Garden Of Beasts

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Approaching the clearing, Willi Kohl heard a loud gunshot.

It echoed off the buildings and the landscape and was swallowed in the tall grass and juniper around him. The inspector ducked instinctively. He saw, across the clearing, the tall form of Reinhard Ernst drop to the ground beside the Mercedes.

No… The man is dead! It’s my fault! Through my oversight, my stupidity, a man has been killed, a man vital to the fatherland.

The minister’s SS bodyguard, crouching, looked for the assailant.

What have I done? the inspector thought.

But then another shot rang out.

Easing to the protective trunk of a thick oak at the edge of the clearing, Kohl saw one of the regular army soldiers slump to the ground. Kohl looked just beyond him and saw another soldier lying on the grass, blood on his chest. Nearby a balding man in a brown jacket scrabbled to safety under the bus.

The inspector then looked back to the Mercedes. What was this? He’d been wrong. The minister was unhurt! Ernst had dived to the ground for cover when he’d heard the first shot but was now rising cautiously, a pistol in his hand. His guard had unslung a machine pistol and he too was looking for a target.

Schuma

Then a third shot rang through the clearing. It hit Ernst’s Mercedes, shattering a window. A fourth, too, hitting the car’s tire and i

But he was not protected from Willi Kohl.

The inspector wiped his hand on his slacks and aimed his revolver at Schuma

But just as Kohl began to squeeze the trigger, Schuma

God in Heaven! Kohl was stu

Schuma

The Mauser kicked hard against his shoulder as Paul fired again. He aimed low, hoping to hit Ernst’s or his guard’s legs. But their car was in a shallow gully and he couldn’t find a target beneath it. He glanced inside the classroom quickly; the last of the young men were leaving. They staggered out and ran for the woods.

“Run!” Paul cried. “Run!”

He fired twice more to keep Ernst and the guard down.

Flinging sweat from his forehead with his fingers, Paul tried to get closer to the Mercedes but both Ernst and his guard were armed and good shots, and the SS man had a submachine gun. They fired repeatedly and Paul could make no headway toward them. As Paul worked the bolt to chamber a round, the guard peppered the bus and the ground nearby. Ernst leapt into the front seat of the Mercedes and grabbed the microphone then took cover again on the far side of the car.

How long would it be until help arrived? Paul had driven through Waltham only two miles up the road; he was sure the good-sized town would be home to a garrison of police. And the school itself might have its own security force.

If he wanted to survive he’d have to flee now.

He fired twice more, using up the last of the Mauser ammunition. He tossed the rifle to the ground then bent down and pulled a pistol from the belt of one of the dead soldiers. It was a Luger, like Reginald Morgan’s. He worked the toggle to put a bullet in the chamber.

He looked down and saw, crouching, halfway under the bus, the balding mustachioed man who’d led the students into the building.

“What’s your name?” Paul asked in German.

“Please, sir.” His voice shook. “Do not-”

“Your name? ”

“Doctor-professor Keitel, sir.” The man was crying. “Please…”

Paul recalled that this was the name on the letter about the Waltham Study. He lifted the pistol and shot him once in the center of the forehead.

Then he took a final look toward Ernst’s car and could see no target. Paul ran across the field, firing several shots into the Mercedes to keep Ernst and the guard down, and soon he plunged into the woods as bullets from the SS man’s weapon chopped through the lush green foliage around him, none even close to its mark.

Chapter Forty

Willi Kohl had turned away from the clearing and now, drenched in sweat and sick from the heat and exertion, was heading back in the direction of the Labor Service truck, Schuma

A hundred meters, two hundred, gasping, wondering: Who were the young people? Were they criminals? Were they i

He paused to try to catch his breath. If he didn’t, he was sure Schuma

He sca

Where was the truck? He was disoriented. This direction? No, it was the other way.

But perhaps Schuma

Without a sound, without any warning, a piece of hot metal touched the back of his head.

No! His first thought was: Heidi, my love… how will you manage alone with the children in this mad world of ours? Oh, no, no!

“Don’t move.” In barely accented German.

“I won’t… Is you, Schuma

“Give me the pistol.”

Kohl let the weapon go. Schuma

A huge hand gripped his shoulder and turned the inspector around.

What eyes, Kohl thought, chilled. He reverted to his native language. “You are going to kill me, yes?”

Schuma

“Read it,” Schuma

Kohl said, “Please, my spectacles.” Glancing down at his breast pocket.

Schuma

Placing them on his nose, he unfolded and read the documents quickly, shocked by the words. He looked up, speechless, staring into Schuma

Ludwig:

You will find a

At this early stage of the study I believe it is best that we refer to those killed by our Subject soldiers as state criminals. Therefore you will see in the letter that the two Jewish families we killed at Gatow will be described as Jew subversives, the Polish laborers killed at Charlottenburg as foreign infiltrators, the Roma as sexual deviants, and the young Aryans at Waltham today will be political dissidents…