The Double Agent by William Christie

Author:William Christie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

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When field marshals put in a word, it became law. Because they went from not being quite sure what to do with him to not being able to do enough for him. They gave him his choice, which was to eat first. With the cooks peeking around the corners as if they were watching a wild animal, he sat alone in the mess and devoured an enormous bowl of potato soup, bubbling away in cauldrons for the upcoming lunch, and half a loaf of rye bread. Alexsi had to admit, he’d missed German Army potato soup. He had not missed chicory ersatz coffee, though.

After food, a hot shower. Because it wasn’t just his uniform that was covered in the blood of those Italians.

For that reason he was glad he’d rejected all of the gadgets MI6 had offered him. Sleeve knives and lockpicks, one-time pads and miniature cameras. All a guaranteed trip to the hangman if someone took your blood-soaked uniform away while you were bathing, and happened to go through the pockets.

After the bath to medical for a look at his ankle, which was only badly sprained. Then a walk down to supply, in robe and shower shoes, feeling like a field marshal himself. To receive a complete issue with the supply sergeant swearing that everything was brand-new. Even an Italian tailor to fit and alter his uniforms.

It was an interesting place. The entire headquarters was inside the mountain, kilometers of tunnels blasted from the solid rock. The Italians had originally done it for themselves, and they had done an excellent job. The temperature, he was told, was exactly the same regardless of the seasons. Apparently the previous OB South headquarters had been bombed flat, hence the move to the tunnels. Which was fine by Alexsi. He had been bombed enough. By everyone.

None of the rooms looked as if they were hewn from the rock. They were smooth whitewashed concrete. Boxy ductwork ran along the length of the ceilings for the blown air, held up by T-shaped metal pillars whose arms the lights were hung from.

The senior sergeants’ quarters were metal beds and storage cabinets along one wall, and along the opposite wall tables with long bench seats for relaxing. Alexsi had plenty of help putting his equipment away, then spent the rest of the afternoon being passed down by the officers of the headquarters signals regiment. First the chief of signals himself, a general named Jacoby who pumped his hand quickly, congratulated him on killing Italians, and insincerely extended the invitation to call upon him any time. Yes, Alexsi thought. I’ll do just that.

From there it was a colonel who was the actual commander of the signals regiment. Another brief handshake and welcome, and then down to a young captain named Lang. The scholarly type, as most signalers were.

The signals regiment had almost two thousand soldiers assigned to it, but the vast majority were telephone troops manning the massive switchboards, and construction companies out stringing hundreds of kilometers of telephone and telegraph line for the partisans to keep cutting.

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