dark and when I found him, Zabel was already dead.”
“Didn’t you see or hear anything?”
“No, not a thing, it was as if the partisans were ghosts. I think they can come and go as they please.”
Incursion Page 14
