Warsaw by Richard Foreman Read Free Book Online Page A

eyes.
    "Yes sir," issued an eager Private who switched on
and then off a searchlight which had been mounted onto the truck behind the
Lieutenant's head. The powerful beam produced a large cone of amber light on
the dismal street.
    "Right, I believe it's about time we released our seven
little ducks, wouldn't you agree men?" Christian Kleist said cheerfully.
He had a variety of terms for his ‘ducks’, including ‘prey’, ‘vermin’ and ‘clay
pigeons’. The Privates (including the half-drunk, wholly enthusiastic Dietmar)
replied by kicking, cuffing and nudging their passengers out of the truck. They
indicated to one of the Jews to remain seated however. The soldiers then
proceeded to line them up before the Lieutenant at the front of the vehicle.
For a brief moment the officer turned his attention to the virginal Wehrmacht
Private and gave him an appreciative, encouraging nod. The captives, including
two women, were in a variety of physical and mental conditions. A couple were
in no better shape than the beggar that Duritz had encountered earlier on in
the evening. A few however seemed alert and in reasonably good health. A couple
of the prisoners knew what was coming from hearing about Kleist and his
previous hunts. Pale with terror they nevertheless tried to rein themselves in
- breathing deeply to fill their lungs with oxygen - so as to form some species
of strategy as to what to do - either to run as quickly as possible in a
straight line or zigzag towards the end of the street. Some prayed. Some
thought of their loved ones. The distinguished, infamous SS officer addressed
them in faultless Polish; he smiled immaculately before doing so, his teeth
gleaming in the moonlight like a sabre.
    "Listen carefully, your aim is to run and reach the end
of the street. I will not lie to you. Most of you probably won't make it but,
should you do so, you have my word that you will be released and allowed to
return to your families or wherever you crawled out from. Now, spread
yourselves out along the width of the street. When you hear the gun you may
begin."
    Before they were able to fan themselves out along the street
the Private who had remained in the truck switched on the searchlight again, as
was his task to do, and watched in amusement as the beam scorched their eyes
and they cowered before the simple light with their hands in front of their
faces.
    The Private's pistol sounded just before the disorientated
prisoners reached their starting positions. Christian Kleist employed a variety
of tactics during his hunts, both to amuse himself and also so he could conduct
experiments as to what was the most efficient or entertaining strategy. He would
sometimes just try and shoot his quarry from left to right, or he would start
in the middle and shoot the prey on the ends last. Sometimes he would also
challenge himself and either attempt to kill his targets as quickly as possible
- before they were even half-way down the range. Or occasionally the Lieutenant
would test his skills by allowing them to get to the end of the street before
he commenced firing.
    Enfeebled and petrified the first prisoner was slaughtered,
barely getting out of the blocks; he was in the area of the Private's
searchlight from the beginning. He dropped immediately, from his death and the
force of the shot. The sound of the shot, echoing throughout the closed in
street, reverberated in the air like thunder. A sobbing woman, barely running,
fell next. No sooner did she feel and see the dreaded light upon her than it
was over. A steely, demonic determination now possessed the Lieutenant's face -
or rather he possessed it. Satisfied with his first two torso shots he
nevertheless impatiently announced to the similarly pumped up Private
"Again. More!"; Dietmar looked on, exhilarated. For an instant the
Lieutenant became unfocused as the fateful, florescent beam fell upon two
targets simultaneously. The first he but winged, the bullet ripping through the
man's