Garden of Beasts

windows continued to obscure any view of Ernst in the Mercedes. The SS guard continued his vigil of the area.
    Looking back toward the classroom building, Paul watched the balding man call the young men together. They reluctantly ended the soccer game and walked into the classroom.
    With their attention focused away from him, Paul continued more quickly now to the Opel, opened the back door and climbed into the baking vehicle, feeling his skin prickle from the heat. Looking out through the back leftwindow, he noted that this was the perfect vantage point to shoot from. He had an excellent view of the area around Ernst’s car—a clear killing field of forty to fifty feet to bring the man down. And it would take the bodyguard and soldiers some time to figure out where the shot had come from.
    Paul Schumann was touching the ice firmly. He clicked the Mauser’s safety catch off and squinted toward Ernst’s car.
    •   •   •
    “Greetings, future soldiers. Welcome to Waltham Military College.”
    Kurt Fischer and the others replied to Doctor-professor Keitel with various greetings. Most said, “Hail Hitler.”
    It was interesting that Keitel himself did not use that salutation, Kurt noted.
    The recruitment soldier who’d been playing football with them stood beside the doctor-professor, in the front of the classroom, holding a stack of large envelopes. The man winked at Kurt, who’d just missed blocking a goal the soldier had scored.
    The volunteers sat at oak desks. On the walls around them were maps and flags that Kurt didn’t recognize. His brother was looking around too and he leaned over and whispered, “Battle flags of Second Empire armies.”
    Kurt shushed him, frowning in irritation, both at the interruption and because his younger brother knew something he did not. And how, he now wondered, troubled, did his brother, the son of pacifists, even know what a battle flag was?
    The dowdy professor continued. “I’m going to tell you what is planned for the next few days. You will listen carefully.”
    “Yes, sir” and its variations filled the room.
    “First, you will fill out a personal information form and application for induction into the armed forces. Then you will answer a questionnaire about your personality and your aptitudes. The answers will be compiled and analyzed and will help us determine your talents and mental preferences for certain duties. Some of you, for instance, will be better suited for combat, some for radio work, some for office detail. So it is vital that you answer honestly.”
    Kurt glanced toward his brother, who did not, however, acknowledge him. Their agreement had been that they would answer any such questions in a way as to be guaranteed of being assigned office tasks or even manual labor—anything to keep from having to kill another human being. But Kurt was troubled that Hans might be thinking differently now. Was he being seduced by the idea of becoming a combat soldier?
    “After you are through with the forms, Colonel Ernst will address you. Then you will be shown to your dormitory and be given supper. Tomorrow you will begin your training and spend the next month marching and improving your physical condition before your classroom instruction begins.”
    Keitel nodded at the soldier, who began passing out the packets. The recruitment officer paused at Kurt’s desk. They agreed to try for another game before supper, if the light held. The soldier then followed Keitel outside to get pencils for the inductees.
    As he absently smoothed his hand over his documents, Kurt found himself oddly content, despite the harrowing circumstances of this hard, hard day. Yes, certainly some of this was gratitude—to Colonel Ernst and Doctor-professorKeitel—for providing this miraculous salvation. But more than that he was beginning to feel that he’d been given the chance to do something important after all, an act that transcended his own plight. Had Kurt gone to Oranienburg his imprisonment or death would have been courageous perhaps, but meaningless. Now, though, he decided that the incongruous act of volunteering for the army might prove to be exactly the gesture of defiance he’d been searching for, a small but concrete way of helping save his country from the brown plague.
    With a smile toward his brother, Kurt ran his hand over the test envelope, realizing that for the first time in months his heart was truly content.

Chapter Thirty-Six
    Willi Kohl parked the