clearly.”
Tornov didn’t comment that the binoculars were German and not Russian. He took them and placed his elbows on the top of the platform. “I can’t see anything.”
“Then step up a little higher. Don’t worry, they’re well out of range.”
Tornov did as he was told. “I still can’t see.”
The sounds of the rifle firing and the bullet impacting on Tornov’s head occurred almost simultaneously. Tornov jerked backward, dropped the binoculars, and slithered to the ground. Bazarian turned him over with his foot. The American bullet had penetrated just below Tornov’s right eye, creating an absurd three-eyed effect, and exited the back of his skull, leaving a gaping hole. Thank God the binoculars were undamaged, Bazarian thought as he picked them up.
Bazarian shook his head sadly as his driver and the others came running up.
“The poor man. I told him this was a dangerous place but he was brave and insisted on seeing for himself. He also told me he thought a periscope was a coward’s tool.”
The last comment was aimed at the officer whose comment Bazarian had shushed. It was common knowledge that the Americans had a sharpshooter with uncanny skills in the area. As a result, most observers had devised and used crude periscopes.
The soldiers nodded solemnly while Bazarian’s driver stifled a grin. He’d known Bazarian for a very long time.
Bazarian turned to his driver. “Anatol, bring me the colonel’s papers. I must see if there is anything important in them that should be passed on.” Or burned, he thought. “We will notify headquarters, of course, and bury the poor man here.” And I will get those divisions of Romanians, he added silently, and perhaps some others. Then we will settle with the fucking Americans.
CHAPTER 16
Steve Burke was delighted at the turn his great European adventure had taken, all the while admitting that he was perplexed by what he was discovering. The camp for Russian POWs had been established just outside the German city of Bitburg, which itself was just inside the border with Luxembourg. He was actually in Germany, and the thought made him exultant. He had convinced others at SHAEF that he would serve a good purpose if he went and interviewed Russian captives.
But, after interviewing a number of Soviet prisoners and reviewing the scanty records of others, what he was finding disturbed him. He was trying to sort it out as he walked near the stockade in the fading light of the mid-May evening.
“Colonel Burke?”
He turned and gasped. The thing before him was an apparition from hell.
“Oh dear,” it said. “I’ve done it again. I’ve gone and startled you, haven’t I?”
The accent was decidedly British and so was the uniform, Royal Air Force to be specific. The creature’s apology seemed totally without remorse.
“Only slightly,” Burke said, gathering his composure. “I was thinking and didn’t hear you come up behind me.” It was partially the truth. He had been deep in thought.
“Are you certain it isn’t the fact that I have no face?”
Burke wondered, was he being teased? The RAF officer before him lacked a nose and eyebrows, and his skin had the appearance of stretched and shiny rubber. There was little hair on his head and only lumps that might have once been ears. Burke glanced down and saw that the man’s hands were claws. Each hand had thumbs, but only one or two other fingers on each hand to oppose them. Despite himself, he shuddered.
“Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I was shocked.”
The man laughed. “Well, finally someone who admits the sight of me scares the shit right out of them. So many are so terribly polite and assure me they see abominations like me all the time and aren’t affected at all, which is patently a fucking lie. I am Major Charles Godwin and I would shake hands with you but I really don’t have any hands left to shake with. I know you’re a colonel, but don’t expect me to salute. I stopped that a long time ago as well.” He shrugged. “Just what the hell can anyone threaten me with, eh?”
Burke managed a grin. “Sounds fair. By the way, how did you know who I was?”
“Easy. You are the visiting Russian expert from the states. I looked you up because I wanted to ask you some questions and share some thoughts. Perhaps a drink might help things along.”
Burke thought that both were wonderful ideas. Godwin had parked his jeep just a short distance away and had a bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses in it.
“Cheers,” he said after pouring. “Now, before you ask or start wondering, I lost my face and some other very important body parts in 1940 when the Hurricane I was piloting was shot down by a Messerschmitt over Plymouth. Unfortunately for me, the Hurricane turned into a flamer before I could get out, and I had to actually land the bugger since there was serious doubt whether my parachute would open under the circumstances.” He bowed. “Thus, the medical marvel you see before you.”
Burke sipped his brandy. Martell, he thought, and Godwin confirmed it.
“Since I cannot fly, the military lords often send me on errands like this one, and I hope I have been valuable to them. I am currently serving as air liaison with General Montgomery. I do not speak Russian but you do. I would like to learn what you have found out about our imprisoned ex-allies. But first, I would like to know about the London you passed through. In particular, the riots. London is my home.”
Burke recalled the incidents all too well. For a while he had been in real fear for his life. The worst incident had occurred while they had been driving along the Thames Embankment in a caravan of vehicles that included Marshall. It had begun when they had turned right onto Birdcage Walk and headed toward Buckingham Palace.
“We weren’t actually going to the palace, just by it on the way to our living quarters after a day of meetings.”
At that point he said they had been blocked by an unexpected sea of angry humanity. They were confronted by thousands of men and women of all ages who bore signs critical of Churchill and the government, but, most particularly, they were against the war with the Soviet Union. They had been protesting in front of Buckingham Palace and were, he found out later, slowly but firmly being pushed away from the palace by the London police and right into the path of the American convoy.
For a moment, the crowd just stared at the short line of slow-moving cars, but then the vehicles stopped and started to back up. At that point someone in the crowd started yelling that the fucking Yanks were here and that the Yanks were the cause of it all.
Burke shuddered and took some more brandy. “Major, it then got horrible. They started pounding on the cars and rocking them. Rocks were thrown and some of our men got dragged out of their cars and beaten. I found out later that a couple of Americans were killed by the mob, beaten or trampled. The MPs protecting General Marshall opened fire and some of the rioters were killed as well. Then the rocks and bottles started really coming down. We got Marshall’s vehicle turned around and we tried to keep the other cars between his and the mob while he got away. It didn’t work all that well. They just flowed around us like water around boulders. Somebody punched in the car window right by me and I was showered with glass and some blood where the bastard had hurt himself.”
“Where were the police?” Godwin asked. “On the other side of the crowd, right?”
“Of course. They finally came and started fighting the crowd, which was now trapped between two lines of cops. Then someone in the mob started setting fires and they spread fairly quickly to a number of buildings nearby. I saw people-police and at least one American-get thrown into the fires by the rioters. It was unbelievable. After that, we finally got away.”
“Who was doing the rioting?”
“Everyone says it was socialists and left-wing radicals. I don’t think that’s entirely correct. Some of those people looked too middle class to be typical radicals. I saw a lot of older people, grandparent types. You know what I think? I think it’s true that a large number of Britishers are totally sick of the war and scared it won’t ever
