D-Notice by Bill Walker (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

The Major’s lips compressed, and Thorley could see the man was deeply offended; but there was something else behind his eyes: the knowledge that Thorley spoke the unblemished truth. Either he was the man of honor he claimed to be, or he was a worthless hypocrite who didn’t deserve even the slightest regard.

The Major stared back at Thorley, his left eye quivering with anger and, for one long unbearably tense moment, it seemed to Thorley that he might lose his only means of leaving this godforsaken place.

And then it was gone.

The Major shook his head, his expression one of a man who has had to make too many hard choices. “You are right, of course,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “It’s this fucking war; it makes people say and do such appalling things— things they never would have dreamed possible before. But that’s just an excuse, like all the others.... I will wait. But if we have not taken off by the time this weather moves in, then we shall all be stuck in this shithole together.”

Thorley smiled and twisted open the hatch. It clanged against the hull then swung lazily back and forth several times before coming to a stop. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Major,” he said. He dropped through and began walking away from the plane toward the woods.

When he came to the edge of the runway, the desolate nature of the landscape was even more apparent. Aside from the thick forest of tall pines that hemmed-in the strip on three sides, a mountain range lay to the north at a distance he judged to be at least fifty miles. It was from that direction that he caught sight of a dust cloud moving toward him. Several moments later it became recognizable as a Kübelwagen staff car.

Painted with camouflaging paint in a random pattern of green, brown and gray to simulate foliage, its odd sloping bonnet, corrugated siding, and jutting wheel wells made it look ungainly, even clumsy, yet the sturdy little vehicle seemed well-suited to the rough, rocky terrain. It bounded onto the dirt runway and raced toward him with alarming speed, sliding to a stop and throwing up a cloud of dirt that stung his eyes and made him want to gag. He forced himself to ignore it, concentrating, instead, on the two men occupying the vehicle.

The driver, a sergeant, had skin like leather and a sinewy face whose every line appeared chiseled from granite. He kept his gaze averted, his attention on the area immediately surrounding them, and appeared nervous, watchful, as if he expected someone might attack them at any moment.

The other occupant was a Wehrmacht Captain in his mid-twenties. Tall, blonde, and youthful in a fresh, innocent way, he radiated an undeniable charisma—the exact opposite of the brooding Luftwaffe Major. The young Captain smiled with genuine warmth, bounding from the Kübelwagen, his hand extended in greeting.

“Guten Tag, Herr Major,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling. “I am Hauptmann Friedrich Rainer, and I am pleased you could come. You cannot know how much your visit will mean. What should I call you?”

Thorley thought for a second, then remembered something from his briefing at MI6. “Major Weiss will do,” he replied, giving Rainer a final appraisal.

The young Captain grinned. “Ah, yes, Der Weisse Adler. Quite apropos.” He paused then, his mood turning serious. “We had best be on our way. It’s a long drive.”

He started to climb back into the Kübelwagen and Thorley grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said, his tone urgent.

Rainer turned back to face him.

“What can you tell me?”

“I’d rather you saw it all for yourself,” Rainer said, his expression troubled. “Words will only trivialize it. Come, we only have a few hours of daylight left.”

They drove for an hour before hitting the mountain road that led to their destination. All through the ride, Thorley kept his own counsel, preferring to watch the passing scenery. It was a study in contrasts. The land grew rockier as they rose in altitude, the pine trees thinning out and giving way to low-lying scrub. Wildflowers grew everywhere, splashing the land in striking hues from the brightest yellow to the deepest violet. It was breathtaking, yet there was blight on the land; it took the form of endless columns of German soldiers, Panzers, supply trucks, and horse drawn artillery. Because the road was so narrow, they were forced to fall into the column until they reached the other side, where it widened enough to allow them to race ahead.

They reached the site by mid-afternoon, passing more columns of weary, battle-bloodied troops trudging toward the rear. The Kübelwagen pulled into a makeshift parking lot filled with all manner of vehicles, mostly troop transport. Up ahead, through a stand of trees, Thorley could see a mass of men moving about in a large clearing. In the distance he heard the steady rumble of artillery, the front a mere five miles to the east. Too bloody close.

Climbing out of the Kübelwagen, Thorley suddenly found himself reluctant to move forward. Rainer took the lead. They moved quickly, and as they neared the clearing, the first thing Thorley noticed was the smell: heavy, pungent, cloying—the smell of death...and rotting flesh. And it took every ounce of his will not to vomit.

They arrived at the clearing’s perimeter and Rainer bent down, reached into a bucket and pulled out a wet handkerchief that he proceeded to fold and hold over his mouth. When Thorley hesitated to follow his example, he pulled out another and handed it to him. “It’s soaked in a mixture of camphor and water,” Rainer explained. “I suggest you use it.”

Thorley clamped the