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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. FIELD GRAY
  3. ALSO BY PHILIP KERR
  4. FIELD GRAY
  5. Copyright
  6. Epigraph
  7. Dedication
  8. FIELD GRAY
  9. Contents
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. AUTHOR’S NOTE

I turned away and walked back to Bömelburg with a shrug.

“It was worth a shot,” he said.

Neither of us expected what happened next.

“I don’t know an Erich Mielke,” said a voice.

The man was small and Jewish-looking, with short, dark, curly hair and shifty brown eyes. A lawyer’s face, which could have been why there was a large bruise on his cheek.

“I don’t know an Erich Mielke,” he repeated, now that he had our attention, “but I would like to become a Nazi.”

Some of the other prisoners laughed, some whistled, but the man kept going.

“I was arrested by the French because I was a German communist,” he said. “I wasn’t an enemy of France then, but I am now. It’s true, I really hate and despise these people worse than I used to hate the Nazis. I spend all day moving latrine bins, and for the rest of my life I’m forever going to associate France with the smell of shit.”

The Corsican’s eyes narrowed and he moved toward the man with his whip raised.

“No,” said Bömelburg. “Let the fellow speak.”

“I’m glad France was defeated,” said the prisoner. “And since I’m declaring myself to be an enemy of France, I’d also like to join the German army and become a loyal soldier of the fatherland and a follower of Adolf Hitler. Who knows? I know the war’s over, but I might just get the chance to shoot a Franzi, which would really make me very happy.”

His fellow prisoners started to jeer, but I could see that Major Bömelburg was impressed.

“So, if you don’t mind, sir, when you leave this shit hole, I’d like to come with you.”

Bömelburg smiled. “Well,” he said. “I think you’d better.”

And he did. But it said a lot about the rest of the Germans in barrack 33 that there was no one else who followed his example. Not one.

21

GERMANY, 1954

Jesus Christ, Gunther,” exclaimed one of my American interrogators. “Are you trying to tell us that you had that communist bastard Mielke in your power and you let him go?”

“Yes. I am.”

“What, are you crazy? That’s twice you saved his bacon. Did you ever think about that? Jesus.”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“I mean, didn’t you ever regret that?”