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Authors: Robert Ludlum
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through.”
“For Christ’s sake, we’ve got to get you some clothes. Can’t you see that?”
The German clicked the hammer of his Luger into firing position. “You’re inconsistent. I thought you proposed taking me back—far back—through your own lines for interrogation?… It might be simpler to kill you now.”
“Only until we could get you clothes! If I’ve got a Kraut officer in tow, there’s nothing to prevent some fat-ass captain figuring out the same thing I have! Or a major or a colonel who wants to get the hell out of the area.… It’s been done before. All they have to do is order me to turn you over and that’s it!… If you’re in civilian clothes, I can get us through easier. There’s so damned much confusion!”
The German slowly released the hammer of his revolver, still staring at the lieutenant. “You really do want this war to be over for you, don’t you?”
Inside the stone house was an old man, hard of hearing, confused and frightened by the strange pair. With little pretense, holding the unloaded revolver, the American lieutenant ordered the man to pack a supply of food and find clothes—any clothes for his “prisoner.”
As Scarlett’s French was poor, he turned to his captor. “Why don’t you tell him we’re both German?… We’re trapped. We’re trying to escape through the lines. Every Frenchman knows we’re breaking through everywhere.”
The German officer smiled. “I’ve already done that. It will add to the confusion.… You will be amused to learn that he said he presumed as much. Do you know why he said that?”
“Why?”
“He said we both had the filthy smell of the Boche about us.”
The old man, who had edged near the open door, suddenly dashed outside and began—feebly—running toward the field.
“Jesus Christ! Stop him! God damn it, stop him!” yelled Scarlett.
The German officer, however, already had his pistol raised. “Don’t be alarmed. He saves us making an unpleasant decision.”
Two shots were fired.
The old man fell, and the young enemies looked at each other.
“What should I call you?” asked Scarlett.
“My own name will do. Strasser.… Gregor Strasser.”
It was not difficult for the two officers to make their way through the Allied lines. The American push out of Regneville was electrifyingly swift, a headlong rush. But totally disconnected in its chain of command. Or so it seemed to Ulster Scarlett and Gregor Strasser.
At Reims the two men came across the remnants of the French Seventeenth Corps, bedraggled, hungry, weary of it all.
They had no trouble at Reims. The French merely shrugged shoulders after uninterested questions.
They headed west to Villers-Cotterêts, the roads to Epernay and Meaux jammed with upcoming supplies and replacements.
Let the other poor bastards take your deathbed bullets, thought Scarlett.
The two men reached the outskirts of Villers-Cotterêts at night. They left the road and cut across a field to the shelter of a cluster of trees.
“We’ll rest here for a few hours,” Strasser said. “Make no attempt to escape. I shall not sleep.”
“You’re crazy, sport! I need you as much as you need me!… A lone American officer forty miles from his company, which just happens to be at the front! Use your head!”
“You are persuasive, but I am not like our enfeebled imperial generals. I do not listen to empty, convincing arguments. I watch my flanks.”
“Suit yourself. It’s a good sixty miles from Cotterêts to Paris and we don’t know what we’re going to run into. We’re going to need sleep.… We’d be smarter to take turns.”
“Jawohl!”
said Strasser with a contemptuous laugh. “You talk like the Jew bankers in Berlin. ‘You do
this.
We’ll do
that!
Why
argue?
’ Thank you, no,
Amerikaner.
I shall not sleep.”
“Whatever you say.” Scarlett shrugged. “I’m beginning to understand why you guys lost the war.” Scarlett rolled over on his side. “You’re
“For Christ’s sake, we’ve got to get you some clothes. Can’t you see that?”
The German clicked the hammer of his Luger into firing position. “You’re inconsistent. I thought you proposed taking me back—far back—through your own lines for interrogation?… It might be simpler to kill you now.”
“Only until we could get you clothes! If I’ve got a Kraut officer in tow, there’s nothing to prevent some fat-ass captain figuring out the same thing I have! Or a major or a colonel who wants to get the hell out of the area.… It’s been done before. All they have to do is order me to turn you over and that’s it!… If you’re in civilian clothes, I can get us through easier. There’s so damned much confusion!”
The German slowly released the hammer of his revolver, still staring at the lieutenant. “You really do want this war to be over for you, don’t you?”
Inside the stone house was an old man, hard of hearing, confused and frightened by the strange pair. With little pretense, holding the unloaded revolver, the American lieutenant ordered the man to pack a supply of food and find clothes—any clothes for his “prisoner.”
As Scarlett’s French was poor, he turned to his captor. “Why don’t you tell him we’re both German?… We’re trapped. We’re trying to escape through the lines. Every Frenchman knows we’re breaking through everywhere.”
The German officer smiled. “I’ve already done that. It will add to the confusion.… You will be amused to learn that he said he presumed as much. Do you know why he said that?”
“Why?”
“He said we both had the filthy smell of the Boche about us.”
The old man, who had edged near the open door, suddenly dashed outside and began—feebly—running toward the field.
“Jesus Christ! Stop him! God damn it, stop him!” yelled Scarlett.
The German officer, however, already had his pistol raised. “Don’t be alarmed. He saves us making an unpleasant decision.”
Two shots were fired.
The old man fell, and the young enemies looked at each other.
“What should I call you?” asked Scarlett.
“My own name will do. Strasser.… Gregor Strasser.”
It was not difficult for the two officers to make their way through the Allied lines. The American push out of Regneville was electrifyingly swift, a headlong rush. But totally disconnected in its chain of command. Or so it seemed to Ulster Scarlett and Gregor Strasser.
At Reims the two men came across the remnants of the French Seventeenth Corps, bedraggled, hungry, weary of it all.
They had no trouble at Reims. The French merely shrugged shoulders after uninterested questions.
They headed west to Villers-Cotterêts, the roads to Epernay and Meaux jammed with upcoming supplies and replacements.
Let the other poor bastards take your deathbed bullets, thought Scarlett.
The two men reached the outskirts of Villers-Cotterêts at night. They left the road and cut across a field to the shelter of a cluster of trees.
“We’ll rest here for a few hours,” Strasser said. “Make no attempt to escape. I shall not sleep.”
“You’re crazy, sport! I need you as much as you need me!… A lone American officer forty miles from his company, which just happens to be at the front! Use your head!”
“You are persuasive, but I am not like our enfeebled imperial generals. I do not listen to empty, convincing arguments. I watch my flanks.”
“Suit yourself. It’s a good sixty miles from Cotterêts to Paris and we don’t know what we’re going to run into. We’re going to need sleep.… We’d be smarter to take turns.”
“Jawohl!”
said Strasser with a contemptuous laugh. “You talk like the Jew bankers in Berlin. ‘You do
this.
We’ll do
that!
Why
argue?
’ Thank you, no,
Amerikaner.
I shall not sleep.”
“Whatever you say.” Scarlett shrugged. “I’m beginning to understand why you guys lost the war.” Scarlett rolled over on his side. “You’re
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