were doubtless fearful as they entered their enemy’s territory. It occurred to Skorzeny that the Soviets could win a decent prize by breaking their word and snatching up him and his cargo.
A Russian soldier emerged from the darkness. He waved a white flag and Skorzeny slowed. An American- made Jeep came into view and the soldier made the obvious signal that Skorzeny and his column were to follow.
They drove on for a couple of miles and stopped by a large field. Skorzeny grinned when he saw the neat rows of T34 tanks. A Soviet colonel appeared. He was wearing the insignia of the NKVD, which was the Russian government’s instrument of enforcement, state security, and terror. In Skorzeny’s opinion, they were the equivalent of Himmler’s Gestapo and SS.
The stone-faced colonel identified himself as Pyotr Orlofski. He looked in the back of the truck and grunted. Sergei Bunyachenko, Vlasov’s second in command, glared at him in feral fury. The others jammed in the truck either moaned or wept when they saw the Russian who grinned at them. Orlofski had metal teeth that made him look monstrous. Skorzeny thought he smelled urine. Maybe one of the prisoners had pissed himself, or maybe it was just too a long drive to hold one’s bladder. He didn’t care.
“Ah, if it isn’t Bunyachenko, my old comrade,” the Russian colonel said and spat in the man’s face. He pulled his Tokarev pistol from his holster and stuck under Bunyachenkov’s nose. Skorzeny thought the Russian was going to kill the traitor right then and there. “We have so much planned for you. The rest of your life will be quite dramatic, just not very long.” The Russian laughed and brought the butt of the Tokarev down on Bunyahenko’s nose, crunching it. Bunyachenko groaned and blood poured down his face.
Skorzeny understood what the colonel had said, but didn’t let on. He’d been improving his Russian skills but preferred to keep that fact his little secret. He did, however, agree with what Orlofski had just done. He had no sympathy for traitors.
Orlofski switched to German. “We will identify them, if you don’t mind.”
“They’re your toys now. Do whatever you want.”
The colonel thought that calling them toys was hilarious. He signaled and a squad of NKVD troops emerged. They opened the back of the truck and dragged the captives out and onto the ground. The soldiers were armed with the virtually indestructible Shpagin machine pistol that was so popular with the Red Army.
The colonel made a fuss of identifying the prisoners, comparing each prisoner with a photo, sometimes kicking them when he felt like it. Finally, he was satisfied. “Your new toys are there in the field. When you hand over Vlasov and the other traitors, the rest of the tanks will be delivered to you.”
Skorzeny nodded. He knew the terms of the agreement and didn’t need to be reminded. His drivers would pick up five hundred tanks today, another five hundred in a week, and a thousand more when Vlasov was delivered a week after that. They were the older model T34/76 and not the newer version with the 85mm gun. No matter, the T34’s would be upgraded by German technicians and driven by skilled drivers who would make mincemeat of the American army. It galled him that the German military machine could not any longer make tanks in sufficient quantities because the Yanks and Brits were so efficient at bombing the factories that made them. Still, two thousand T34 tanks would be a nasty surprise for the Allies. He’d been told that the original request for five thousand had been whittled down.
Germany had captured a number of T34’s and had turned them against the Soviets with impressive results. Unfortunately, many had been destroyed by German soldiers who only saw the Soviet-made tank and ignored the German markings. Pitting these and the remaining earlier ones against the Americans would solve that little problem.
The trucks had arrived and German soldiers, all tank drivers spilled out. They and the Russians glared at each other with mutual and undisguised hatred. Skorzeny was glad he’d insisted on their being unarmed. They formed up and moved out to the field where the tanks were parked. A few moments later the first of them rumbled down the road and soon a long column of what had been Soviet armor rolled down the dirt road towards Germany.
The Russian shook his head. “I still don’t believe it, Skorzeny. Yesterday we were killing each other and today we do business.”
“And tomorrow we’ll be killing each other again.”
Orlofski laughed savagely. “I look forward to it.”
With the Piper still grounded, Jack was assigned scouting and flank support by Whiteside. He didn’t mind. Even though it was much more dangerous, it was better than being a glorified clerk in Stoddard’s headquarters. At least he’d think that way until somebody took a shot at him. Levin told him he was nuts for putting himself in harm’s way.
Jack and the long-suffering Snyder led a small column of vehicles that, along with Morgan’s Jeep, consisted of a pair of half-tracks each carrying a squad of infantry. There was concern that the fighting would intensify once they finally reached the German border, now only a couple of miles away. They drove slowly and kept their eyes open for anything unusual. The last thing they wanted was to run into a German ambush or a mine. The area was densely forested in spots, leading some to wonder if they were driving into more bocage territory. There was a lot of forest in this area and intelligence said it extended well into Germany.
The distinctive sound of German machine-gun fire erupted to their left and from behind a line of thick shrubs. There was a pause and they could hear screams, then more shooting. Snyder radioed in their situation. Jack paused. He had a terrible premonition.
“Snyder, drive towards the shooting.”
Morgan stood and grabbed the. 30 caliber machine gun mounted on the Jeep, cursing that they didn’t have a separate gunner. The Jeep erupted onto a field. A score of German soldiers were methodically shooting at a crowd of civilians who were trapped by fences. The Germans were laughing as they used their machine pistols to casually slaughter their helpless victims, which, like the previous massacre they’d found, included women and children. The Germans turned in shock as the Jeep roared down on them from less than a hundred yards away at more than forty miles an hour.
Jack was nearly thrown from the Jeep as it crossed the uneven ground, but he held onto the machine gun and managed to opened fire, raking the nearest Germans and hurling a couple of them to the ground in bloody heaps. Other Germans turned to fire at him, while a few started to run away. Bullets slammed against the unarmored Jeep. One hit the engine and the vehicle came to a sudden halt. Jack fought for control and somehow managed to spray bullets and drop a pair of Nazis who were running towards him. The half-tracks appeared behind him, their machine guns and the infantry inside shooting down more of the enemy.
It was enough. Most of the surviving Germans threw down their weapons and raised their hands, while a handful managed to run off into the bushes. Jack jumped off the Jeep and took control of the situation. There would be no repeat of the killing of the sniper if he could do anything about it, although executing these murderers seemed like a great idea.
Some of the survivors of the massacre ran up to the Americans, hugging and kissing them, while others moaned and wailed beside their dead and wounded. Medics quickly appeared and began to treat them as best they could. An old French woman picked up a German machine pistol and was about to kill a Nazi prisoner when she was stopped.
“Tell her we’ll see the fucker hanged,” Jack told one of his men who spoke fairly fluent French. “But not until after a trial.”
The French woman began to weep. She said the Nazis had killed her husband and daughter. “Maybe we can let her pull the rope,” Snyder suggested.
“Not a bad idea.” Jack noticed the Germans’ insignia was different. They were SS, but not the usual ones. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“We are Germanic-SS,” a stone-faced enemy sergeant replied in decent English. “We are volunteers come from the Netherlands who’ve come to France to protect the Reich.”
Jack was incredulous. “You mean you guys are foreigners whose land was conquered by the krauts, and you actually volunteered to join the SS and kill innocent people?”
The Nazi stiffened. “They are enemies of the Reich and are racially impure. Their deaths are of no
