The Soul of a Thief

by Steven Hartov

  The conversations of the couple, full of her questions and his lies, relaxed Frau Himmel into an agitated state of optimism. Their children were safe, sent off to reside with a spinster aunt in the mountains south of Munich, and after this brief nostalgic honeymoon, their mother would be securely escorted there, to wait out the war and the return of her hero to a quiet life in Bavaria. Meanwhile, in counterpoint to my witness of this happy subterfuge, Edward and Mutti and the commandos camped beyond the comfortable château walls. Yet there was no barn or carriage house, for these had been burned to the ground, and the men huddled in leaky infantry tents. I shuttled back and forth, bringing them whatever comforts I managed to sneak from the country kitchen, and no one needed gaze upon me jealously to elicit my sense of shame.

  After one such excursion, Edward followed me halfway back to the château, gripping my elbow and turning me.

  “She’s all right, you foolish boy,” he said, knowing too well my pensive expressions at this point. “She’s in a nunnery, a convent. Where could she be safer than in a church?”

  “Monte Casino was a church,” I said, reminding him of the Italian cathedral that had been bombed to rubble, and he waved me off in disgust.

  I had indeed become pathetic. What was required of me now was action, yet a paralysis had crept upon me. Should I seize the staff car by night and race off for Meulan to rescue my love? I could dispose of the vehicle by the roadside, abandon my uniform and join her in the convent, disguising myself as a monk. Yet I knew that Himmel would appear there forthwith, and the mere anticipation of his reaction curdled my fantasy. Perhaps we could run, from the arms of the blessed sisters and on toward Allied lines, yet I knew too well the nature of combat, and that rape and execution were barely the afterthoughts of battlefield adrenaline. For some brief moments, I entertained the thought of murder, for my master’s death would certainly terminate our unspoken struggle for Gabrielle’s soul. Yet I shook this option off, reasoning that my trigger pull would end my life as well, though secretly aware that I was incapable of the act. You see, to me he wore an impenetrable shroud of power, a cloak of protection he had often folded me within, and I failed to muster enough reason to betray him with a bullet.

  I would have to ride with him, wherever that might take us. I would have to watch, and wait for opportunity’s blessing, and then plot quickly and execute a plan that would not deprive me of sleep for the rest of my nights. Could I somehow snatch both Gabrielle and part of Himmel’s coming treasure, leaving him alive, and us to still survive?

  The next three days were unbearable, the pressure slowly swelling like a boil that will not burst, my every nerve stretched thin as catgut on a violin. The invasion roiled to the northwest, taking shape, rising like an inevitable tide, and as with all such terrible battles, rumors coiled together with truth, making information fleeting and worthless. American and British paratroopers were everywhere, pushing quickly east. No, there were only a few of them, harassing German positions here and there. Canadian tanks were on the road from Lisieux, moving like lightning and unstoppable. No, they had been halted north of Caen, and a Hitlerjugend Kampfgruppe under Kurt Meyer had decimated them. With strident confidence the broadcasts from Berlin insisted how the Luftwaffe swarmed above the battlefields, yet I could hear the urgent contradictions spitting from the field radios. German infantry commanders begged for air cover, but none was to be had, and Allied fighters roamed as free as wild eagles, sinking their quick talons into every scurrying Wehrmacht mouse. And we were only spared the pummeling of heavy bombers because of our proximity to Paris, its glories guarded by the entreaties of Charles de Gaulle in London.

  Meanwhile, in the garden of Montre Temps, the Commando built a house of twigs. With cigarettes and captured British bayonets, Friedrich bartered for camouflage netting from a panzer crew, and it was strung from the trees and woven with a thousand leaves to hide our tents. From the vantage point of a streaking cockpit, it surely appeared no different than the crown of woodland nearby, while beneath the men squatted, and smoked, and preened their weapons, and waited. They were restless with inaction, yet patient in the knowledge action soon would come, and they watched the tanks and lorries passing on the road beside, nodding their farewells, squinting at compatriots riding off to graveyards.

  And within the château walls, Colonel Himmel marked his time, carefully perusing some intelligence reports, willfully ignoring others. He made urgent telephone calls on a landline that still functioned, while waving off many that came through to me as I covered the mouthpiece and whispered the interloper’s name. He often strode to the road, inviting officers returning from the front for brief respite, and they further crushed the carpet with their dusty boots and sipped Frau Himmel’s coffee with their soot-lined faces. Yet every conversation had its purpose, and I watched my master glean and sift their information, then send them off with a cigar and a grin and a pat on the back. And whenever his wife faltered, losing interest in her cooking hobby and unable to accomplish knitting for her jangling nerves, he would suddenly sweep her to a bedroom up above. Sometime later, the Colonel would emerge, rebuttoning his tunic and throwing me a wink. And later still, his wife would follow, appearing to be slightly dizzy, yet the corners of her mouth upturned.

  On the evening of the third day, I could bear the château no longer. Frau Himmel had taken to ordering me about like a servant, and preoccupied with his conspiracies, my master seemed not to hear.

  Shtefan, clear the dining table.

  Shtefan, help me polish the silver.

  Shtefan, set the things quite nicely, as if for members of the Reichstag.

  She had dressed in evening wear, a long black gown and gleaming pearls, the dinner no doubt a farewell repast before some driver would fetch her for her trip to Munich. And when at last she proudly lit a brace of candles, Himmel realized his role and took his seat, and as she waved me off the Colonel smirked and shrugged a silent apology, yet I was happy to escape this Transylvanian nightmare.

  A light rain pattered in the garden as I hurried toward the tents of the Commando, desperate to take in the purer exhalations of their warrior breaths. Above the tents the spring leaves rustled in the camouflage net, and beyond the copse of trees the horizon flashed with dim artillery bursts that teased the clouds. The center tent was open, its flaps rolled up and roped, and within the men sat upon ammunition crates, smoking and playing cards by the glow of a hurricane lantern. Edward was with them, and Mutti was scooping the last of a stew into mess kits gripped by grateful hands. Captain Friedrich saw me first, as I nearly tumbled in and found a spot beside Corporal Noss, shoving his rump aside as I snatched a cigarette from his mouth. Pale faces leaned expectantly toward mine.

  “What the hell’s going on, Brandt?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “You do. You always know.”

  “The Himmels are having a dinner party,” I scoffed.

  “What the hell are they celebrating?”

  “Fornication,” someone snorted.

  “She’s leaving soon, thank God,” I said. “She thinks I’m her butler.”

  “And the Colonel thinks you’re his maid.”

  “Where is his ‘maid,’ by the way?”

  “She’s become a nun,” Edward murmured.

  “And it’s the servants who know everything anyway, Brandt. So, spit it out!”

  “Ja, where are we going? When are we getting into this fight?”

  “I don’t know,” I insisted. “Maybe he doesn’t know yet either, or at least he’s keeping it from me. Deal the fucking cards.”

  For two hours we sat, and it was fine for me and refreshing as cool, clear water. It was as if with the commandos I could remember who I was, a young man like them, with hopes and dreams and foolish optimism floating in calamity. In Himmel’s private world, I was sapped of strength, a mere ghost of his will, while within the Commando’s cocoon I
stretched the aching muscles of my cramped individuality. It had been days since I had laughed, and with their raucous jokes I expelled the dour poisons from my lungs.

  A motorcycle pulled into the drive, a dispatch type with a sidecar, and in the distance we could see a black-frocked figure heading for the château doors.

  “Go spy!” Friedrich shoved his hand against my shoulder. “Find out what’s afoot!”

  I obeyed reluctantly, wanting desperately to maintain this comradely alliance I’d just rejuvenated, and I returned to the château, entering very quietly. I halted just before the arch to the salon, my hands folded behind my back, not hiding my appearance, yet making no announcement. The dinner had been cleared, and I could hear Frau Himmel banging pots in the kitchen, to which she had clearly been banished. Himmel stood before a small man wearing a long leather coat and peaked cap, his gold-rimmed spectacles gleaming in the candlelight. The two were very close, they spoke quietly, and I recall their cryptic murmurs went like this.

  “You are certain of this, Klaus?” The Colonel held a grin at his lips.

  “Yes. We still have loyal French in Epron and St. Contest.”

  “And it’s a single freight car?”

  “Guarded front and back.”

  “Tomorrow night? You are sure?”

  “Yes, Erich. From Cabourg toward Caen, on the old line. But it will be forced to slow, and certainly hold up, before their front and ours.”

  Himmel gripped the small man’s leather sleeve, leaning closer.

  “It is the paymaster’s train, you are certain.”

  “Yes, but its precise contents and sums can only be discovered in the taking.”

  “Your best guess, then. American notes?”

  “I think not, as they won’t be useful here in France. But certainly some other continental currency, sterlings or francs.”

  Himmel smiled fully now. “As long as it all exchanges well.”

  “It shall, almost anywhere on earth, I should assume.” The small man smiled back.

  And with that, Himmel placed both his hands on the man’s cheeks, and bent and kissed him on the forehead.

  “You are going to love South America,” he whispered.

  At this juncture my brows were knotted in a cleft. Who was this man? And who was he to Himmel? Two Wehrmacht officers, embraces, a kiss, and a conversation that churned my stomach. But I could not turn and run. There was nowhere for me to go. I clicked my heels and cleared my throat, and both men turned to me at once. The visitor stepped quickly back from Himmel, his expression showing alarm, but my master only waved a beckoning hand to me.

  “Come, Brandt! Come, come, come!”

  I stepped into the room, saluting as I moved.

  “I want you to meet my brother, Klaus. He is a captain in the Abwehr.”

  I bowed, as Himmel clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Brandt is my right-hand man,” he said to his brother. “You can trust him as you would a priest.”

  Klaus Himmel made a small smirk as he nodded in my direction. “I never trusted our priest, Erich.”

  “True. I’m sure he was buggering half the boys’ choir.”

  The two men grinned at each other.

  “Well, I must go,” said Klaus Himmel. They shook hands firmly.

  “I will see you in forty-eight hours,” said my master. “You don’t still get airsick, do you?”

  “I’ll live through it,” the smaller man replied, and he was gone.

  The Colonel paced for a while, rubbing his hands together as he thought, stopped moving, touched his eye patch and continued. I stood there stiffly, waiting, still stunned at the appearance of this sibling, and somehow offended at having been denied the knowledge of his existence. And I wondered further that Klaus Himmel had not bothered to bid his brother’s wife farewell.

  “Fetch the file, Shtefan.” Himmel’s order snapped me from my thoughts. “Spread the large-scale map of the coast, and all the aerials that pertain. And summon the officers.”

  As I worked, laying the map out upon the dining table and the reconnaissance photos in order, I realized why I had not been privy to his brother’s existence. He was an Abwehr officer, an intelligence agent. So many of the reports I’d used to glean facts pertinent to my master’s plan had come not from some anonymous source, but directly from his brother. Klaus was Himmel’s coconspirator, and if an aircraft was to be engaged, no doubt there were more.

  Himmel sent his wife upstairs to pack her things, while I ran to fetch Captain Friedrich and Lieutenant Gans, and with them came Sergeant Meyer and Heinz the armorer, who always had to be kept in the know. My teeth were clenched in stubborn silence as we returned to the château, and the panic rose within me, knowing that with each step toward Himmel’s plot so grew my distance from Gabrielle. What was to become of her? Had Himmel’s growing fervor for his scheme expunged her from his plans? Yet I hadn’t time to ruminate, as soon we surrounded the dining table and the work began.

  The Colonel made his brief, announcing the target, a French locomotive and a single Allied freight car. The small train would be moving on the rail line between Cabourg and Caen. He tapped at the map with the tip of a sheathed bayonet, emphasizing route details, obstacles and points of rendezvous.

  “Our front line is established north of Caen,” he clipped. “From here to here, through Epron, St. Contest, Buron and all the way to Rots.” He dragged an arc above the city. “Here, the Canadian 3rd Infantry and British 50th are attempting to break through, but 22nd SS Panzergrenadier is holding them.”

  My brain was addled as I listened to these details. Its warring vortices focused partly on the tactics of the mission, then skidded to my master’s lips disguising its intent, and dissolved into my imagined images of Gabrielle, alone and weeping in her abandonment.

  “We shall move first to Troarn, holding east of our own lines, and then northwest to Merville.” He raised the bayonet. “We shall be deep behind enemy lines at that point, but we shall wait, and take the Allied train tomorrow after midnight, as it slows up before the front. The freight is guarded, but I expect our lightning ambush will eliminate the problem.” I watched the blade again, as he slowly drew it down and stabbed a point quite distant from the rail line. “And then, we shall withdraw with the prize, toward the airfield here, at Carpiquet.”

  I held my breath as Friedrich inquired after the nature of the mission, and the “prize” to which our commander had referred.

  “All in good time, my Captain.” Himmel frowned at Friedrich, which was enough to stifle curiosity. “It’s quite a long way from here to Merville, and any one of us might be captured en route. Not that I suspect you might crack, mind you.”

  There were sharp nods and clicks of heels all around.

  “Make the men ready, Captain,” Himmel ordered. “Full combat gear, but leave the rest behind. We’re off before first light.”

  Friedrich and the rest spun on their heels, and as I watched them hurry from the château, I could feel their blood stirring. My master had played them well, suppressing a secret that would only goad them on, making them murmur and wonder speculations, enhancing their will to charge.

  “Pack up the car, Shtefan.”

  I turned to him, a question in my eyes, while his single orb held a mischievous glint.

  “With nothing,” he added. “Nothing, that is, but what you hold most dear.”

  What I held most dear was somewhere near, in a convent, but I dared not voice the question that choked my throat. I could not even casually ask after her, for I knew my face would crack and it would all come tumbling out.

  “And your things, Colonel?” I whispered.

  “By now you know what is important to me, do you not?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  It would require but a small satchel to contain my master’s dearly held effects. I
t would hold his medals, some bloodied souvenirs of combat, the few memento photographs I’d taken with trembling hands. There would be citations from the Führer, perhaps some letters to and from the Colonel’s family, in all merely a kilogram or two of the man’s essentials.

  And my own satchel, it would indeed contain nearly nothing. I had no letters from my mother, for none had ever come. There were some photographs, and I would take them, without imagining to ever really sit in peace somewhere and marvel at this past. But in the end, I had grown the instincts of a soldier, and my pack would harbor mostly ammunition, underwear and socks.

  I began to work quickly, while Himmel loped up the stairway to the chambers above. I heard his pacing boots and the throaty murmur of his assurances, interlaced with the nervous patter of Frau Himmel’s feet and the higher whine of her interrogations. Their muted conversation turned a corner, rising to a higher pitch of hissing accusations and counterthrusting shouts. And then I thought I heard the neighing of a horse, yet dismissed it as a wish, until Mutti’s growl called to me from the garden, and my arms were full of my effects and my expression of annoyance as I stepped outside and froze.

  The men were there in ranks, as always before a mission, laying out the tools of impending combat. Mutti and Edward, shoulder to shoulder, stood grinning wide and pointing like a pair of vaudevillians. And there stood Blitzkrieg, snorting and pawing at the earth, and next to him the old man of Avignon, removing his cap.

  I walked to my horse, thinking I must be hallucinating, until he raised his head and nodded fiercely, and I dropped my things at my feet and threw my arms about his muzzle.

  “Mon Dieu!” I stammered to the old man. “I cannot believe it!”

  “And well you should not, young one,” said Monsieur Almont. “Nearly every soldier on the way wanted him, and not a few brigands tried to take him from me.”