Blood of Vipers Read Online Free Page A

looked about seventeen or eighteen, very pretty with
     corn silk hair in
     a braided bun coming undone at the back of her head. The mother
     brushed hay
     from the girl’s hair and dress and pushed her toward the
     American pilot.
    “Oh, good Lord. No, I’m not taking your
     daughter with me. Is
     that what you want? I can’t keep her safe out there. I’ll be
     damn lucky to keep myself alive.”
    The girl came toward him, trembling. She
     clasped her hands
     in a pleading gesture. “Please, you will help us, yes?”
    “And you speak English. Of course. Just my
     luck.”
    “Please. It is very dangerous. You are Ami,
     yes?”
    “American? Right. Cal Jameson, Lieutenant,
     U.S. Army Air
     Forces. Your enemy, and don’t you forget it.”
    “Americans are in Leipzig. You take us there,
     please. More
     safe.”
    “Listen, I’ve got enough trouble as it is,
     trying to stay alive.”
    “Mother and father, too. We leave in morning,
     yes? Your name
     is Cal? I am called Greta.”
    “No, I don’t want to know your name. And I’m
     leaving now,
     you understand? Not morning. And I’m going alone.”
    The girl opened her mouth to say something
     else, but a
     gunshot sounded outside the barn. Close, perhaps as near as the
     farmhouse, only
     a few dozen yards away. Cal grabbed the barn handles and pulled
     the doors shut.
    The German farmer reached for the lamp and
     the barn plunged
     into darkness. Cal cursed and groped for the rifle. When he had
     it, he edged
     back until he pressed against the wall, kept the Russian gun
     between his feet,
     the pistol in one hand, and the other hand outstretched in case
     the farmer came
     at him in the dark.
    Voices sounded outside the barn, laughing and
     jeering. A man
     broke into song in Russian. Another man joined him. They sounded
     drunk. Two
     more men shouted from farther away.
    The girl’s voice came from his side. “How
     many?”
    “Go back to the hay,” he whispered. “Bury
     yourself and don’t
     come out.”
    Greta made too much noise obeying, but at
     least she was out
     of the way. Cal replaced the lost bullet in his pistol, and then
     stood waiting
     for the door to open. There was enough light outside from the
     moon and the
     glowing horizon that he should get one good shot, maybe two. And
     then, if he
     picked up the rifle...
    No good. The others could simply light the
     barn on fire and
     burn them alive.
    The song continued for several moments. More
     words, more
     drunk laughter. Another gunshot, this one a few hundred yards
     away. One of the
     Russians outside the barn yelled something that sounded like, stop
     shooting,
     you idiots.
    And then the voices trailed away. The singing
     picked up
     again, this time from nearer the house.
    Cal cracked the barn door. He saw nobody in
     the shadows.
    The three Germans made their way to his side
     a few moments
     later.
    Greta tugged on his sleeve. “You see? They
     will kill us. You
     must help.”
    “All right, but only until dawn. Then, you
     can find more
     Germans if you can and I’ll find a place to hide.”
    He had no idea how much of this the girl
     understood, but she
     nodded and spoke to her parents. The mother sounded grateful,
     the father
     grudging, but he seemed to agree.
    “Hurry up,” Cal said. “Before they come
     looking to join Ivan
     in some recreational raping. Do you have any bags. Any food?”
    “No, nothing,” Greta said.
    “You people didn’t give this much thought,
     did you? All
     right, let’s go.”

5.
    Cal had second thoughts by the time they
     climbed over a low
     stone wall and passed into the next farm some twenty minutes
     after leaving the
     barn with the dead Russian. The girl’s father—Greta said his
     name was
     Hans-Peter and her mother was Helgard—stared at him suspiciously
     whenever Cal
     spoke to his daughter. Say the village up ahead was still held
     by Germans. What
     would keep Hans-Peter from shouting for help from the first
     friendly