Weapons of Peace by Peter D. Johnston

Author:Peter D. Johnston [Johnston, Peter D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Goldrook Publishing
Published: 2019-04-01T15:27:13+00:00

Chapter 30

Wednesday, October 18, 1944

11:32 a.m.—Train from Stralsund to Berlin

Berg woke as the train began to roll, jerking him back and forth as it picked up speed.

He stared at his watch. Christ. He’d been asleep for more than two hours. He looked out the window to get his bearings. They were pulling out of a station.

I didn’t think this train was supposed to stop so close to Berlin.

His head swiveled, searching for Grandt, then he remembered that he’d sent him to find the blonde he thought he’d recognized on the platform. His assistant was nowhere to be seen. Grandt probably hadn’t found her, and had disappeared to go to the bathroom or stretch his legs when he found Berg asleep. Berg had soon come to realize that Grandt was conscientious but also a bit of a daydreamer who lacked any kind of internal clock. He sighed and picked up his novel, hoping to squeeze in a little more reading. Agatha Christie’s famous detective Hercule Poirot was about to stumble onto a crime scene.

—

SS guard Thomas Weiner sat open-mouthed, staring across at the other bench. There was no sign of the scientist he was supposed to be guarding, but there was a redhead sitting opposite him who looked to be in her mid-thirties—and not unattractive, either. He assumed he was hallucinating, because the woman wasn’t wearing anything except her panties. Her exposed breasts swayed with the movement of the train, which had just departed from the station, waking him as it jolted forward. She stared back at him, putting a cigarette into her mouth and inhaling.

Her smoke joined the fog surrounding Weiner’s brain as he tried to make sense of the situation, closing his eyes again and reopening them to see if Wolf might be there in the redhead’s place. No such luck. The sergeant looked down and gasped. Like her, he wore only his underwear. His eyes spun sideways across the room. His uniform was gone.

“Do you want to do it or not?” the woman asked, sucking on her cigarette again, her perfume overwhelming the smell of the smoke, her bright-red lipstick leaving its mark where her lips squeezed the tobacco.

He didn’t know what to say. Then he heard the door slide open. He turned.

Oh no, please God, no.

Erhard Wolf stood speechless in the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing, Weiner? Our last trip you drank too much. Then I leave for a few minutes this time around and you do this?” Wolf said, pointing toward the naked woman.

“Sir, I can explain everything . . . or close to everything.”

“Really Weiner? Everything? I look forward to hearing your explanation and why you think I shouldn’t report you to Kammler or Himmler.” The scientist paused, looking around the room. “Maybe you can start by explaining your new uniform.”

Weiner turned whiter than his crisp white underwear. The life and credibility he had carefully built as an SS guard were crumbling. He wasn’t even thirty yet, but he had to wonder if he was going senile.

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