it--and the orange," he added, as Tiny began ripping off the skin with his teeth.
"What about your reefer coat?" Tiny wanted to know cramming bits of orange into his mouth.
He looked at it longingly. He himself had only his thin camouflage jacket over his regular tunic, and we all knew that if Barcelona should die, one of the medical orderlies would certainly appropriate his coat. A good thick reefer like that was worth more than its weight in gold.
"What about it?" said Tiny. "You don't need it while you're in here. Why can't I just borrow it?"
"No!"
Barcelona was far too weak to shout, but the intended vehemence of his protest was obvious. He turned his eyes on us so imploringly that the Old Man gave Tiny a sharp kick in the leg and told him to shut up.
As we left, we had a quick whip round and made Barcelona a present of all our opium cigarettes and two liters of vodka. If he was going to pull through, he would need something to sustain him. We pushed them safely under his pillow when no one else was looking and waved him goodbye.
When we' went back the following day, we were told that Barcelona had been transferred to a hospital in Stalingrad.
"Son of a bitch!" shouted Tiny. "Now they've both gone --him and his jacket! What a couple of shits!"
All that we have hoped for, all that we have worked for, has now become reality. We have not only a well-ordered state, but also, in Adolf Hitler, a leader we will follow to the very end.
Pastor Steinemann, August 5, 1933
SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler, seated behind his desk, stared thoughtfully across at Standartenfuhrer Theodor Eicke, who was sprawled in an armchair, seemingly unaware of his gaze.
After a moment Himmler pushed back his chair and stood up. Shoes creaking, he walked across to the window and looked out at the white wastes of Prinz Albrecht Strasse, where the first snow of the winter was still untrodden. He frowned, cleared his throat, placed his hands behind his back and turned to face Eicke.
"I hope for your own sake, my dear fellow--" He paused, and gave a grim, warning smile. "I hope for your own sake that what you've just told me is true."
"Reichsfuhrer!" Eicke's exclamation of protest rang out almost mockingly. He seemed very sure of himself. "The old bitch quite definitely had Jewish blood in her--and more than a few drops, too. At least a quarter Yid, I should say. I've suspected it for a long time, I just never Had the proof until now. But in any case, you've only got to look at the family schnozzle, it sticks out a mile!"
He flung back his head in a great burst of laughter. Himmler, nostrils pinched and eyes closed, took a dee breath and counted to ten. This man Eicke irritated him every time he opened his mouth. His language was coarse and his sense of humor bordered on the moronic.
"Very well. I shall have to take your word for it. You have nothing else to report? In that case, I shall wish you a very good day. Heil Hitler!"
The minute Eicke had left the room, Himmler seated himself once more at his desk and picked up the telephone. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the papers Eicke had left with him, "Send Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich to me--at once!"
Heydrich arrived a few seconds later, padding silently into the room. He was more wild beast than man, with the elegance, cunning and cruelty of a lynx. Himmler watched as he crossed the room, and Heydrich, ever on the alert for danger, returned his gaze out of hooded eyes that gave away no secrets.
"Take a seat, Obergruppenfuhrer."
Heydrich inclined his head and settled himself in the chair that was still warm from Eicke's presence. His blue eyes were deep and chill and his light gray uniform, pressed to knife-edge precision, gave off a faint odor of horses. Every morning, from five o'clock to seven, Heydrich was in the habit of taking a ride with his mortal enemy, Admiral Canaris.
Himmler removed his pince-nez, polished the lenses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. The two men
"What about your reefer coat?" Tiny wanted to know cramming bits of orange into his mouth.
He looked at it longingly. He himself had only his thin camouflage jacket over his regular tunic, and we all knew that if Barcelona should die, one of the medical orderlies would certainly appropriate his coat. A good thick reefer like that was worth more than its weight in gold.
"What about it?" said Tiny. "You don't need it while you're in here. Why can't I just borrow it?"
"No!"
Barcelona was far too weak to shout, but the intended vehemence of his protest was obvious. He turned his eyes on us so imploringly that the Old Man gave Tiny a sharp kick in the leg and told him to shut up.
As we left, we had a quick whip round and made Barcelona a present of all our opium cigarettes and two liters of vodka. If he was going to pull through, he would need something to sustain him. We pushed them safely under his pillow when no one else was looking and waved him goodbye.
When we' went back the following day, we were told that Barcelona had been transferred to a hospital in Stalingrad.
"Son of a bitch!" shouted Tiny. "Now they've both gone --him and his jacket! What a couple of shits!"
All that we have hoped for, all that we have worked for, has now become reality. We have not only a well-ordered state, but also, in Adolf Hitler, a leader we will follow to the very end.
Pastor Steinemann, August 5, 1933
SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler, seated behind his desk, stared thoughtfully across at Standartenfuhrer Theodor Eicke, who was sprawled in an armchair, seemingly unaware of his gaze.
After a moment Himmler pushed back his chair and stood up. Shoes creaking, he walked across to the window and looked out at the white wastes of Prinz Albrecht Strasse, where the first snow of the winter was still untrodden. He frowned, cleared his throat, placed his hands behind his back and turned to face Eicke.
"I hope for your own sake, my dear fellow--" He paused, and gave a grim, warning smile. "I hope for your own sake that what you've just told me is true."
"Reichsfuhrer!" Eicke's exclamation of protest rang out almost mockingly. He seemed very sure of himself. "The old bitch quite definitely had Jewish blood in her--and more than a few drops, too. At least a quarter Yid, I should say. I've suspected it for a long time, I just never Had the proof until now. But in any case, you've only got to look at the family schnozzle, it sticks out a mile!"
He flung back his head in a great burst of laughter. Himmler, nostrils pinched and eyes closed, took a dee breath and counted to ten. This man Eicke irritated him every time he opened his mouth. His language was coarse and his sense of humor bordered on the moronic.
"Very well. I shall have to take your word for it. You have nothing else to report? In that case, I shall wish you a very good day. Heil Hitler!"
The minute Eicke had left the room, Himmler seated himself once more at his desk and picked up the telephone. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the papers Eicke had left with him, "Send Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich to me--at once!"
Heydrich arrived a few seconds later, padding silently into the room. He was more wild beast than man, with the elegance, cunning and cruelty of a lynx. Himmler watched as he crossed the room, and Heydrich, ever on the alert for danger, returned his gaze out of hooded eyes that gave away no secrets.
"Take a seat, Obergruppenfuhrer."
Heydrich inclined his head and settled himself in the chair that was still warm from Eicke's presence. His blue eyes were deep and chill and his light gray uniform, pressed to knife-edge precision, gave off a faint odor of horses. Every morning, from five o'clock to seven, Heydrich was in the habit of taking a ride with his mortal enemy, Admiral Canaris.
Himmler removed his pince-nez, polished the lenses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. The two men
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