I’m not supposed to care either. I’m supposed to find a quiet way out of here and head home. Dornberger will take it from here. I know that’s what Mother wants. She wants me to escape and leave all those families here to be killed when the good guys get too close. Fear the Tracker. Always run, never fight. Mother made me repeat the rules every day as a child. She still does sometimes. I’ll admit, that one always struck a chord. Eight-year-old me dreamed of giant monsters, fire-spitting dragons burning down cities. Mother said the Tracker was just a man, but it didn’t matter. How can the devil just be a man? I know better now, but thinking about him still makes me nervous. Run from the Tracker. Always run.
I’ve never seen him, of course. Mother’s never seen him. We haven’t met the Tracker in… seven generations. Not since the Ninety-Two found her mother’s bones boiled clean in a wooden box. He had left a note: “I’ll see you soon.” I wonder if that’s true. I know the Ninety-Two was as real as I am—I’ve read her journals—and I have no reason to doubt her mother was killed by an evil man. But I wonder if the stories we’re told weren’t embellished, even a little, for our benefit. A bit of flair for dramatic effect. For all I know the Tracker is just a name we give evil when it crosses our path. Something for naughty children to fear. Our boogeyman.
Fear the Tracker. I suppose I do. I should run. That’s what they expect of me, von Braun, the OSS, my mother.
Well, fuck von Braun and fuck the OSS. It’s been three hours, that should be enough. I bought rat poison when we left Peenemünde. It was just a precaution, a way to kill myself, or von Braun if things went south. I made my way into the kitchen this morning and poured all of it in the stew. Not ours, the good stuff they serve the SS. The meat they have isn’t that fresh. They put enough vinegar and spices in there to mask the stench, and the taste of the strychnine. Mother said they still use it as medicine in some places. Put enough of it inside someone and it will do a number on their central nervous system. The muscle spasms should have started before they got to dessert. Thirty minutes later they would have been on the ground, convulsing. They probably broke some bones, bit their tongues off or split their heads open. If they were lucky, their lungs seized and they died gasping for air. If they weren’t, well, it took a bit longer. However long it takes to exhaust yourself to death jackknifing on the concrete floor. I don’t care either way. It’s over by now. I’ll stop by the officers’ mess on my way out and take care of those who weren’t hungry.
These people are safe now, as safe as anyone can be. They can go wherever they please. I can go and finish what I started. This is my mission. I killed a man to get this far. I’ll be damned if I give up now because of some mythic creature I’ve never seen. I’m scared, yes, but I’m not leaving Germany without von Braun. Kammler did me a favor. Five hundred men is a lot easier to move than three thousand. There’s a train leaving in an hour. I can make it. I’ll be in Oberammergau by morning.
14
Dream
There’s no one on this train; it’s quiet. I should be asleep by now, it’s… shit, 3:00 A.M. I’m exhausted but my mind won’t rest.
Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven men lying dead on the ground. I did that. I did it to save thousands, but if I’m honest I didn’t care. I was angry. I didn’t feel remorse when I saw them lying there. I didn’t feel anything. They were Nazis. They were going to kill everyone and I killed them first.
Dieter. That little girl without skin. The SS I killed, the ones I thought about killing on that bridge. They’re all blurring into one another, slowly fading in the background. It’s all part of the scenery. A woman in a red dress floating in the river.
I’m good at this, somehow. I don’t want to be. “We kill to survive, like every other living thing.” That’s what Mother said. I didn’t believe it. Not me.
…
I didn’t want to be like them. I never wanted to be like them.
Look at me now. I’d never hurt anyone before. I’ve been here a few weeks and I’ve killed twice already. It’s getting easier. Dieter was hard. I couldn’t care less about the SS lying on the kitchen floor.
I’m not like that. It’s this war, this place. The Nazis keep redefining insanity. They’ve turned their country into a satanic ritual. It’s in the air we breathe, the water we drink. I’m swimming in it and it’s changing me. I’m losing my fucking mind, one chunk at a time. I need to get away from the war before there’s nothing left of me to find.
15
L’Âme au Diable
I almost missed them. By the time I got to the Oberammergau camp where von Braun and his men had been moved, General Dornberger had already convinced the superior officer there that it was a bad idea to have all of Germany’s top scientists in one place. One lucky bomb and boom. No more scientists, and a firing squad for the man in charge. The officer agreed to let everyone stay in the villages around the camp, even gave them some civilian clothes so they could blend in. Dornberger delivered in spades. Everyone is free, more or less.
I found von Braun and Dornberger in this café an hour ago. They’ve arranged for some vehicles from Bleicherode to come get us, but they apparently don’t have enough gas to take us anywhere. I don’t know who they talked to in Bleicherode, or if they found out about the guards. They didn’t mention it if they did. I don’t think either of them would care.
This is crazy. I thought I’d have to break them out of an internment camp. I imagined a firefight, bombs going off, blood everywhere. Instead I find two dandies drinking espresso in an upscale café. Their idea of “roughing it.” You can’t get coffee anywhere nowadays, no sugar, no tea. The owner of this place must have friends in high places. Von Braun saw me when I came in. He nodded at me, got me a chair, and went on with his conversation as if nothing happened. I had to interrupt for them to fill me in. In a nutshell, we need to find gas and enough food for five hundred people while we wait for the Americans. I don’t know how long that will be. Still, this all seems petty compared to what I had in mind. It could be as easy as—
—Forgive me for interrupting again, gentlemen, but do we have any VzBV letterhead left?
They’re smiling. I guess they hadn’t thought of that. Dornberger doesn’t seem all that convinced, but von Braun is getting up. Oh, they’re both leaving now. Thank you for ignoring me. You’re welcome! All they need is a typewriter and the project-for-whatever-we-said-it-was will requisition all the fuel and supplies we need. The only thing left to do now is to wait for the Americans to come to us and drink some coffee. I need one. I haven’t slept a wink.