“Well,” Haber said, adjusting his cap on his head. “I must leave, but I will be in communication with plans for our new weapon. In the meantime, you have plenty of phosgene shells to distribute.” He turned and left, the clack of his jackboots echoing through the building.
Bruno stared at a stack of shells. He took in gulps of air, attempting to calm his nerves, but a deep-seated memory of his recruitment by Haber surged in his head.
As part of his indoctrination to the Disinfection Unit, Bruno, as well as several other candidates in consideration for the special squad, had been summoned by Haber to a discreet research facility of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. They were led to a room with a sealed glass panel that provided a view into a concrete chamber, which contained a small lab monkey in a cage. With little explanation, other than they were to witness an experiment, Haber nodded to a chemist wearing a white lab coat. The man released a valve on a gas cylinder, from which a lead pipe ran into a wall. A green-yellow vapor spewed into the chamber. Candidates peered through the glass. The animal screeched and convulsed. Bruno, sickened and horrified, struggled to contain his composure. Through the corner of his eyes, he saw Haber, observing the reaction of the candidates.He wants to make certain we are insensitive to the experiment, and that we won’t be a problem for the Disinfection Unit,Bruno had thought. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would hide his shock. After the experiment, one of the candidates, who’d winced and lowered his head, was immediately dismissed and escorted from the facility. And months later, Bruno learned that Haber’s tests were not limited to primates. While in a bunker under shellfire, a fellow officer of the Disinfection Unit, who had drunk a bottle of schnapps, disclosed that he’d witnessed Haber and his chemists conduct toxic gas experiments on rats, guinea pigs, and farm animals.
Bruno lowered his head into his hands. A wave of shame engulfed him. He hated what he’d done, and he wished that he had the fortitude to rebuke Haber. But if he did, he might be shot. At the very least, he’d be viewed as disloyal and reassigned to a battlefield combat role with a high fatality rate, and he’d be shunned from the Wahler family.There is no way out of this hell. I’ve made a pact with the Devil, and my fate is eternal damnation.
Bruno, his soul ravaged, forced himself to go about his duty. He ordered a group of soldiers to conduct an inventory of the phosgene shells, and he left the ammunition depot. To attempt to rid himself from his dismay, he walked the streets of German-occupied Lille, but visions of grotesque, gassed bodies replayed in his head, over and over. At sunset, he arrived at the officers’ boardinghouse.
Celeste opened the door. “Oberleutnant Wahler, please come in.”
Bruno stepped inside and removed his cap. “Hallo, Celeste.”
She scanned the mud on his boots and coat, and then looked into his eyes, surrounded with dark circles. “Are you all right,monsieur?”
“Nein.” He ran a hand through his oily hair. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Celeste nodded. She took his coat, slipped away, and then returned with a small fluted glass containing a clear liquid.
“Schnapps,” she said, giving him the glass.
“Danke.” He gulped the drink; the alcohol warmed his throat and stomach.
She took the empty glass. “Would you like a basin of warm water or a bath,monsieur?”
“A basin is fine,” he said. “I didn’t bring a change of uniform.”
“I have a supply of extra clothing. You can wear something else while I clean your uniform.”
He nodded.
“Come to the parlor after you’ve washed. I’ll give you something to eat.”
“That will not be necessary.” He turned and began to ascend the stairs.
“You said that the last time you were here,” she said, looking up at him.
He paused, placing a hand on the banister.
“You’ll feel much better after you’ve eaten.”
“All right.”
Bruno washed, shaved, and put on a clean shirt and pants, which Celeste had placed by his door. Carrying his dirty uniform, he went downstairs and was drawn to the kitchen by an aroma of sautéed shallots. Celeste, standing by a stove, stirred a pan with a wooden spoon.
“It smells good,” he said.
Celeste glanced to him. “Place your uniform in the corner. Your food will be ready in a few minutes.” She placed two plump sausages into the pan. The meat hissed and crackled.
“Will there be others joining me?” he asked.
“Non. Two men are billeting here tonight, but they’ve chosen to eat at the officers’ casino.”
A memory of his dinner with Celeste flashed in his head. “Have you eaten?”
She rolled the sausage. Oil spattered. “I’ll eat after I clean your clothes.”
“That’s what you said the last time I was here.”
