Greg Iles - Black Cross

“ Hauptscharführer !” he snapped, singling out the senior man. “You are not in the habit of saluting superior officers?”

Sergeant Gunther Sturm looked up in amazement at the gray-green uniform and Iron Cross First Class. An angry SD colonel was the last thing he expected to encounter at Totenhausen’s back gate.

“Standartenführer!” he cried. “Heil Hitler!”

The privates quickly followed his example.

Stern raised his chin and looked down his nose at the bull-necked sergeant. “You are Hauptscharführer Sturm?”

Sturm’s eyes widened. “ Jawohl , Standartenführer.”

“Don’t look so frightened. I have bigger fish to fry than you. I am here to arrest Major Wolfgang Schörner for conspiring to reveal state secrets. I shall require your assistance, Hauptscharführer, and that of these men as well. Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner in Berlin will appreciate your help.”

Sturm’s stubbled face went slack, then brightened with malicious glee. “Standartenführer,” he said unctuously, “I’m not one to complain about a superior, but I have had suspicions of my own about the Sturmbannführer.”

“Why did you not report these suspicions?”

Sturm was momentarily at a loss. “I’ve been searching for proof, Standartenführer. One does not accuse a holder of the Knight’s Cross lightly.”

“Herr Schörner will not wear the Knight’s Cross much longer, Hauptscharführer.”

Sturm looked at the two privates, astonished by his good luck. “What do you want us to do, Standartenführer?”

Stern glanced at his watch: 7:37. The women would begin moving in thirteen minutes. Now he regretted giving up the silenced Schmeisser. “Here is the situation, Hauptscharführer. We believe Allied commandos intend to attack this camp tonight to assassinate Herr Doktor Brandt and destroy his laboratory. We believe Schörner arranged this attack through contacts with the Polish Resistance.”

Gunther Sturm could barely contain his excitement. “The Herr Doktor was right!”

“SD reinforcements will arrive from Berlin within thirty minutes,” Stern went on. “But with your help I will immediately arrest Schörner and remove him from the camp, to prevent him from assisting these commandos in any way. Are you ready?”

Sturm jerked a Luger from his belt and shook it in the air. “I know how to deal with traitors, Standartenführer. If Schörner resists, I’ll blow his head off!”

Stern nodded. “Bring these men as well. Schörner is a dangerous man.”

Sturm looked suddenly uncertain. “I must leave one behind, Standartenführer. The commandant could have me shot if I left this gate unguarded.”

Stern glared at the private who stood on the other side of the wire. “This is your last smoke break,” he said. “Don’t take your eyes off of those trees. The commandos will almost certainly attack from the hills. Is that clear?”

“ Jawohl , Standartenführer!”

The gray-faced private whipped around instantly, his eyes on the dark trees that had seemed benign only a moment ago.

“To the headquarters, Hauptscharführer!”

Stern walked a step ahead of the two SS men as they crossed the Appellplatz.

“Perhaps I should have my dogs patrol the back fence?” Sturm suggested.

“No need for that yet,” said Stern. The last thing he needed was attack dogs prowling the area of the E-Block. “We will deploy the dogs only at the last moment. We want them fresh.”

“Very good, Standartenführer.”

They passed the rear of the cinema annex, which was contiguous to the headquarters building. As they reached the front door of the headquarters, it opened and a tall officer wearing a Waffen SS uniform and a black eyepatch stepped through it.

Wolfgang Schörner froze in midstep when he saw the SD uniform.

Stern calmly drew his Walther and aimed it at the astonished major. “Sturmbannführer Wolfgang Schörner, by order of the Führer I place you under arrest.”

Major Schörner stared in amazement at Sergeant Sturm, who had drawn his Luger, then looked back at Stern. “I beg your pardon, Standartenführer?”

“You heard me. Relieve him of his pistol, Hauptscharführer.”

Schörner made no move to resist as Sturm yanked his Luger from its holster. “Who is this man, Hauptscharführer?”

Stern held up his hand. “I am Standartenführer Ritter Stern from the Sicherheitsdienst in Berlin, as you can plainly see.”

“I received no communication about your arrival.”

“Of course you didn’t. All will become clear in Berlin.”

“Berlin?” Schörner’s eyes moved up and down Stern’s uniform, taking in each button, patch, badge, crease, and stain. “Hauptscharführer,” he said, “the Standartenführer seems to be missing his dagger. Don’t you find that interesting?”

Stern waved his pistol toward the hospital, where the Mercedes waited. “To my car, Hauptscharführer,” he said tersely.

But Gunther Sturm was looking at Schörner. Sturm knew the face of guilt, and as much as he hated the major, Schörner was not acting guilty of anything.

“I am perfectly willing to go to Berlin,” Schörner said equably. “But shouldn’t we at least ask to see this man’s papers first? An SD officer who loses his dagger is subject to arrest himself.”

Sturm looked uncertainly at Stern. “Standartenführer?”

Stern glanced impatiently at his watch, an officer in a hurry. “You will regret this,” he said. He brought out his wallet and handed it to Sturm, who passed it straight to Schörner.

“These papers give you authority to inspect security arrangements at Totenhausen.” Schörner looked up. “Not to place me under arrest.”

“By statute, the SD has complete powers of examination and arrest over the SS,” Stern said. “I do not need a written order to arrest a traitor.” He lowered his voice to a menacing pitch. “Now, move to my car.”

“These orders are dated four days ago,” Schörner observed, not moving an inch. “Did it take you four days to drive up from Berlin?”

Before Stern could respond, Schörner said, “The suntan interests me as well. Has the sun begun shining in the Tiergarten in the dead of winter?”

Stern raised his pistol to Schörner’s face.

The major showed no sign of fear.

Stern wanted to pull the trigger, but he knew it would be the worst possible mistake he could make.

“Where is your dagger, Standartenführer?” Schörner asked.

Stern forced himself not to look down at the empty sheath on his belt. This showed considerable nerve, considering that his mind had gone blank.

A bemused look crossed Schörner’s face. “With all respect, Standartenführer, on what day did you receive your dagger?”

It was funny in a way, thought Stern. He was replaying the scene in the Jewish Women’s Block, when he had been questioned to prove he was a Jew. Only Major Schörner had not asked him what year it was on the Hebrew calendar. “I have not come here to answer your questions,” he snapped. “You will answer mine.”

Schörner glanced at Sturm. “What do you think, Hauptscharführer? A simple enough question, don’t you think? Even you could answer that one.”

Gunther Sturm wore the expression of an attack dog being given commands by two masters. He hated Schörner viciously, but those very qualities he hated most made the idea of Schörner betraying Germany an impossibility. With agonizing slowness he turned until his Luger was aimed just to the right of Stern’s belly.

“If the Standartenführer could answer the question?” he said in an apologetic tone. “When did you receive your dagger?”

Stern had always known this moment would come someday. A moment without options. A truly impossible situation. He had simply overestimated his abilities, while underestimating those of a combat veteran named Wolfgang Schörner. He thought of the cyanide capsule he had earlier transferred from his Star of David medallion into his pocket, but he felt no inclination to try to swallow it. No matter what the bastards did to him, they would not break him before the gas descended on the camp.