A war story, a spy story, a double love story, and a compelling ride through World War II seen from 'the other side'.
Excerpt
Captain Helmuth Brandt was not Army. He wore the uniform, but he did not move like a regular. There was a vague insolence in the way he stood before the desk not quite at attention, his head thrown back, his eyes challenging Erich directly down a noble Aryan nose. He had presented his papers and now stood waiting for a decision.
"SS Panzers," Erich said. "A fighting unit."
"Yes sir."
"You've been with me for only a week and you want a transfer?"
"Excuse me, General. I just want to fight."
"If OKH wanted you in a fighting unit would they have assigned you as my Aide?"
"The very reason for my request, sir. To apprise them of an unfortunate mistake."
"Two things you must learn, Captain. First, OKH doesn't make mistakes, and will not appreciate your presuming so. Second, that steel plate in your thigh would not be useful during possible combat in sub-zero conditions."
"With respect, sir, there are no sub-zero conditions in Czechoslovakia."
"Don't argue with me, Captain." He signed the application. "I'm approving this request, but I warn you of its inevitable denial at OKH. Dismissed."
The crack of heels was like a rifle shot. Brandt made a vaguely sloppy about-turn.
"Captain. When I dismiss you I still require you to salute. Transfer or no transfer."
The captains blond face turned to red. He cracked his heels again and flung his right arm forward. "Heil Hitler!"
"Captain."
"General?"
"This is an army office. You wear the army uniform. An army salute will be adequate."
Dead silence. The blue eyes glittered. The heels clicked quietly, and the arm described a quiet army salute.
With a curt nod he returned the salute, and watched Helmuth march out the door. Put this young fanatic in his place for the simple pleasure of doing so? Gain his enmity in one thoughtless stroke?
He was more certain than ever that Helmuth was either SS or Gestapo.
Gestapo? Helmuth?
But this was not unusual. These new officers didn't have the ethical background of the old Officer Corps. Things like this were always happening. All this Nazi stuff. Officers appointed to staff without first going through the system, without the courtesy of prior consultation. The Army assigned a man, the High Command reassigned him, the Gestapo investigated him, the SA beat him up on his way home, the SD threw him into prison and . . . if he were lucky . . . the Army sprang him out again.
Nobody knew these days what in hell anybody else was doing.
Stupid way to run an army. . .
Tralee, Ireland. September 1948.
An arrogant, and highly agitated, priest arrives home after 40 years.
Days later he's dead. Suicide? Or did his past catch up with him?
Ireland 1947. Seven weeks of relentless snow. Guard Eamon Foley is searching for a missing child.
At Toby Appleyard’s farm, he discovers the kitchen littered with dead cats. And the skeletal remains of a woman. Upstairs, Toby is dead in his bed.
