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All the while the officer protests and demands and squirms against the rope holding his hands tied behind his back.
Rainy steps back.
Rainy pulls something from her coat. It’s an envelope that has been reopened and folded closed. She shakes out something delicate and holds up a gold chain with a tiny Star of David dangling.
“My mother sent it to me for my birthday.”
The SS officer sees the Star of David. His eyes go wide. Now the SS officer realizes what she is doing. And now he is no longer arrogant or demanding. He pleads, he talks about his family, he says, “Fug Hitler, it’s all over, the war is lost, we must unite against the Russian hordes of Asian mongrel peoples who will—”
Rainy fires once.
The bullet hits the grenade before spraying lead shrapnel through his groin. He falls to his knees roaring in pain, but the bullet wound will not kill him, and he knows it.
The Willy Pete, the white phosphorus, ignites.
He screams as the fire grows in his crotch and his upper thighs and smoke pours from him as his uniform burns and he writhes and bucks and screams and screams.
The remaining prisoner collapses, hands folded in prayer, begging. One of the remaining GIs says, “Malmédy, motherfugger,” and shoots him in the face.
It takes a while for the SS officer to lose consciousness as the white phosphorus burns him like so much kindling.
Rainy puts the necklace in her pocket. She takes out a cigarette and barely manages to put it to her lips. Her fingers will not manage the Zippo. So she takes the cigarette, leans down, and lights it on the human fire at her feet.
“Any of you boys have a problem with any of this?” Rainy asks.
Four helmeted heads shake as one.
The sergeant says, “Nothing happened here, Captain. Not a single goddamned thing.”
PART VI
VICTORY
When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall—think of it, always.
—Gandhi
LETTERS SENT
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Marr,
I am sorry to be writing you out of the blue like this. I am Master Sergeant Walter Green, US Army. I have had occasion to meet and I believe become friends with your daughter, Sergeant Frangie Marr.
I am writing to ask your permission to court Frangie.
Of course this would only happen when the war is over. But I hope once that happy day comes to spend some time with Frangie. My intentions are only of the most honorable nature.
I am a little older than your daughter, being twenty-six on my last birthday. I have a degree in engineering from Iowa State University. My family—mother, father, and seven brothers and sisters all younger—lives in Iowa, which is not so very far away from Tulsa. I am a healthy, God-fearing man. I do not smoke or drink or gamble. I believe I will easily find employment as I have numerous contacts with local businesses who assure me they could use a man with my qualifications.
I would do all in my power to make your daughter happy, and to be completely honest, I cannot imagine being happy myself unless it is with Frangie.
But I will not proceed in pressing my case unless I can do so with your blessing.
Sincerely,
Walter Green
Dear Miss Castain:
