The Pale House (54 page)

“No way out,”
breathed.

There were no words, only the labored breath of the Partisans.

“I can try to get you out,” said Reinhardt. They looked at him. “I can take you prisoner. I am a Feldjaeger. No one will stop me or countermand my orders.”

breath shuddered in and out, and the three Partisans shared an anxious glance. Then Simo nodded, and he handed his MP 40 to Reinhardt.
waited a moment longer, then gave him his, nodding that he understood.
edged open the door. At her feet, Neven ducked his head out, then whispered up at her, and they slid out into the little room.
breathing came hard and fast; she looked at Reinhardt and then raised her hands, Simo and
doing the same. Reinhardt slung one MP 40 over his shoulder and gripped the second hard, motioning them forward. In the theater's foyer there was no one, and on the street outside, from the quick glance he gave, a squad of SS were lined up on the opposite pavement.

“Ready?” he whispered.

They nodded, then walked out, their hands high, Reinhardt close behind. He heard the shift of the SS as they turned toward them, and then Reinhardt raised a hand at their officer as he came forward.

“Halt there!” the man called, an Untersturmführer.

“My prisoners,” Reinhardt called back, urging the Partisans on, seeing Benfeld's head pop up through the turret of the
panzerfunkwagen
.

“I said
halt
!” The SS barked an order, and his men broke into a ragged line, chasing after them.

“My prisoners, Untersturmführer!” Reinhardt snapped, turning and standing his ground. “This is Feldjaeger business. Butt out of it, unless you want more trouble than you can handle.”

The Untersturmführer paused, frowned. A Feldjaeger's authority extended even to the SS, but the man could not let it go like that.

“Yes, sir. But who are they? What are you doing with them, anyway?”

“They are deserters.”

“Deserters? Why don't you just shoot them? My men will be happy to oblige you.”

“Thank you, Untersturmführer, your zeal is commendable, but I prefer a different kind of justice.”

“And the woman?”

“Must I explain everything to you, Untersturmführer? Do you not have duties?” The other end of the street filled suddenly with UstaÅ¡e, doubling fast down toward them, and at their head was Captain
, his hair awry.

“Of course, sir.” The Untersturmführer clicked his heels, inclined his head, and his arm came up. “Heil Hitler.”

Reinhardt turned, prodding the Partisans on with his MP 40, and that might have been it, but another voice cut across the street.

“
Stop!
”
called.

“Keep moving,” Reinhardt hissed to the Partisans.

“Untersturmführer,”
voice cracked behind him, “stop those men. Captain Reinhardt!”

“You know these people?” The Untersturmführer's suspicions were back.

“They are saboteurs,”
shouted. His eyes locked with Reinhardt's and they were wide and wild, and Reinhardt knew he was part of it. “You must stop them.”

“This is no concern of yours, Untersturmführer. Nor of yours, Captain
.”

The Untersturmführer's eyes narrowed, flicking between the pair of them, and he made to unsling his weapon.

From an upstairs window came a shattering of glass and a sudden barrage of gunfire. The street around the SS was riddled with eruptions of dust and stones as bullets rang and burst around them. Some dropped, fell, lay motionless; others turned, swiveling up, vanishing behind puffs of smoke as they returned fire. Brick and glass exploded along the line of windows.