“What do you want to do?” he had asked down the crackling line from Berlin. “Blow up Hildesheim? I knew you hated the place, but not that—”

“Please, Max,” Strasser had said. “I need it for our move to Dresden. I’ll pay you back in some way, I promise.”

“What the hell are you doing in Dresden?”

“We’re joining the pioneer school.”

“Well, don’t they have all this sort of kit?”

“Apparently not. I’ve been asked to bring as much as I can by the commander there, otherwise he won’t take us. And if we can’t find a home, then I’m sure that Berger will find a far more unpleasant place for us to go.”

“Christ, Carl! You know this is worth at least a week at Kitty’s and a lifetime’s supply of schnapps?”

“Whatever you want, Max.”

“I was joking! Come on, Carl, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Can you help me or not?”

There had been a silence.

“Max?”

“Yes, I’m still here. You just don’t sound yourself, that’s all.”

“I promise you, Max, I’m all right—just under a lot of pressure. Can you help? You could put it down as ‘Emergency Requirement for Eastern Front’ or something.”

Max had breathed heavily down the line.

“Everything’s an emergency, but all right, Carl, I’ll do it. It’ll probably be the end of me, but I’ll do it because it’s for you.”

“Thank you, Max, thank you.”

“But I won’t be able to do something like this again. All right?”

“Fine. And I owe you.”

“You certainly do! You should get it all in a few days.”

“Thank you, Max.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m looking forward to my week at Kitty’s already.”

Max was as good as his word, and a few days later, on Friday afternoon, a truck arrived at the St. Michael Cloister. Lockhart was also there to receive it, along with a few members of the unit, who were manhandling the heavy crates.

“I take it that the truck is for us as well?” Lockhart asked.

Damn, thought Strasser, he had forgotten about Lockhart’s fucking truck. Lockhart could obviously tell from his expression that he had done so.

“Come on, Carl,” said Lockhart. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten.”

“No, I hadn’t—there just aren’t any trucks to give you.”

Now it was Lockhart’s turn to look blank. Good.

“What about this one then?” Lockhart asked.

“This truck will be going back to Berlin.”

That smile again. It infuriated Strasser, that cocky smile of Lockhart’s. He should have just shot him back at Genshagen. Then he wouldn’t have been in this mess.

“No it won’t,” said Lockhart. “Because I’m going to commandeer it.”

“That’s out of the question!”

“Really?”

“Yes! It is a court-martial offense!”