Chapter 8
Monday, March 8th, 1943
Dortmund, Germany
Dekker was in his quarters, trying to catch up on the paperwork that had followed him from Poland when Brewster knocked and entered.
«Troop-train just came in, Herr Major,» The Hound announced.
Dekker's eyebrows and mental hackles rose at this formality from his Hound. In public, yes, but in Private?!! «Very good, Jimmy,» he said , rising and reaching for his cap. «Have a Car brought for me; I wish to meet their Commanding Offizier at the Station.»
«Jawohl, mein Herr,» Jim answered, grinning to himself. The Military Policeman with him scowled, for the Bondsman had apparently been telling the truth. The German had no time to say or do anything however, for Dekker was suddenly at the door and frowning at the MP.
«What is this…? What are you doing with mein Hund's Pistol?» Dekker's voice had gotten dangerously cold, drawing several other Bondsmen to the vicinity. The MP looked around himself, nervous now as he recalled what he'd heard of Dekker and his reputation.
«It is against Local Regulations…» the unfortunate man began, but he froze at the look on Dekker's face.
«I say that they carry them,» the Panzeroffizier snarled in anger. «You have five Seconds to return it; you will not interfere with any of my Men ever again. Is that clear, Feldwebel?» He stared the MP down as the man shakily returned Jim's service Colt. He got a jerky nod of the head and a snapped salute, then the MP fled before Dekker's wrath.
Brewster just looked around a minute. "Perelli, get a car for unser Oberstleutnant," he said in as calm a voice as he could manage right then, and looked back at Dekker. «Connolly is waiting down at the Station, Sir; the MP didn't see him.»
«Is that where you were, Jimmy?» The German's voice sounded casual, but there was an undercurrent of anger for those who knew him well to hear.
«Yes Sir; we figured that you'd want to know as soon as they got in. No one from the Station-master's Office has notified you yet, have they.» It was not a question; Brewster was certain of his ground here. The men in that office had seemed quite unconcerned by the train's arrival, even though they'd been asked – nicely – to let the incoming unit's new Regimental Commander know as soon as the first train got in.
Dekker sighed, and glanced at the car that had stopped just outside the barrack's door. «You know that they have not. But come; we will meet this new Officer, and see if Connolly needs rescuing also.» Brewster's cocky answering grin made Dekker smile as he slid into the car, followed by his Rottweiler. Perelli, he noted, was already in the front seat, beside the driver.
At the station the new troops were already starting to form up under the eyes of their officers, although these men looked somewhat uneasy. This was understandable, Dekker thought, for as he got closer he could hear several men arguing inside the Stationmaster's office. He started to head that way, flanked by his two Hounds, but he came to an abrupt stop as he saw the woman waiting there beside the office door, looking very unhappy.
«Fräulein Rachel?» Dekker called softly, not wanting his words to carry into the office; he carefully swallowed his surprise at seeing her here.
She turned quickly at his voice in a near panic: Who here would know her name? But the frightened look left her face as soon as she saw him. «Herr Major Dekker!» she gasped, nearly crying in relief. «How did you know we were here?»
«Shhh… I will tell you all, later. Müller is inside?» he asked, nodding towards the office and the loud argument. He thought that he could make out his friend's voice…
«Yes! That horrid Man…» she cut off with a startled cry as Dekker slammed the nearly shut door open into the wall. It hit so hard that the glass in the upper half cracked. He was already Not Pleased with said Station-master…
«Guten tag, Fräulein Rachel,» a man in an odd uniform softly called… Rachel smiled in sudden recognition.
«Herr Jimmy! You are still with him!» she said, pleased to see another friendly, familiar face.
«Oh, ja; Fräulein Rachel, this is Perelli, one of my Pack-mates. Perelli, this is Fräulein Rachel: watch over her. I've gotta go and back up our Superior; please excuse me, Fräulein.» Then Brewster was gone, vanishing into the tension-filled office to guard Dekker's back.
«Welcome to lovely, warm-hearted Dortmund, Fräulein,» Perelli said with heavy-handed sarcasm, but then he stopped and shook his head. «I'm sorry, Fräulein; that wasn't meant for you. I'll just be glad when we pull outta here. They like us about as much as we like them. We are glad your Group finally got here… You Folks are joining up with the 384th, right?»
«I think so,» Rachel cautiously said, but quickly added: «I do not really know; Steffan does not tell me of Military Matters. You will have to ask him to be certain.»
«Good Save, Fräulein,» this stranger… this Hund laughed. «Don't worry, you're not in any Trouble. Actually, you'll have Female Company if you are joining up with us. We have some Nurses – Bond, like Jimmy and me – that are traveling with this Unit. You'll meet them later… do you speak Englisch?»
She shook her head, confused now. «Nurses? What happened to…» she stopped herself abruptly. That might not be such a good question to ask here and now. But her… Companion?... temporary Escort?... just grinned wider.
«Unser Major sent Kevin… he's Second to Jimmy… back to where we were, to get her. He was going to leave her behind where she'd be safe and comfortable, and hope he'd get back there some Day. But he missed her Cooking too much; he's gotten spoiled by good Food, now. They'll catch up with us before we get to the Coast, or shortly after we get there.»
She seemed to waver ever so slightly on her feet, drawing a concerned look from her new escort. «Look, you must be exhausted, Fräulein. Why don't you go sit down on that Bench over there? I'll make sure no one bothers you, and that whoever you're with doesn't think you were trying to bolt or anything like that.»
«Danke,» she said, then grinned shyly. «Steffan knows that I will not try to run from him.»
«No more than Anna will from mein… Major, even if the Reasons are probably different,» Perelli said with a kindly-meant chuckle. «You just rest, Fräulein; this'll be cleared up shortly, whatever the Problem is. Then we'll get you Someplace where you can relax properly.» He turned his attention away from her then, monitoring the office. That situation seemed to be well-enough under control – there were no shots yet, at any rate – so Perelli let his mind wander a bit, wondering once more just where they were heading, and how soon they'd get there.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shocked silence fell in the office when the door slammed open. The Station-master was not pleased to see him, Dekker noted with a malicious grin that he quickly turned into a murderous scowl. «Oberleutnant Müller, what is the Problem here?» he snarled, making the Stationmaster pale even further.
Müller snapped to attention in the face of his clearly enraged Commander. «Sir! I have Authorization here, Herr Major, to move my Personal Goods, since this is a Permanent Change of Duty Assignment,» Müller explained, trying desperately to rein in his anger. It had never been a good idea to let one's temper run loose around Dekker, and being a friend wouldn't save him. «This Man refuses to unload my Household Goods, saying that that is not his Responsibility, but he refuses to have the Baggage Car unlocked so that my Men can unload it for me. He says that I do not have the proper Clearances, Sir. And, he says, the Train must go NOW, or it will be behind Schedule.»
Dekker turned burning eyes on the Stationmaster, who tried to glare back stubbornly. «You will unlock that Baggage Car,» the Panzer Commander growled on behalf of his subordinate, «Or I will. And I can guarantee that you will not like how I will do it.»
«There is no Time…»
«There will be Time; it could have been done by now. Besides, all the Trains are now delayed, due to the Sabotage attempted in your Freight-yard earlier today.» Dekker cut across the man's protests in a frigid voice. «Jimmy: have Connolly open the Baggage Car for Oberleutnant Müller's Men, if it is not already open in five Minutes. Blow the Engine if they try to leave before the Goods are removed.» He hadn't even had to look; he knew that his Rottweiler would be there, guarding his back.
«Zu Befehl!» Brewster responded, although Dekker didn't actually hear him leave.
«You can't do that!» The Stationmaster shrieked in outrage, but Dekker just sneered at him.
«Watch me,» was all he said in response. He felt the emptiness at his back for only a few minutes, then Jim had returned, saying nothing. Dekker knew without asking that his orders would be carried out – most likely creatively, since Jimmy was involved. Sure enough, a few minutes later Dekker could hear the familiar clanking of an approaching Panther; he smiled wolfishly.
«What's that?!» the Stationmaster demanded, close now to outright panic, staring wide-eyed at Dekker.
But it was Brewster who answered. «That's the sound of your Engine about to become a Target for one of mein Major's Panzers, Herr Stationmaster,» Jim answered with his own smirk. «You'd better open that Car… fast. The Gunner has Orders to only wait five Minutes before firing.»
The man squawked, then ran past Dekker and Müller, already shouting for the Conductor and his keys. Müller and Dekker exchanged glances and grinned at each other.
«I do like your Rottweiler, Herr Major,» Müller said, barely restraining a laugh. «Would the Panzer have fired?»
Dekker did laugh. «Probably, if that's what Jimmy told them to do in my Name. Fortunately, we'll never know, now. But I'd best see if we can commandeer a Truck somewhere for your Things. I see that you brought Rachel with you.»
Müller colored slightly, as if embarrassed by something, but Dekker continued before his old friend could explain. «She will have the Company of other Ladies: I have nine Bondswomen – Amerikanische Nurses – that are attached to my Battalion, although in Truth they are mine. And one of meine Hünde has gone back to my old Camp to bring up my Cook – you remember Anna, ja?»
«That will be good for her,» Müller agreed, relaxing as he and his new Commanding Officer headed out of the office to supervise the unloading.
There wasn't much. Dekker looked at the pile of goods and sighed. «We are going Overseas somewhere, Steffan; we will have to crate all of this up for shipping.»
«I know,» Müller returned with an unhappy frown. «No one gave me the Time to do it before we left… and then they made us sit around, waiting for I don't know what Reason. Poor Rachel was at her Wit's end, blaming herself for 'putting me to so much Trouble'. She is the least Trouble of any Woman I have ever met!
«She carries my Child, Johann; I do not like to see her so upset. It cannot be good for her.»
Somehow that news did not surprise him. Dekker grinned. «I will have my Spitfire of a Head-nurse check her out, if you'd like. Don't worry; Colonel Peterson will be gentle with her. She is eine Amerikanerin; she will not be cruel just because Rachel is Jüdische. I believe that at least one of meine Nurses is also, although I have not checked. I know that one of meine Hünde is, and Anna will be here soon. Rachel will have plenty of Company while we are busy.
«You command this Light Battalion, Steffan?»
«Jawohl, Herr Major!» Müller snapped to attention, reminded suddenly of his duty. «Oberleutnant Müller, commanding the 47th Panzer Leicht-Battalion; I also have one Kompanie of Motorized Infanterie attached to us…»
«Relax, Steffan; we will get all that sorted out. For now, let us get your Men into Quarters, then there is a new Uniform Issue for them. We will have to start that Tonight, or we will not finish before we must move out tomorrow Evening. My Offizieren will supervise your Men for that, so that your Offizieren can get their new Uniforms tailored adequately.
«Oh, and I have Something for you, from the High Command. Let us get back to my Quarters, ja?»
Müller looked at his new CO in surprise. «You've… mellowed, Johann.»
«I don't have Lasch to worry about, and I have loyal… Retainers, I guess… watching my Back these Days. And not to stick Knives into it, either. I can almost relax at Times; it is a novel Experience. Don't worry,» he added with a laugh, «My Temper is still notoriously short. Give me Time and a Reason, and you will see.
«Here, get Rachel into the Car. We will ride back to the Barracks. I wish that I had known that it was you coming; I could have made better Arrangements for your Fräulein's comfort.»
«They did not tell you?» Again there was surprise on Müller's part.
«No, I was told neither Unit Designation, exact Strength, or who the Commanding Offizier was. I was only told that you had Mark IVs and SdKfz-251 Light Half-tracks. I think that you were intended to be a pleasant Surprise for me; there are several High-ranking People who are aware that we know each other, especially since Lasch's Trial…»
«You could be right,» Müller agreed, then looked out the Car's windows, uncomfortable with the subject. «Dortmund is a busy Town these Days, isn't it?» The subject change was awkward, but necessary. Old relationships were not something to get into here.
«Ja, it's quite busy, although there is still not much in the Shops, save for bare Necessities…» Dekker was grateful for the change of topic also. "I expect it will get better soon. If you need anything, I can point you to the Black Market here. Things are high… but they always are, when one deals with Criminals.»
«Thank you, but I think we have everything that we need… for now.» Müller had paused, thinking of the coming baby.
«Very well,» Dekker said, not really noting the pause. «Some of my Men will see to crating your Goods Tonight.» A glance at Jimmy told the Bondsman that he would be responsible for seeing it done; he nodded slightly to indicate his acceptance of the task.
Müller had not missed that little exchange; once more he wondered about Dekker's Men, although he said nothing.
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Tuesday, March 9th, 1943
Dortmund, Germany
Spring was definitely coming, bringing the warmer weather with it. The occasional warmer night meant unexpected fog in the mornings; today was one such day. Anna had still not arrived, and Dekker was not in the mood for even old Heinz's attempts at cooking. They would be moving out this evening; today would be his last chance in who knew how long to enjoy good, fresh-baked German bread. And so he gathered his Hünde to him and headed into Dortmund proper, his destination a bakery that had smelled particularly enticing.
Going out into the early morning fog was like walking into a wall of white. It looked like the clouds had come down from the sky and settled on the face of the earth. Wilkes took particular care as he drove down the town's streets to the market district and the bakery. It was early, yes; the sun was barely up, but smoke rose from the bakery's chimney, and the scent of fresh bread was heavy on the morning air – as heavy as the fog.
Jimmy went in with his Major to see what might be ready, sniffing in appreciation. Bread, yes – great wheels of cheese sat at one side also, and hot, fresh, REAL Kaffe…
Dekker had just purchased several loaves of bread and some cheese, and had just gotten a cup of Kaffe poured for himself when the sound of angry voices carried through the shop's doorway. Curiosity killed the cat, they say; Dekker's curiosity was fully roused. He went to the door while Jimmy gathered up the bread and packaged cheese in a string bag, stepped through the door to try to better see what was going on…
And was met with a fist to the face.
He hadn't been in a fist-fight since he was a boy… not since before Mutti died. It took him by surprise, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet. His Hounds appeared out of the mist, catching the offender and forcing him to his knees – a huge Feldwebel, clearly used to bullying men smaller than himself. The intended victim of the Feldwebel's attack stood by in shock; he was a good-looking, dark-haired man in a bondsman's uniform, but one that Dekker hadn't seen before.
Then Jimmy was there beside him, barely in control of his temper. "Oh, you sorry piece of garbage," he snarled. He wished that the guys hadn't gotten to him so quickly, so he could have pounded him into the ground himself. Dekker would see to him, though, or Jim didn't know his superior. "I guarantee you'll regret that." He turned instead to Dekker. «Are you all right, mein Major?» Brewster asked, eyeing Dekker's already darkening chin.
Moving carefully, Dekker groped for his cap, then allowed Jimmy to help him to his feet. Gravely he dusted off the cap, settling it on his head with great deliberation as he struggled to control his own temper. He didn't answer his Hound, looking down at the Feldwebel with eyes glacially cold. «It is a Capital Offense to strike an Officer, Schwein,» he ground out between gritted teeth – it hurt to move his jaw much. «And you did this before Witnesses. I think we need not wait.» He didn't want to wait. His Hounds might not be considered good witnesses, but this stranger-Bondsman was not one of his men. Besides, the Feldwebel bore the flashes of a prison-guard, and that made him one of Malberger's men. It wouldn't be much of a blow against the Oberst – he probably wouldn't even care – but one took what satisfaction came one's way. With one smooth motion he drew his Mauser and shot the offending guardbetween the eyes.
«Hey, you nearly got me with that Blood!» Perelli complained loudly, daring much.
Dekker just grinned. It amused him to see the utter shock on the unknown Bondsman's face, although the German didn't know whether it was Perelli's words or the shooting itself that caused that look. That shade of blue… RAF, probably. Dekker guessed that English would be the best choice of language; the man might speak German, but he couldn't be sure. "Vone (one) less problem für the Reich to deal vith. Do not look zo shocked. He vould havf happily knocked your head off. You are…?"
The bondsman straightened a bit closer to Attention at the question, although he still seemed fixated on the fresh corpse. «Hogan, Herr Major; Bond to General Sebastian Mannheim,» he replied, then looked up again and added, «Former Group Captain, RAF.»
Dekker's grin widened. Hogan, hmm? So Mannheim had taken the chance, and had taken this Man. There was no doubt in Dekker's mind that that was who this was; there had been a lot of coverage during the trial, including photographs, and Dekker remembered him now. This man's German was perfect; his accent was of Berlin, unlike Jimmy's Bavarian accent. This had to be PAPA BEAR; what was he doing here? Only one way to find out… «Ah, I have heard of you, Hogan,» Dekker said with a nod. He would see what else could be learned of this man, he thought as he continued: «And I have met your General Mannheim, but before he took you. You will join me for Breakfast; I would hear of some of your Exploits.»
He turned to his Rottweiler then. «Jimmy, see that Kaffe is brought for Hogan… and these, if they are his Escort.» Dekker indicated the two young German guards who'd come over but who seemed uncertain of how to extricate Hogan from this situation.
Hogan tried. «I'm sorry, Herr Major…?» He paused, for Dekker hadn't given him his name.
«Dekker.» The Major said with an approving smile, but one which still didn't quite reach his eyes.
«I'm very sorry, Major Dekker, but I have to fetch a Man for my General from the Stalag outside Town, and I'm running very late already, » Hogan tried to explain, but the Major just laughed.
«I know the Kommandant; you will have little Luck as you are now. You will eat with me, and perhaps I will smooth your Way.» He motioned to a command car that sat by the curb, not willing to take "no" for an answer. And then Connolly was there, carrying a Thermos of fresh Kaffe –real Kaffe –and the bread he'd bought, still hot from the ovens, and Hogan was lost. Dekker watched, amused, noting when Hogan realized that all the men were wearing black tunics and looked more closely at him and his Hünde.
Hogan sighed. «You're SS.»
Dekker nodded agreeably. «Waffen-SS,» he elaborated. «We have been allowed to wear our Blacks once more, although with other Insignia. I, for one, do not miss the Sig-Runes. Those were badly defamed by those in Power. We were not all like that…»
«I know,» Hogan agreed, although he still sounded a bit hesitant, as if he still harbored some reservations about the German. «You and your Men stationed around here, Herr Major?» he asked casually as he carefully sipped at his hot Kaffe.
«You are not a canny Interrogator, Hogan, » Dekker laughed. «But, no, we are not. We are on a temporary Reassignment. We go to England to help release our own Men… and perhaps even farther.»
Hogan's eyes took on a distant look as he thought about some of Mannheim's papers. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and smiled. «You're from Poland, or the Ukraine, or somewhere out there. The… 384th, right? Your Orders will actually take you…» Hogan cut himself off, remembering that they were out on a public street.
Dekker's eyes were thoughtful. «You are more into your General's Business than meine Hünde are into mine. I think it would be best to hurry you on your Task. Have your Men in the Truck follow us; we will take you to see the Kommandant of Stalag VI-D.»
A quick, low-voiced order was given, and then they were heading out of town, the command car followed by Hogan's truck, followed by two Panther tanks. Dekker doubted that he'd have any trouble with Oberst Malberger, no matter what Hogan's orders were. This was an even better revenge on the aristocratic Herr Oberst. Yes, Hogan's arrival was truly a gift from the… Dekker paused in his thoughts a moment and grinned again. Who knows, perhaps there Is a God after all, he thought. He would have to consider that notion more carefully later.
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The guards at the gate were understandably upset when two Panzers drew up as escort to a command car and truck. It was all Dekker could do to keep from laughing, but he managed. Hogan'sbondsman's uniform stuck out noticeably among all the black tunics around him. Dekker's men wore black because they had been commandos, not because they were attached to a former SS Offizier, but few people knew that.
Hogan remembered hearing about Dekker from another ex-Waffen-SS Offizier, when he'd been in Italy with Mannheim… in fact, it had been the performance, and restraint, of all the ex-Waffen-SS units in Italy that had won their blacks back for these troops, even though they were all part of the Heer now. But, since they would be going to England, and possibly Canada also, the black tunics would give them a psychological advantage – or so the High Command believed. Hogan had to admit that it was effective, even against their fellow Germans, if the reaction of these camp guards was any indication.
The car was admitted to the camp in short order, followed by the truck. The two tanks, however, stayed outside the gate, their infantry support deployed in a loose screen around them. They were definitely intimidating, and were obviously all veterans; no orders had been given, yet the men clearly knew how to deal with potentially hostile forces.
At the Kommandantur, Malberger waited for his visitors, and he did not look pleased. Dekker got out of his car when Perelli opened his door, followed by Jimmy, and Hogan. He didn't speak, just held his hand out in Hogan's direction in a very imperious gesture. Hogan handed over the orders he'd carried to Dekker without comment. The regal gesture wasn't lost on Malberger, who colored in rising anger..
«Oberst Malberger, good Day,» Dekker began after a precise salute had been given and returned. Malberger scowled down at his visitors, but kept his silence after a glance towards the gates and the lurking Panthers. «I have Orders here, from General Mannheim, for the Removal of one of your Prisoners. Have someone fetch him and his Belongings; we are on a tight Schedule, as there is Transport waiting at Le Havre for my Unit.»
It was masterfully done, all carefully worded to give the most offense while providing the least opportunity for recourse. Malberger had no chance to contest the orders or waste time – one still did not mess with transportation schedules. The worst that he could do was to leave them standing out in the outer compound to wait… and he didn't dare do that, not with Mannheim's name on the orders. Within half an hour, a slim young man was produced, along with a small, worn sack of… stuff, and was formally identified as Sergeant Eric FitzGerald, RAF. He seemed in reasonable health, if a bit thin, but all POWs were thin these days, now that they no longer got Red Cross parcels to supplement their daily rations.
Dekker did his best not to stare at the man, who paled somewhat when he saw Dekker there. FitzGerald was not the name that he'd known him by as a young man in training… Still, the prisoner was bundled into the truck without comment or delay, the appropriate transfer paperwork was filled out, and they were retracing their route to Dortmund, all within an hour and a half of their arrival at Stalag VI-D's gates.
Hogan gave a wide grin of satisfaction. He had his man, and it was only midmorning. "Vhen do you havf to be back mit him, Hogan?" Dekker's question brought Hogan's eyes snapping back around to him.
"I have to be back by nine tonight, Herr Major," Hogan responded with careful courtesy, although his mind seemed to be elsewhere.
"Take your men und catch der train," Dekker advised. "Ve vill bring your truck vith uz und drop it off on our vay t'rough Düsseldorf. You kann be back by t'ree thiz afternoon if you do that. Or do you havf to havf der truck vith you?"
Hogan smirked. "No, Herr Major. Mein General didn't say how I had to get him there, so I didn't specify anything like that in the orders I wrote myself. I would like to get that truck back, though; I don't want to have to pay for it, for 'losing' it. The train will work just fine for me, if you don't mind bringing the truck back."
Dekker sat back in his seat and thought back over everything he'd heard about this Hogan. He shot a glance at his favorite bondsman, and added Jimmy's grin into his thoughts, then looked sharply at Hogan. "Haz your General evfer seen thoze orderz, Hogan?" he demanded, more curious than annoyed at this game the bondsman seemed to be playing.
"Umm… to be perfectly honest, Herr Major… no," Hogan admitted somewhat cautiously. "He… dealt with me like London used to: gave me an end result he desired, and a deadline, then left it up to me as to how it got done. The guards are real camp guards, sir," he hastened to add upon seeing Dekker's raised eyebrow. "And at least one of the barracks-guards at Stalag XVI knows – or very strongly suspects – what I've done here. He told me he was going to report me to General Mannheim, but no one even tried to stop us when we left – and we went through a number of checkpoints, too.
"I still have some very talented forgers, although all the forms and stamps are real."
Dekker nodded. "Chust the paperz – the written orderz are fake – chust like your Sergeant FitzGerald iz a fake – you do know that, ja? That man iz as Englisch as you are, Hogan." He carefully did not specify just what the man was, in case Hogan did not know as much as he seemed to. After all, it might not be von Trenke's fault that he was still there; Malberger was such a pig, he might have shot Erik out of hand had he declared himself. The young SS man could have realized that and kept silent, deciding to take his chances with the other prisoners. Dekker would hate to destroy his chances now, for he had been a decent man when younger.
But the bondsman sighed now and looked around at Dekker's grinning Hünde, his pack of bondsmen. "I thought he looked a bit pale when he saw you, sir," he replied obliquely.
"I knew him vhen ve vere kvite (quite) young," Dekker admitted thoughtfully. "He vas not Waffen-SS, though. They said hiz ear for languagez, especially Englisch, vas good; he vould more useful be, in Intelligence. He appearz kvite skilled, to be still alivfe. But he iz not Abwehr."
"No, he's not," Hogan admitted. "That's why I have him: My General did not wish him to be left in place any longer. If he's a decent sort, mein General will put him in a uniform like mine, and he'll live out the rest of his life as FitzGerald. Otherwise, he'll be shot – quick and clean, as condemned, undeclared SS." He waited to see if Dekker would object to that, but the former Waffen-SS commander merely nodded.
"Ve all had to stand our trialz," he agreed, then shook his head. "Conzidering vhere he vas, he might not haf been able to turn himzelf in."
"General Mannheim knows that; that's why he's getting this chance. He's… not the only one we've found, Herr Major."
"Ah." The young Panzer Offizier let that one word speak volumes. But he remained silent until his driver pulled up at the train station with no specific orders having been given. "Come, Hogan," he said as he exited his car, the ever-present Jimmy at his heels. Brewster wasn't about to leave his Major alone with Hogan, for the other bondsman was armed much like he was, except that it was a Luger that Hogan carried, instead of a Service Colt.
Dekker paid no attention to this. "Ve vill see vhen the train vill be leafing here, und vhen it vill arrife in Düsseldorf. You vill be able to get tranzport back to your camp from there, ja?"
"Yes, Sir, Herr Major; we can get a ride back to camp – probably with the Düsseldorf police. They will be remembering my general very well still, I think," Hogan replied, trying not to smirk at the memory of his last encounter with said police.
"Sehr gut." Dekker paused to check the schedule, then moved over to the window. «I need Space on the next Train through here heading West,» the Major announced softly, ignoring the cringe his black uniform engendered in the ticket agent. «There will be two Escorts, a Bondsman, and the Prisoner that they transport. Coach or Baggage will suffice if First Class is not available.»
«Ja-jawohl, Herr Major,»the agent stuttered. «The next Train will be here at Two, Herr Major; there should be Seats still available.»
Dekker looked at Hogan. «You will arrive around Four or Five. Will that do?»
«More than enough Time, even allowing for Delays, Herr Major.» Hogan was all stiff formality now, in front of the official.
«Good. We will leave you and your Escort here, then, once you empty your Truck. We will leave it in Düsseldorf when we pass through there Tonight. Unfortunately, I cannot stay; I do have a Transport Schedule to meet. It was… enjoyable… meeting you, Herr Hogan. Auf wiedersehen.» Dekker came to attention to acknowledge Hogan's formal half-bow, then turned and strode from the station. He knew that the Station Master would most likely try to give the Bondsman a hard time, now that official support had left, but Dekker had confidence in the brash Amerikaner. Hogan would catch his train and return to his General with time to spare; He would now attend to his own problems.
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«Herr Major?» It was Kimmich, looking slightly harried as he approached his Kommander just outside their temporary quarters.
Dekker looked at him curiously, his gaze turning to a glare as he noticed the Orders-packet that the Oberleutnant carried like a live bomb.
«Now what have they done to us?!» he demanded, trying to control his irritation.
«According to these,» Kimmich waved the offending packet slightly, «We are being routed directly to Köln, due to the Delays caused yesterday. And we will not be going through Brussels, either, but down a Secondary Line from Liege through some Place called Namur, and then directly through to Paris.
«They have completely changed our Route; McKeigh will never find us.»
"Scheiße!» Dekker snarled. "I had promised… When do we pull out of here; when are we due in Köln?» He frantically ran his options through his mind as Kimmich rechecked the orders before answering.
«We still do not leave until Tonight, mein Major; this says that we should be in Köln by around 0200.»
«There is a Truck that I must get to Düsseldorf,» Dekker snarled and started to pace before he got a grip on himself. «I will have to send it by Driver, now… It is a long and amusing Story, Sigmund; I will tell it to you in a bit, once I get this straightened out.
«Jimmy: Wilkes still does not have good German, does he?»
«Sorry, mein Major,» Brewster answered. «He can get by among us, but no.»
Dekker gritted his teeth to keep from cursing further; that wouldn't solve anything, and it was a habit that he was trying to break himself of, with the women around now. He dared not send Davidson – truth to tell, he liked his little Jude, and didn't want to risk losing him. Perelli tended to let his temper get the better of him at times… and he wasn't about to send Jimmy from his side, ever. He sighed in resignation.
«Jimmy, have Connolly pack a Bag, and pick out two Soldaten as Escorts. I will give him his Instructions when that much has been done.»
«Zu Befehl, mein Major,» Brewster responded, then went to fetch his Third-in-Command. At this rate, the Pack would soon be scattered across all of German-held territory.
Connolly, typically, laughed. "Sure, I'll go return Hogan's truck. Y'know, it figgurs that this'd happen; Dekker's life isn't supposed ta run smooth. Who's goin' with me?"
"Guess we can pick 'em," Brewster answered with another grin. "Who'd you want? Wenigmann's good company; he'll talk your ear off."
Connolly nodded. "Yeah, he's a good choice; nothin' rattles him. How about Hinkes? Elmar's a good troop also, but he don't get the recognition he deserves, I'd say. Plus him an' Günter get along pretty well from what I've seen."
"Fine by me. You get packed; I'll find your escorts. Best pack extra, seein's how this trip has gone so far."
«Jawohl, mein Unterfeldwebel.» Connolly laughed as he ducked the swipe that Brewster launched at his head, but he wasted no time packing. Ten minutes later he presented himself to his Superior as ordered.
Dekker waited until his two Soldaten also arrived, amused by the choices made by his Hünde. He made a mental note to watch those men more closely; it was very likely that promotions would be in order for them, if the Hounds thought so well of them.
«There is a Truck that must be returned to Stalag XVI, in Düsseldorf,» he said, his voice level and calm. «I know you have heard of this Morning's… Exercise. You Men will return that Truck, then take the Train from Düsseldorf to Köln and rejoin with us there. Our Orders have us there at or around 0200. If you miss us there, go next to Paris, or, ultimately, Le Havre. Try not to miss our Sailing… That is all; here are your Travel Permits, and some Funds so you can eat if… Events conspire against you.
«Dismissed… and Good Luck.» He accepted their salutes and watched with misgivings as the three men climbed into the truck and headed out for Düsseldorf.
It was barely noon, but not too soon to start getting the men ready to ship out. The 47th's officers were racing the clock to get at least one uniform each altered to a presentable fit; the men had their badges and awards to shift to their new issues also. Only the Nurses' Quarters were an island of calm amidst all this turmoil of military preparation. That lasted until Dekker showed up at the door, carrying nine small boxes, neatly labeled. These had been on order ever since the women had agreed to stay with the unit; only now had they caught up with them. It had not been at all easy to acquire these, but the Major had felt it to be well worth the trouble and expense. It was highly irregular, he knew; Bondsmen had no rank any longer, technically speaking. He could foresee problems in the future, though, so a pre-emptive strike was definitely in order, to his way of thinking.
He knocked on the door, awaiting admittance. He could have just barged in – even now the ladies seemed surprised that he did not – but that was not the way to earn their respect. At last the door was answered, and he fought down a spurt of anger.
"Oh… You want 'your' women, don't you. Hang on, then, I'll send them to you," Jessica Simon said with a sneering smirk, offering no military courtesy at all before turning her back on Dekker. His temper was about to erupt when Colonel Peterson came to the door.
She blanched at the look on the German's face. "Come in, please, Herr Major," she said, opening the door and stepping quickly to one side. "I'm sorry…"
"I am going to shoot that Voman, vone ovf these dayss," he hissed, cutting off her apology as he fought to control his temper. It was not Peterson's fault, after all. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I havf something für you und the ladies, Fräulein Colonel. Chust für meine Offizierinen, not für the rest. Ivf you could havf them gathered für me…?"
"Certainly Sir," she said as she opened the door to her quarters. "If you'd care to wait here. Sir?" Odd, she no longer had a hard time calling him 'Sir', even if she'd out-ranked him once. He'd actually earned her respect, despite the way she'd treated him at first.
"I vill vait out hier; it vill be best," Dekker said, mindful of that Simon woman's sneering innuendos.
Sarah stopped, then nodded with a sigh. "You're probably right; I'll get the others for you. Be right back, Sir." She walked down the hallway, knocking on certain doors, speaking soft words to the rooms' occupants. Within moments nine women were gathered around the Major, expectantly waiting.
He studied them briefly, the confident looks on their faces reward enough for restraining his temper all these past months. He couldn't keep from smiling proudly at them as he spoke. " I havf something für each ovf you, to be vorn mitt your uniforms. I feel that you deservf this, und so I authorize you to vear dem." He knew them all, so it was no problem to give out the correct boxes to each. He saved Colonel Peterson's for last.
They waited until each of them had her box, then they cautiously opened them to find American-style rank-pins inside. Shocked eyes looked up at Dekker, who now looked somewhat bashful.
"You vill vear vone on your levft collar-tab only, Fräuleins; the right tab vill hold the medical sigil, so all who see you vill know that you are Nurses. You earned your ranks vith much hard vork und sacrifice; I feel it is only fitting that the vorld should see und recognize this also." He fell silent, then came to attention and saluted the stunned women. Turning on his heel, Dekker left without another word.
"I swear, I will never understand that man!" Sarah Peterson muttered softly, but tears of pleasure shone in her eyes, and in those of her fellow Bondswomen.
At two-fifteen Brewster was knocking on Major Dekker's door. «They're here, Sir,» he announced, a big smile on his face. «Kevin just called from the Station; he needs a Truck to pick them up, and Anna's Boxes.»
«Boxes?!!» Dekker gasped, caught unawares. «How many are we talking about?»
«Don't know, Sir; he didn't say, so the only Way to know will be to go and see. Want me to find a Truck for them?» Jim was nearly bouncing from relief at the return of his friend and Second, and barely remembered his courtesies. He paused in mid-breath, then added: «Oh, yeah – they had two empty Flat-cars tacked onto the End of the Train for you; they're at the Freight-yard now, for Approval, so your Panzers can be loaded for Tonight.»
«Ah, gut. We will go see them, after we pick up Kevin und mein Cook.» Dekker had to struggle to hide his own pleasure, although he wasn't fooling his Hound in the least. They had all been worried about their missing personnel, worried that they wouldn't catch up in time. There would be a quiet celebration tonight… or there would be once Connolly rejoined them.
Jim snapped out of his musing to hurry after Dekker, for the Major had wasted no time. He was halfway out the door, calling for his car and a truck, and a work-crew to load the last two Panthers. There was no time to lose; who knew what other problems might occur to slow things down. And Dekker was determined that they would be ready tonight when their train pulled in.
They had orders, after all… and destiny awaited them.