Five Past Midnight by James Thayer Read Free Book Online Page A

it projected behind his shoulder at a twisted, unnatural angle. The American lay on the cobblestones like a rag doll.
    Commandant Janssen and Group Captain Hornsby came to the front of the crowd.
    Heydekampf opened the suitcase. A spare sweater was inside, along with ration tins containing escape fudge, a treacly molasses, raisin, and chocolate mix made by the POWs for cross-country journeys.
    Heydekampf reached for the POWs wrist. He waited a long moment with the American's wrist between his finger and thumb before he announced, "No pulse. He's dead."
    "Of course he's dead, Lieutenant," Group Captain Hornsby said bitterly. "He fell five bloody stories and hit your goddamn stone courtyard."
    A sentry on the catwalk over the yard gate called out, "Halt. Hands up."
    Heydekampf spun to the new sound. The guard had his rifle at his shoulder, aimed at the roof above the Saalhaus. Heydekampf moved quickly through the crowd and across the yard almost to the chapel door across from the Saalhaus, where he could see to the roof.
    POW Burke was hanging from the ridge line of the roof with one hand. A suitcase was in his other hand. His feet were scrabbling for purchase. He managed to catch the peak with a heel, and he levered himself to a sitting position. A track of missing moss indicated where the American's body had slid down the roof before pitching into space.
    Burke raised his free hand and yelled, "Schiessen Sie nicht. Ich ergebe mich."
    Don't shoot. I give myself up. It was a lifesaving phrase memorized in German by all would-be escapers.
    Heydekampf waved at three guards. "Go get POW Burke from the roof." He returned to the Saalhaus wall.
    Colonel Janssen was kneeling next to the American's body. He, too, was searching for a pulse, his hand wrapped around the POWs other wrist. He exhaled heavily. ''He's dead."
    "Scheisse," Heydekampf muttered.
    Dabbing at a tear, Ulster Rifleman David Davis turned away. The American had been a good sport, someone to enliven an evening with a story or two. Ike and Monty were coming as fast as they could, but the war had not ended quickly enough for the American.
    Janssen ordered a nearby guard, "Get a bag from the infirmary."
    Heydekampf moved along the crowd of POWs to the senior allied officer. "Your fight over the bagpipes was a ruse, was it not, Captain Hornsby? A little choreography to distract my guards?"
    Hornsby said nothing.
    Anger clipped Heydekampf's words. "You see what has resulted from your game? A good soldier is dead, thanks to your escape pranks. You live with that for a while." The German's voice carried emotion he could not control. "And why in the world would you try to free this man when your troops are days or weeks away? You can hear your own guns every day as well as I can."
    Commandant Janssen also addressed the SAO. "Tell me what you saw, Captain Hornsby."
    Hornsby stuck his chin out.
    "I am asking you if you witnessed any German action in this matter. Any brutality? Any involvement by a guard?"
    Hornsby's voice was brittle with contempt. "Protecting your record, Colonel? Hoping none of us will testify at a war crimes trial in a few months?"
    "You have been treated as civilly as possible by me and my staff. You know that and so do I. Now 1 demand that you clarify in front of these British and American and German witnesses what was seen here."
    The RAF officer looked along the line of the prisoners. "I didn't see anything untoward," he admitted. "Anybody else see anything?"
    The prisoners murmured they had not.
    "Good." The commandant walked rapidly between the POWs across the yard toward the underpass to the German yard.
    Lieutenant Heydekampf said quietly, "We'll bury him today, Group Captain Hornsby. I will issue some wood and white paint from the shop if you will have one of your men construct a cross."
    Heydekampf glanced again at the American, a pile of broken bones, a parody of a human. The lieutenant began toward the gate, stepping through the crowd of POWs. But