Major Von Duesen was livid. The sun had risen an hour ago, and he had been ordered to wait by the bodies of the dead woman and her child until General Steuben arrived. He understood that he had failed miserably. But the longer he waited, the farther away the old woman—and whoever had freed her—were getting, making them that much harder to catch.

He had been furious with his two privates for shooting down the Juden. They knew he wanted the fugitives captured alive. If General Steuben did not relieve him of his command for this debacle, Karl would make sure those two simpletons were reassigned. He would have them sent to the Russian front. But Karl had to admit that the world would not mourn the loss of two more Jews. If the woman was still alive, she and her child would have been sent away after her interrogation. They probably would have died anyway. Perhaps they had been spared future suffering. But really, that did not matter in the least. Their deaths were meaningless.

Headlights cut through the morning mist as three half-tracks and a truck carrying a platoon of soldiers turned off the road and rolled to a stop. The column was led by a staff car, decorated with a Nazi flag on either side of the hood flapping in the morning breeze. The sight of the car filled him with dread.

General Steuben did not wait for his driver to open his door for him, emerging from the Mercedes with grim purpose. If there was one thing Karl admired about his commanding officer, it was that General Steuben did not stand on ceremony or let the trappings of his rank get in the way of duty. He was a no-nonsense soldier who always got right down to business. And this morning, the business at hand meant explaining the absence of prisoners. Von Duesen suddenly wished he were anywhere but here.

The general’s uniform was immaculate, his boots polished and gleaming. But he did not hesitate to walk into the muddy field where Von Duesen and his men stood near the bodies. Von Duesen and his men came to attention.

“Heil Hitler, mein general,” he said.

The general repeated the salute. “Heil Hitler, Major.” He did not look at Von Duesen. Instead, he studied the bodies lying in the field.

“Report,” he ordered.

Von Duesen recounted the events of the previous evening. He told the general about tracking the two Jewish men to the cave, and the ambush that they’d executed. And how he had not yet been able to make radio contact with the lieutenant he had left in charge of rounding up the rest of the Jews who had been hiding in the cave’s many tunnels. The older man’s expression never changed.

“So you discovered a hiding place with many Juden. You left with three prisoners. Why did you not stay until the cave had been searched?” he demanded.

“The old woman, mein general,” Von Duesen said. “She was obviously an important elder. A symbol and leader of the Juden in the cave. In truth, I thought of shooting her there. To break their spirit. But then I thought it wiser to remove her for interrogation. I believe she is giving the others instructions. A coded message of some kind. It seemed a better idea to remove her.”

“I see,” the general said. “And how did she escape?”

“We were attacked,” he said.

The general’s eyes narrowed. “Attacked? By who?”

“I do not know,” Von Duesen replied. “At first I thought a partisan militia, but now I do not think so. They had no weapons and—”

“No weapons? Then how were you ‘attacked’?”

Major Von Duesen looked down. He found himself momentarily unable to speak.

Sergeant Eberhardt, perhaps hoping to save himself from a demotion, spoke up. “We were surrounded, Herr General,” he responded with conviction. “And we were outnumbered. In the confusion, the prisoners escaped.”

“I do not understand,” Steuben huffed. “If partisans attacked you, why are you not dead? Why did they not gun you down and take your prisoners? Someone please explain this to me.”

General Steuben’s piercing blue eyes bored into Eberhardt. Karl had no great love for his sergeant. The man tried too hard to please. He didn’t think. And he was no match for Steuben’s pointed questioning. “We do not believe they were armed, Herr General,” Von Duesen interjected.

“Excuse me?”

Von Duesen took a deep breath. He felt like his career with the gestapo was crashing right before him, here in the middle of a potato field in this godforsaken country. The next words he spoke must be cautious.

“We know the militias are low on supplies. We believe they sabotaged our half-track, then when we were on foot, they hurled stones at us.”

“I’m sorry?” The general raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said stones.”

“That is correct, sir.”

General Steuben said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the bodies of the woman and her child. Von Duesen found it impossible to read his impassive face, even when the general completed his inspection and came to stand directly in front of Karl.

“Sergeant Eberhardt,” General Steuben called. “You and your squad will return to Borta, where you will file your reports and await my return.”

The sergeant came to attention and saluted. “Heil Hitler,” he said. Turning, he ordered his men toward one of the half-tracks. “Mach schnell! Mach schnell!” he said. The men marched away from the two officers in double time.

The general was quiet for a moment.

“What to do with you, Major? What to do with you …” the general muttered.

“Sir …”

The general held up a gloved hand. “I do not need to tell you that you have made innumerable mistakes in the last several days. I’m sure someone of your intelligence and ability understands that.”

Von Duesen sensed it would be best to remain silent.

“If the Juden hear that an old woman has eluded you, it will raise their spirits. We must get our hands on her. And you will lead the search. You will find this woman and bring her to Borta. If you do not …” the general’s words trailed off.

“Thank you, mein general,” Von Duesen said. He could not believe his luck. It was still possible for him to salvage this mess and restore the general’s fine opinion of him.

The general turned on his heel and headed toward his car. Von Duesen followed sheepishly behind. As he walked he thought about the “attack.” His hand went to the swollen spot on his head, where he had been clubbed to the ground. He had barely seen the face of his attacker, but he could have sworn it belonged to a child. No, he did not think a militia had attacked them. It was a single person, two at most. That boy and perhaps another. His fury grew as he pondered how they had outwitted him.

They had made an enemy last night.

One they would regret.