yourself, Sigmund. That is just what those people want ... for you to lose your composure before them.”
The baron gasped out that he understood.
“I have made the decision. We will remain here,” Ludwig continued.
“I am afraid of that American major. He hates us.”
“You need not be. He is an American obsessed by the stringent rules of fair play. What the devil do the Americans know about the game of war and conquest? What do they know about ruling a people? They are a mongrelized race protected by isolation from the realities of ashes and blood. Mark my words, when the last shot is fired the Americans will cry to go home. You can thank God the Russians didn’t get here first ... or even the French.”
“I don’t know. I saw something in this one’s eyes. I tell you, he means to ruin us.”
“Nonsense. As for the other two, it will be a pleasure for the young idiot with the Italian name to interrogate us. But ... be careful of the Frenchman.”
“Careful for what? They have already taken everything.”
“We shall get it all back. The Von Romstein family has lived through this crisis a hundred times. Let them make their accusations. Let them jail us. But we have time, Sigmund. We have time and we have heirs. One year, five, ten. It will all be restored to us eventually, with proper apology. The Americans will go and the French will go ... and there will still be Von Romstein.”
Chapter Seventeen
S EAN’S PHONE RANG. “ M AJOR O’Sullivan.”
“This is Captain Armour, with Colonel Dundee’s outfit. We’ve broken into the concentration camp. Colonel Dundee says to get over here right away with your health officer.”
“What’s the picture, Captain?”
“It can’t be described. I’ll pick you up at Ludwigsdorf and lead you in.”
“We’ll be right over.”
They crossed over the pontoon bridge to the south bank of the Landau in two jeep loads. Downstream they passed the magnificent estates, the Kurhaus Casino, the spa hotels, then swung inland into the district countryside. In the excitement Sean had forgotten and let Maurice Duquesne follow him. He corrected the situation and let the Frenchman take the lead. There was Grimwood, mumbling about Sean locking up several German Blacklist doctors he needed, Blessing, and, of course, O’Toole.
In the other jeep Bolinski, the lawyer and displaced persons officer, and Dante Arosa prayed for their safety at Duquesne’s wheelsmanship.
Romstein District was lush and pastoral. The unscarred villages they passed seemed to have been at peace for a thousand years. Curious farmers and villagers, knowing now they would not be harmed, studied the speeding American jeeps in half friendliness and some of the children waved.
As they approached Ludwigsdorf, which directly served the Von Romstein estates, they could see Romstein Castle on a hill in the distance. Near the highway there was a small railroad station, used to transport Romstein products; in the center of the village stood a church with a tall tower and onion-shaped dome, a replica of the cathedral in Rombaden. Within its vaults lay centuries of the Von Romstein dynasty’s dead.
Captain Armour flagged them down in the square, jumped into his own jeep, and led them out. The rail line angled sharply and ran parallel with the road into the Schwabenwald Forest. They raced toward the mass of dark green with sunlight coming in flickers as the road snaked through the forest.
A large sign pocked with bullet holes blared out at them: WARNING! CONCENTRATION CAMP GROUNDS! DO NOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT! VIOLATORS SUBJECT TO SEVERE PENALTY! There was a death’s head insignia below the words.
A few dozen battle-weary American soldiers sat along the roadside, backs propped against trees, dull-brained from the fight, digging half-heartedly at cans of ham and nibbling at the chocolate in their rations.
A pretty wooden bridge forded a stream. Nestled about the forest were about fifty lovely cottages
The baron gasped out that he understood.
“I have made the decision. We will remain here,” Ludwig continued.
“I am afraid of that American major. He hates us.”
“You need not be. He is an American obsessed by the stringent rules of fair play. What the devil do the Americans know about the game of war and conquest? What do they know about ruling a people? They are a mongrelized race protected by isolation from the realities of ashes and blood. Mark my words, when the last shot is fired the Americans will cry to go home. You can thank God the Russians didn’t get here first ... or even the French.”
“I don’t know. I saw something in this one’s eyes. I tell you, he means to ruin us.”
“Nonsense. As for the other two, it will be a pleasure for the young idiot with the Italian name to interrogate us. But ... be careful of the Frenchman.”
“Careful for what? They have already taken everything.”
“We shall get it all back. The Von Romstein family has lived through this crisis a hundred times. Let them make their accusations. Let them jail us. But we have time, Sigmund. We have time and we have heirs. One year, five, ten. It will all be restored to us eventually, with proper apology. The Americans will go and the French will go ... and there will still be Von Romstein.”
Chapter Seventeen
S EAN’S PHONE RANG. “ M AJOR O’Sullivan.”
“This is Captain Armour, with Colonel Dundee’s outfit. We’ve broken into the concentration camp. Colonel Dundee says to get over here right away with your health officer.”
“What’s the picture, Captain?”
“It can’t be described. I’ll pick you up at Ludwigsdorf and lead you in.”
“We’ll be right over.”
They crossed over the pontoon bridge to the south bank of the Landau in two jeep loads. Downstream they passed the magnificent estates, the Kurhaus Casino, the spa hotels, then swung inland into the district countryside. In the excitement Sean had forgotten and let Maurice Duquesne follow him. He corrected the situation and let the Frenchman take the lead. There was Grimwood, mumbling about Sean locking up several German Blacklist doctors he needed, Blessing, and, of course, O’Toole.
In the other jeep Bolinski, the lawyer and displaced persons officer, and Dante Arosa prayed for their safety at Duquesne’s wheelsmanship.
Romstein District was lush and pastoral. The unscarred villages they passed seemed to have been at peace for a thousand years. Curious farmers and villagers, knowing now they would not be harmed, studied the speeding American jeeps in half friendliness and some of the children waved.
As they approached Ludwigsdorf, which directly served the Von Romstein estates, they could see Romstein Castle on a hill in the distance. Near the highway there was a small railroad station, used to transport Romstein products; in the center of the village stood a church with a tall tower and onion-shaped dome, a replica of the cathedral in Rombaden. Within its vaults lay centuries of the Von Romstein dynasty’s dead.
Captain Armour flagged them down in the square, jumped into his own jeep, and led them out. The rail line angled sharply and ran parallel with the road into the Schwabenwald Forest. They raced toward the mass of dark green with sunlight coming in flickers as the road snaked through the forest.
A large sign pocked with bullet holes blared out at them: WARNING! CONCENTRATION CAMP GROUNDS! DO NOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT! VIOLATORS SUBJECT TO SEVERE PENALTY! There was a death’s head insignia below the words.
A few dozen battle-weary American soldiers sat along the roadside, backs propped against trees, dull-brained from the fight, digging half-heartedly at cans of ham and nibbling at the chocolate in their rations.
A pretty wooden bridge forded a stream. Nestled about the forest were about fifty lovely cottages
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