Three men came running from the village. They hurried up to Eichler.
“Schon gut,” the farmer grumbled. “It is all right. These two are from Lahr. I know of them.” He turned toward the village. “They will come with me to my house. For a schnapps.” He turned back to the men. “You stay here. One does not know what a night like this will bring.”
He beckoned to Dirk and Sig.
“Come with me,” he said.
The large black cooking stove in the spacious Bauernstube, the combined kitchen-dining-living area of the Eichler farm, kept the big room warm and cozy. The strong schnapps did the same for the three men.
Eichler had awakened his wife and daughter. The woman, drab and heavy-set, was heating a kettle of water on the stove for the ersatz coffee. The girl, a nubile, blond seventeen-year-old, had been sent out to scrounge up any eggs that might have been laid since the last gathering. Already a couple of large, fragrant sausages, a big package of freshly churned butter and two loaves of Landbrot—homemade country bread — were stacked on the big wooden table around which the men were sitting.
The woman poured the steaming black brew into heavy mugs and placed one of them before each man.
Dirk observed her out of the corner of his eye. She was definitely not the friendly type. Perhaps it was just the customary wariness of strangers; perhaps she resented being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. He hoped it was not more than that.
The girl came back. She had a basket over her arm.
Eichler looked up.
“How many, Erika?”
“Sixteen, Vati,” the girl replied. She glared at Dirk. There was a sullen animosity in her eyes. “I suppose he gets them all?” she said.
“We can make it an even twenty,” Eichler said. “With what we have in the house” He turned to Dirk. “Will that be enough?”
“Prima!” Dirk replied. “It is very generous. Please add it all up, Herr Ortsbauernführer, and I shall pay you right away.”
With a little gesture of anger, Erika plunked the basket of eggs down on the table. Tossing her blond hair, she turned and joined her mother at the stove.
Dirk watched her. He was concerned. He did not want to leave behind any kind of antagonism — which might be expressed to the wrong person at the wrong time. Or the right time, depending on your point of view…. When he and Sig left, he wanted only two feelings to linger. Goodwill — and greed. He would have no trouble with the second, but the girl presented a dilemma in regard to the first one. How in hell could he overcome her hostility?
Eichler was frowning in concentration over a scrap of paper, writing on it with a stubby, blunt pencil which he periodically wet on the tip of his tongue. Arithmetic obviously was not one of his strong points.
Dirk turned to the woman.
“We must thank you for your hospitality, Frau Eichler You and your daughter have been most gracious” He looked at his watch. “But we must soon be on our way. I want to be in Lahr first thing in the morning. And with only my broken bicycle for the two of us, it will take a good deal of time.”
Eichler looked up from his labors.
“We can fix your bicycle for you,” he said.
“You can?” Dirk asked eagerly. “You have extra tires? Tubes?”
“We do.” Eichler licked his lips. “They are of first quality. But they will not cost you too much,” he added quickly.
“That would be great,” Dirk said. “Say — perhaps you even have an extra bike? We would purchase it. We need it badly — and we would be willing to pay well for it.”
Eichler thought. He nodded slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “I have such a bicycle.”
Erika whirled on her father.
“No, Vati!” she cried. “It is Konrad's!”
Eichler refused to look at her.
“He will not need it,” he stated flatly. He glowered at the table top. “He was killed,” he explained quietly. “My son. Only last September. In Holland.” He looked up at his daughter defiantly. “Better his bicycle should help his family than turn to rust in the barn!”
Erika turned away, bitterness in her face.
Dirk had a sudden idea. It was worth a try. It had been the only big action in Holland at that time.
“Herr Ortsbauernführer,” he said solemnly, “you said your son fell in Holland? In September?”
“Yes.”
“Was it — was it at Arnhem, by any chance?”
Eichler looked at him in surprise.
“Yes. It was. Arnhem.”
Dirk shook his head in wonder.
“Unglaublich,” he said. “Incredible…” He looked at Eichler. “I was there!” He pointed to his arm. “That is where I got mine!”
Eichler stared at him.
“Konrad was a Panzergrenadier—in the Armored Infantry,” he said slowly. “With the Tenth SS Panzer Division.”
“Oberführer Heinz Harmel's Frundsberg Division!” Dirk exclaimed. “Of course. Their home station is Stuttgart. Wehrkreis V!”
A sudden bond had sprung up between Eichler and Dirk. The two women were listening with evident interest.
“You were in the same division?” Eichler asked.
“No,” Dirk answered regretfully. “I was in the Ninth SS Panzer Division. Same corps, though. The Hohenstauffen Division. Under Standartenführer Walter Harzer. We were on Frundsberg's right flank on the river.” He shook his head. “Those boys from the Tenth — they fought like demons.”
The two women had drawn near, listening to Dirk.
He rolled up his left sleeve. The long, deep scar running across his elbow looked red and shiny fresh.
“I nearly left an arm and a lung there,” he said, patting his side.
The Eichler woman stared, wide-eyed. She crossed herself. “Josef-Maria,” she mumbled. The daughter took her mother's arm. She looked at the scar in fascination.
“It would have been a small loss against the one you suffered,” Dirk said gravely. He rolled down his sleeve. “Imagine,” he said. “Your son and I. Both in the Second SS Panzer Corps!”
He looked earnestly at the woman.
“I am sorry your son had to give his life for the Fatherland, Frau Eichler. But you can be proud of what he did.”
The woman sniffed loudly. Once. She turned to her daughter. “Perhaps Konrad's Feldkamerad would like some more hot coffee,” she said.
“Ja, Mutti” Enka lifted the pot from the stove She filled Dirk's cup.
“Dankeschön,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He smiled at her. For a moment their eyes met.
The animosity was gone from her face.
“Bitte,” she said.
Dirk looked away. He did not want the girl to see the relief that would certainly show in his eyes…. Hell — in another few minutes he could have her in the sack! He sighed to himself. It would be some time before that sort of pleasure became a priority matter again.
Eichler turned to his daughter.
“Erika. Go to the barn and get the bicycle,” he said. “And the set of fine new tires and tubes.”
“Ja, Vati.”
The girl hurried from the room.
“I have made the total count,” Eichler said ponderously. “Including the bicycle. Perhaps you had best look it over.” He handed the paper to Dirk.