Chapter 3

March 27, 1945

"And in today's news from the Western Front, all German Resistance west of the Rhine has ended. General Patch's Seventh Army crossed the Rhine at Worms and General Patton's Third Army, which crossed the Rhine a few days ago, is heading toward Offenbach. Units of the Third Army are attempting to penetrate the city of Frankfurt. In the north, Montgomery's mixed command of Americans, British, and Canadians has taken Wesel as heavy fighting continues. Word is reaching us that there was a recent meeting of Generals Eisenhower, Bradley and Simpson with British Field Marshall Montgomery and Prime Minister Winston Churchill not far from the fighting near Wesel."

It wasn't the best day, "fair" the weather service would call it, but the severe winter weather seemed to be finally disappearing, and Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was walking outside the camp's fence without his overcoat.

He paused near the back gate. Outside the fence across the road from the back gate, there was a group of some twenty men gathered behind one of the American lieutenants. Steve Patterson, Klink noted, one of the airmen sent to the camp last summer. In the past, he'd rarely seen Patterson, lean, dark-haired, an inch or two taller than he, from one of the western American states. Since the surrender, Patterson, an avid hunter before the war, had taken to teaching some of the former prisoners how to use weapons. At first, he'd used the weapons in the camp's armory. But the former unlamented commanding officer Colonel Francis Randall(1) had brought American handguns, rifles, submachine guns, and boxes of ammunition when he arrived in the camp. And more weapons and ammunition had been airdropped since then. So now, Patterson was teaching some of the former prisoners how to use those weapons. Klink and Hogan approved. Given the circumstances of the past, few of the prisoners had had an opportunity to practice the skills they'd learned months or years before in training. And given that the camp was still surrounded by Field Marshall Model's Army Group B, having men proficient in using the various weapons in the camp's arsenal was a good precaution.

Today's lesson, Klink noted, involved handguns. Volunteers had set up several targets at various distances in the field. Klink moved closer to observe.

Patterson was showing one of the American handguns. "A semi-automatic," Patterson was saying. "It's a Colt 1911, standard issue for the U.S. guys." He took the magazine out of the gun and handed the weapon to one of the soldiers. "Here, pass it around, get a feel for it. Jenkins," he addressed a short thin man, "hand out more of them."

"Yes, sir," said Corporal Manny Jenkins(2) and began passing around a number of the unloaded weapons.

Patterson, his eyes sweeping the group, noticed Klink standing on the periphery of the former prisoners. "Hey, Dunbar!"

"Yes, sir?" answered Private James Dunbar as he came over.

"You were at the bridge when Klink killed that SS guy(3), weren't you?" Patterson asked in a low voice.

"Yes, sir. Shocked the heck out of me when he did."

"How did he do it?"

"How?"

"Yeah, how?"

"He just . . . I'm really not sure, sir. Suddenly, he had a gun pointed at — what was his name — Danziger? Yeah, Danziger's head. And Klink killed him."

"How far away was Klink?"

"Just out of the guy's reach."

"So, only a few feet."

"Yeah, guess so. Uh, why, sir?"

"Well, hell, a blind man could have killed Danziger at that range."

"I guess . . . "

Jenkins was back, and confused by the conversation. "Sir?"

"Jenkins, have you ever seen Klink fire a handgun?"

"A few times."

"So have I, and he didn't do too well."

"I guess. But, sir, his alter ego's reputation . . . Heck, Colonel Hogan said Klink had saved his life a couple of times with a handgun."

"Yeah, he did. But I've been hearing stories about his alter ego since I first got here. And the stories just get bigger and bigger with each telling. I mean, when on earth did he manage to practice? I don't care how good a shot someone is, they'll lose it if they don't practice."

"Including you, sir?" from Dunbar.

Patterson grinned. "I got into the tunnels a few times with Colonel Hogan's permission and kept practicing. And I've been shooting since I was old enough to hold a gun."

Klink heard him as he came closer. "Isn't that unusual, Lieutenant?"

Patterson turned to Klink. "Morning, sir. Not in Idaho where I grew up. Hunted with my brothers and father since I was a kid. Heck, even my mother and sister were good shots." Patterson took back the Colt he'd handed around. "Have you seen one of these, Kommandant?"

Klink eyed the handgun. "I have seen them, but I have never used one. I understand the range is much shorter than the Luger."

Patterson nodded. "Yes, sir. But it's the same as the Walther, roughly 82 feet."

Klink looked at the targets in the field. "Is that the furthest target?"

"Not quite, sir. That's 75 feet. The others are at 15, 30, and 45 feet. We'll work up to it gradually since the boys are mighty rusty."

"Yes, I did frown on the prisoners using firearms."

Patterson grinned. "Yes, sir, you did. Would you like to try?"

"Well . . . "

"Just practice, sir."

"I'll hold your riding crop, sir," Dunbar offered.

"Well, all right." Klink gave him the crop.

"Here, sir." Patterson handed Klink the unloaded gun.

Klink hefted it in his hand. "A little heavier than the Luger or the Walther."

"Yes, sir. Heavier recoil too."

Klink held the gun up, squinting at the sight.

Curious, others had joined the waiting men. Unseen, Hogan and Captain Mitchell stood watching from the fringes of the crowd.

"Here, sir." Patterson handed Klink the magazine.

Klink took it, turned it in his hand and studied the Colt. "In here?"

"Yes, sir."

Klink inserted the magazine into the gun.

"And it slides so?" Klink's fingers awkwardly slid the bolt.

"Yes, sir. The first bullet is now in the chamber."

"The magazine holds how many bullets?"

"Seven total, sir."

Klink looked at the targets. "Well . . . " He started toward the nearest target.

"No, sir," Patterson stopped him. "Behind this line, sir." Patterson showed him.

"Oh, thank you." Klink backed up and glanced at the targets. "Perhaps you'd better get behind me." He looked at the watching men. "Perhaps all of you should move further back."

Patterson smiled tolerantly. "Right, sir." And stepped back, motioning to the others as well.

Obediently, the men moved further away and saw Klink eyeing the closest target.

Klink glanced at the targets and looked back at the observers. He raised the Colt in both hands, seemingly at the observers, and before Patterson could shout a warning, he swiveled into a perfect stance, fired seven rapid shots at the farthest target, and lowered the weapon.

In the silence that followed, Jenkins ran to the target and stared at it. Then he looked back at the watching men. He held up seven fingers and pointed at the center.

Patterson shoved his cap up on his head and started laughing, and clapping. He was joined by the others. "You got me good, sir," he said, still laughing.

Hogan walked over. "I could've told you that, Patterson," he said with a grin. "He did it to me often enough!"

"Sir, how did you learn to do that?"

"Hours and hours of practice," Klink said. "Many of them here."

"Sir, I've seen you shoot here," Patterson said in a puzzled voice. "You were pretty bad."

A faint smile. "Lieutenant Patterson, do you know how difficult it is to seemingly miss a target, deliberately shoot something else, and maintain the fiction that you were really intending to hit the target?"

"I never thought of that, sir."

"No, I imagine few people would. But if it makes you feel better, Lieutenant, for a good many years I could barely hit the closest target." He returned the empty Colt to Patterson. "I prefer the Luger since it has a longer range. Much more useful when I'm trying to remain invisible."

A serious smile. "Yes, sir, I guess it would be. Sir, how are you on rifles?"

"Not as good. Rifles are nearly impossible to conceal, so I rarely use them. But away from here, I have practiced as much as I could."

"We actually have far more rifles than handguns. So, with your permission, sir," Patterson looked at Hogan, "I'm thinking of setting up a permanent rifle range."

Hogan nodded. "Good idea." He thought a minute. "I don't know if it's practical, but I'd like to get every healthy man in camp somewhat proficient on the weapons."

"I can't do it by myself, sir," Patterson said.

Hogan smiled faintly. "I'll make an announcement tonight. You can't be the only man in camp who's good with a gun or rifle."

"I know I'm not, sir. It's just been kind of hard to get much practice in the tunnels."

Hogan laughed. "I guess so. Talk to Captain Mitchell later today." He gestured toward the eagle-faced man at the edges of the crowd.

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind, sirs, I'll get back to the class."

Hogan nodded as Klink retrieved his riding crop from Dunbar. The two men fell into step and headed toward the back gate.

"You know that story is going to make the rounds of the camp," Hogan said with a smile. "I'm a bit surprised you did it."

"If you want the truth, I am too."

"I'm glad you're starting to let your hair down."

Klink stopped. "You're glad I'm what?"

"Letting your hair down." He looked at Klink's confused expression. "Oh. Um . . . What I mean is you're letting yourself go . . . What I mean is, you're starting to relax, to loosen up a bit. And . . . " He looked skyward as a loud droning cut across his words. He couldn't see anything due to the clouds. But . . .

"And the war intrudes again," Klink said softly. "B-24s?"

Hogan nodded. "And fighters too." He looked at Klink's set face. "It will end, Wilhelm."

A bitter, "Before or after Germany is bombed out of existence." With that, he walked away from Hogan, heading toward the road again.

Hogan sighed and shook his head as he went through the back gate.

Endnotes

1 Act Four

2 Act One

3 Act Four