Heroes by David Hagberg (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

not understanding it. He was too tired. The man had been a great comfort these weeks. Now, however, he wanted simply to sleep.

But the signaling continued, and finallylte dragged himself up and then sank to the floor at the foot of his cot, his head resting carefully against the wall. He waited for a break. When it came, he began his message.

“Nose broken last interrogation. My time is up.”

Lunding tapped something in response, but Canaris could not make it out.

“Was not traitor. Did my duty as German.”

Again Lunding signaled something. Canaris could read the urgency in the message, but he could make no sense of it. He was so sleepy.

“If you survive, remember me to my wife,” he tapped, and then he turned away. He looked at his cot. It seemed an impossibly long distance up. He could not stay here on the floor.

Somehow he managed to drag himself back up. He pulled off his coat and tie, then took off his shoes and socks, and lay down on his back. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly.

He dreamed again. But this time his images were unclear and very far away. He felt yearnings, but no desires for anything concrete on which he could focus. It was frustrating, but even in his dreams he could sense the passage of time, and he was not surprised or shocked when a commotion out in the corridor awoke him.

It was still early morning. The sun had not come up yet, although the yard outside his window, lit by arc lights, was almost like day.

He could hear guard dogs barking, and a number of voices seemed to be arguing. There were many people outside his door.

His cell door came open. “Out you come,” someone shouted^

Canaris did not recognize the voice, but he sat up and managed to get to his feet when Kriiger and several other SS guards crowded in. They roughly unhooked the shackles from Canaris’ ankles and the handcuffs from his wrists.

He was led out of the cell, then down the corridor, and around the corner from the guardroom.

Karl Sack was there, along with Bonhoeffer and Gehre. They were nude. Their emaciated bodies were blue-tinged in the harsh overhead lights. No one said anything. They all averted their eyes.

“Get undressed,” one of the guards told Canaris. “You, too,” he said to someone behind.

Canaris turned as Hans Oster came down the corridor. His old chief of staff acted as if he were drunk or on some sort of drugs.

He did not seem to recognize anyone.

They got undressed, and Canaris shivered. It was very cold.

His arms were tied painfully behind his back, and then he was led to the rear door, the others directly behind him. His guards seemed to be in a big hurry. Everyone was nervous.

At the door, though, they hesitated a moment. There were a lot of SS guards and officers crowded into the tiny space now.

Huppenkothen was just within the doorway, as were Kogl and Stawitzky. Thorbeck stood to one side, and there were others whom Canaris did not recognize.

He looked around for Corporal Binder, but the man was no where to be seen.

“All right, Caesar first,” someone from behind said, using Canaris’ prison code name.

The door opened and he was pulled outside. The early morning air was intensely cold. The entire yard was lit up by strong lights.

The stones were very hard on his feet, and it was windy.

At first Canaris could not see where he was being led because the lights were blinding him, but then they stopped in front of a low stepladder over which dangled a noose. The rope was attached to a large hook in an overhang at the edge of the building.

“Up you go,” his two SS guards said, half guiding, half lifting Canaris up the two steps.

There was no ceremony. No reading of the sentence. Nothing.

Canaris managed to glance back toward the door as the noose was put around his neck and tightened. He could see Huppenkothen and Stawitzky there. Neither one of them was smiling now.

He just looked back when he felt the steps jerked out from under him, and the noose pulled up so terribly … Dear God … he was dying here! … And still it was the same night. Marlene had not returned yet, and Schey was very worried about her. The Allies had come through an hour ago, but most of their loads had been dumped on Tiergarten, Mitte, and Wedding, not here.

He had dragged himself out of bed, wakened by the noise of the bombing, and he had gone up the back way to stand in the courtyard as he smoked his last cigarette.

The smoke made him light-headed, and for a while, as he watched the flashes toward the northeast and listened to the dull thumps and rumbles, he had to reach out and hold on to the corner of the doorway so that he would not fall down.

He was very weak. He could not remember when he had eaten last, although vaguely, at the back of his mind, he thought Marlene may have fed him something. Days ago, was it?

After the bombing he had gone back into the apartment and rummaged around for food. He only found a bit of coffee and a tiny packet of raw sugar that Marlene had been saving. With difficulty he brewed the coffee on the gasoline stove, and when it was done, he poured all of the sugar into one mug and brought it over to the small table in the sitting room.

He sipped the coffee, burning his lips, the ultrasweet taste turning his stomach. But he continued, alternately blowing on the hot brew and then sipping. The sugar, he knew, would give him energy. He was going to need it.

For a long time he sat in the darkness, sipping his coffee and listening for any kind of a sound. The family that had lived upstairs had moved away weeks ago, and now there was no one