The Devil's Blessing Read Online Free Page A

said, realizing that there really was no choice. “Let me just talk to a few of my more trusted men.”
    “Why?”
    “To save our asses in case this little plan doesn’t work out, that’s why. If even one man doesn’t agree to the desertion plan, he is likely to shoot us both in the back. We will need men who already know and agree to the plan ahead of time and can act like our protectors should the plan not be universally agreed upon.”
    “And who are these trusted men?”
    “Leave that to me,” Ingersleben said. “I have one or two in mind.”

    ❧

    There was something happening, Otto just didn’t know what. It was now past afternoon, and there was some extra scurrying-about as the day continued. Oberfeldwebel Peter Haas was no where to be seen—inside Ingersleben’s tent, presumably—and Ingersleben was going around the camp in a nervous manner. Ingersleben was in a nervous mood, with his head and eyes darting about, like a rooster who can hear the master sharpening his knives.
    After a few moments Otto realized what made their commander’s actions seem so out of place. He wasn’t his usual thunderous self. When he spoke to the men, he spoke to them in a hushed manner. Coupled with his nervous demeanor, it all told Otto that something more was happening that met the eye.
    The other men didn’t seem to notice, probably because Haas’s visit had thrown their world and everything they perceived off kilter as it was, and this new development was overlooked as just another part of the day’s changes. Or perhaps, Otto thought, he was losing his own mind. Everyone else had quietly gone mad at their own pace; had he just crossed from the land of sanity as well, and not even noticed? He wasn’t sure, but the thought just added another fear to the many he had already. If the war ended right that moment, he would never go back to the man he was. He may not have had any open wounds on him, but a part of him was already dead.
    “Are you done?”
    Otto turned to see the voice calling him. It was Grenadier Josef Wernher, Ingersleben’s unofficial right hand man. Otto was using the restroom and had been standing there with his pants unbuckled for who knew how long.
    “Yes,” Otto said, closing the buttons on his pants and buckling them. “What is it?”
    “Unteroffizier has a new order for a few men.”
    “Well then, why doesn’t he tell me?” Otto asked, instantly regretting his combative tone.
    “Because,” Wernher said, walking over to face Otto, “he’s busy at the moment, and asked me to tell you. That is okay with you, is it not, Gemeiner?”
    “Yes, of course,” Otto said, quickly shrinking into the passive dog he was used to being. “What are our commander’s orders?”
    Wernher seemed to be relieved at Otto’s change of tone. “We are to kill all the Soviet prisoners.”
    “Yes,” Otto said, nodding, “understood.” But he didn’t understand. If we’re going to kill these Russian animals, why the secrecy? he thought. Once the men got wind that they were about to rid the earth of these Russian beasts, the happier the men would be.
    “There’s something else,” Wernher said. “We are going to the Western Front to turn ourselves over to the invading forces.”
    So there it was. The order from Berlin had come down. The war was truly over. Everyone was to return home and surrender. But none of it made sense. Why would the surrender be in silence? And if they were surrendering, why would they be killing prisoners? Surely turning prisoners of war in alive would be one of the stipulations. Unless they were just surrendering to the armies in the west, and not the east, but even that didn’t make sense. Would the Soviets and Western forces go to war over the German spoils? Had Germany really fallen so far as to go from nearly ruling the world to simply becoming a piece of land that other men, foreign men, fought over?
    Otto wasn’t sure if he was happy, now that the war was over. After