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ions for the accomplishment of our noble mission.”

Dunwiddie removed the sheath of paper the envelope contained, then announced, “I can’t read this up here.”

“I was about to suggest you come back here, where, as you pointed out, there are dome lights.”

“But you decided that you would rather go to the bar and have a little something to cut the dust of the trail, and I can read it there?”

“You are a splendid NCO, First Sergeant Dunwiddie, always anticipating the desires of your commander.”

Dunwiddie started the engine and drove down the road.

“Curiosity overwhelms me. How does Fat Freddy suggest we handle our noble mission?”

“He thinks we should, as Step One, determine how long it will take to dig and then fill in a grave. He says we should determine that by actually digging a grave and then filling it in.”

“Jesus, I never thought about that. We have to know that, don’t we?”

“Indeed we do. Fat Freddy also suggests that we use a .45, which is noisy, for the execution. Three shots. First shot to wake people up, then thirty seconds later two more shots, to provide confirmation that somebody’s shooting something.”

“Someone,” Dunwiddie corrected him automatically as they bounced down the road. “Fat Freddy really thinks of everything, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does. He regards our problem as sort of a chess game.”

“You ever play chess with him?”

“The last time, Fat Freddy whipped my ass in seven moves.”

“I don’t even want to think about how often he’s whipped mine.”

“Wait till you read Fat Freddy’s Operations Order. He solves problems I never even thought of.”

“Do you think, maybe, that it’s time we stopped making fun of Fat Freddy?”

“So ordered,” Jimmy said.

[ FIVE ]

Near Kloster Grünau

Schollbrunn, Bavaria

American Zone of Occupation, Germany

2105 4 November 1945

A number of problems that neither Captain Cronley nor First Sergeant Dunwiddie had suspected would arise vis-à-vis grave-digging arose when the test grave was actually dug.

The first step had been the recruitment of the gravediggers. There were three criteria for selection. First was that there be three diggers, two to dig and one to be a spare. The second was the character of the diggers. They had to be responsible senior non-commissioned officers who could be told what was going on, and who could be relied upon to keep their mouths shut about it now and in the future. Third, the diggers had to be physically up to the task. Digging a hole six feet deep by ten feet long and four feet wide in the shortest possible time was obviously going to require a good deal of physical exertion.

First Sergeant Dunwiddie marched three such men into the commanding officer’s quarters. They were Technical Sergeant James L. Martin, who was six feet three inches tall and weighed 235 pounds; Staff Sergeant Moses Abraham, who was six feet two inches tall and weighed 220 pounds; and Staff Sergeant Petronius J. Clark, who was six feet four inches tall and weighed 255 pounds.

“I’m sure First Sergeant Dunwiddie has explained something of what’s going on here,” Cronley began. “But let me go over it again. I’m sure you’ve heard that we caught a man trying to get out of here. You may not know that he’s a Russian, a major . . .”

He stopped.

“Why do I think I’m telling you something you already know all about?” Captain Cronley asked. “Specifically, why do I think that Staff Sergeant Harold Lewis Junior has let his mouth run away with him?”

Everyone looked uncomfortable. No one replied.