He left them in the kitchen, staring awkwardly at one another. Hohenfeldt, like Rohde himself, spoke almost no French and Lisette knew only a smattering of German.
Rohde knew that what he was doing was monstrous and that Lisette would never forgive him. But tonight, he was thinking only in practical terms. Allied troops would soon reach this sector, and that would put an end to their affair. At most, they had another night or two together and would likely never see one another again. Rohde was willing to trade those remaining nights for the rifle that old Hohenfeldt had refused to give him until now.
But how would he ever get Lisette to go along with him?
The cottage was very small, and in two steps he had entered the twins' bedroom. They were only half asleep, the commotion of Rohde and Hohenfeldt's arrival on the motorcycle having awakened them. He scooped them up, balancing one sleepy child on each hip, and returned to the kitchen. Hohenfeldt hadn't budged from the chair, grinning at Lisette.
Lisette watched with uncertainty, and then growing alarm, as Rohde entered the kitchen. Perhaps she had read his intentions in his face. The twins were oblivious and slumped against him sleepily. He never really interacted with them, but by now, they were used to his presence.
"Suce sa bite," he said, nodding at Hohenfeldt.
Rohde knew the French phrase was crude and harsh. All at once, the enormity of what he was asking seemed to dawn on Lisette. She stood up, her face angry, and it was hard to say what she planned to do next. Then her gaze fell upon the children that Rohde was holding.
He jerked his chin from Hohenfeldt to the bedroom. Then he gave the little girl a peck on the head. His meaning was all too clear. Some small part of Rohde hated himself for what he was doing, but it seemed like the best way to control Lisette.
By now, Lisette was shaking with fear and anger. He could see emotion racing across her face. Her eyes struck at him like daggers. But what choice did she have?
She hissed a single word at him, "Monstre." Monster.
If he felt anything at that moment, he pushed it aside.
She shot a hateful look at Rohde, then turned and made her way down the short hallway to her bedroom. Hohenfeldt followed, crowding close behind. He was a tall man, and fairly wide, so there was no way Lisette was getting past him. They went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Rohde doubted that Hohenfeldt would take long. The children seemed unconcerned about anything that was happening. He returned the little girl to her bed and tucked her in, giving her a piece of chocolate in the process. He had other plans for Leo.
"Would you like to go on an adventure?" he asked the boy in broken French.
The girl spoke up. "Je voudrais partir à l'aventure!"
"Les garçons seulement. This is for boys only. Leo?"
When Leo nodded, wide-eyed, Rohde carried him out and put him into the motorcycle sidecar. Then he gave the boy a piece of chocolate to keep him occupied.
When Hohenfeldt came out a few minutes later, he was surprised that he had to share the sidecar with the boy. Somehow, they both managed to squeeze in. The boy had to sit in his lap. Given the fact that Hohenfeldt was whistling, he was in too good of a mood to complain.
"Don't worry, Rohde. I showed your girl a trick or two."
"Go to hell, Staber." Rohde hated him for making him trade Lisette for the rifle.
Hohenfeldt chuckled. The Staber seemed to find the night's events amusing. He sat in the sidecar, licking his lips like the cat that had eaten the canary.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Their last stop of the night was the armory. With Rohde having fulfilled his end of the bargain, it was time for the Staber to do the same. He left the boy in the sidebar, pointing at him sternly and stating, "Ici."
"I can't imagine what you want with that boy," the Staber said. "You ought to have left him at home."
"This is coming from the man who just screwed the boy’s aunt. What wonderful concern you have shown."
"I do feel bad for the aunt, you know. I feel bad for her when she has to make do with you."
"You are an asshole, Hohenfeldt."
The Staber just laughed. "That's asshole, sir, to you. Do you want that rifle or not? If you do, then come inside."
Seething now, Rohde followed him in. The Staber went to his makeshift but neat office area. He watched as Hohenfeldt retrieved a bundle that he had tucked between the desk and the wall. With deft hands used to working with guns, the Staber unwrapped the oily cloth to reveal the Gewehr 43. Much to Rohde's chagrin, he realized that the Staber had hidden the rifle rather than storing it with the other small arms, most likely to keep Rohde from stealing it. The Staber was nothing if not wily. He certainly had not trusted Rohde.
Rohde examined the rifle. This particular weapon was equipped with a Zielfernrohr 43 (ZF 4) telescopic sight with 4x magnification. The Staber slapped a 10-round magazine on the desk. The weapon used the same 7.92 mm ammunition as the Mauser K98. The wood was stained lighter than the standard issue Mausers.
Even at first glance, it was a much different weapon from the Mauser K98 in that it was not nearly so finely made. The Mauser had benefitted from years of design evolution. The new rifle was at least 5 cm shorter. There was none of the Mauser's silky smooth metal. The metal parts still had rough edges and stamp parts on them, as if the weapon had been hastily made, thrown together in some factory between air raids.
The stock had a chunky look about it, as if it had been carved from a rectangle of wood with the least effort possible, and encased all but the last 10 centimeters of the barrel. In this regard, the rudimentary stock resembled some of the Russian rifles that Rohde had seen. The butt plate appeared to be made from a thick chunk of iron. The overall impression was of a very sturdy weapon that could double as a club.
What the rifle lacked in form, it made up for in function. And there was no denying that the Gewehr 43 functioned very well. Its simple gas piston operation had been copied from captured Russian rifles and then improved upon by German gunsmiths. The result was a highly accurate rifle with an impressive rate of fire.
"This one was made in Lübeck. It is zeroed in for 200 meters. With the scope, that gets one to an effective range of around 800 meters," Hohenfeldt said. He gave Rohde a doubtful look. "Maybe less in your case."
"Go to hell."
"With the 10-round magazines, you can fire maybe forty rounds a minute if you aren't so worried about what you are hitting."
Rohde was impressed. Compared to his bolt-action Mauser, the rate of fire was maybe 3 to 1.
Hohenfeldt held out his hands, as if to take the rifle back.
"What? It's mine now."
"I cannot issue you a new rifle until you return your old one."
Rohde held the rifle closer, and grabbed the spare magazines off the desk. If they'd had any bullets in them, he might have tried out the rifle on Hohenfeldt.
"I am taking this with me tonight."
"Suit yourself, but you had better turn in your Mauser first thing in the morning. If you do not, I will report you to Hauptmann Fischer."
Rohde ground his teeth. "I will have that back in the morning. Good night, Staber."
"And good night to you, Rohde. You can be sure I will have some pleasant dreams about your French girl, ha, ha!"
Rohde slept fitfully, thinking about the trap he would set in the morning. He glanced over at Lisette's nephew, Leo, wrapped in a thin blanket on the floor beside Rohde's cot. The boy still thought that he was having a grand adventure.