Side Effects Read Free Page A

within a few weeks."
    "Big ifs, yes?"
    "Not so big. The biggest if anyplace is money, and hopefully we have enough of that. We'll need some luck, but our chances of making it out undetected seem rather good."
    "And you do not think me a traitor or a coward for wanting to leave with you?"
    "Am I?"
    "You are different, Herr Oberst. You have research to complete. Important research. I am just a junior officer in an army that is losing a war."
    "Ah, but you are also my aide. My invaluable aide.
    Was it not you who informed me of the old system of drainage pipes running beneath Ravensbriick?"
    "Well, it was just my fortune to have worked with the sanitation department when I was younger and--"
    "And was it not you who chose to keep that information our little secret and to help me with the connecting tunnel?"
    " Well, I guess--"
    "So don't say you are not deserving, Unteroffizier Runstedt. Don't ever say that."
    "Thank you, Oberst. Thank you." And at that moment, Alfred Runstedt, the man who had overseen or assisted in the extermination of several thousand Ravensbriick prisoners, the man who had, not an hour Page 6
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    before, calmly strangled to death a woman, her young son, her husband, and her father, wept with joy. Hollywood, New York, baseball, Chicago--now just words, they would soon be his life. Since the June invasion at Normandy, and even more frequently since the abortive July attempt to assassinate the Fiihrer at Rasten burg, in eastern Prussia, he had been forced to endure the recurrent nightmare of his own capture and death. In one version of the dream, it was execution by hanging; in another, by firing squad. In still another, ghostly prisoners, totally naked, beat him to death with sticks. Soon, the nightmares would stop.
    The grave was nearly deep enough. The wooded grove which was serving as an impromptu cemetery accepted the evening more quickly than did the adjacent field and was nearly dark when Becker pushed himself off the rock.
    "So, just a few more spadefuls, is it?" he said.
    "I think so," Alfi answered. He had donned a wind breaker against the chill of dusk. His uniform shirt, hanging on a branch, would be kept clean for a final display.
    "Cigar?"
    "Thank you, Herr Oberst." Alfi paused to light the narrow cheroot, one of a seemingly endless supply possessed by Becker.
    "I think you are deep enough now," Becker said after a half dozen more passes. "Let me give you a hand."
    Alfi scrambled from the grave. One with the arms, and one with the legs, the two men unceremoniously r>> Jf ^
    tossed the bodies of the woman and the boy into the pit.
    Alfi replaced the dirt with the spade. Becker helped, using his foot.
    "Forgive me if I am out of line, Herr Oberst," Alfi said as he shoveled, "but is there any possibility of notifying my sister at the munitions plant in Schwartzheide that, contrary to the reports she will receive, I am alive and well?"
    Becker chuckled and shook his head. "Alfi, Alfi. I have explained to you the need for secrecy. Why do you think I waited until only a few hours ago to tell you of my escape plan? I, myself, have been measuring every word for weeks, afraid I might give it away. For now, and for the foreseeable future both of us must remain among the lamentable casualties of the war. Even my brother, Edwin, at the camp in Dachau will not know."
    "I understand," Alfi said, realizing that he did not--at least not totally.
    "By the morning, you and I shall be both free and dead." Becker stamped on the topsoil of the grave and began throwing handfuls of dusty sand and pine needles over the fresh dirt. The idea of using the bodies of the farmer and his son in-law was sheer genius, Becker acknowledged. Originally, he had planned to have the two farmers supply him with transportation to Rostock. Their lorry would now run just as well with him at the wheel. The other refinements in his original plan were dazzling. When