There was not much blood on the blackened blade. Fulmar leaned forward and wiped it several times against the Gestapo agent’s trousers. Then he replaced it in the sheath on his left arm.
He became aware of his heavy breathing and the beating of his heart. He was excited. Excited people don’t think clearly.
The first thing to do is get rid of the body, then change into the uniform and get rid of the civilian clothing and the luggage.
But that means opening the window twice.
Will that fucking window even open? If it doesn’t, then what?
What if someone sees me putting him out the window?
Would it be better to throw him and the luggage out all at once, or to wait a little, so the body will be a couple of kilometers from the luggage when it’s found?
The first thing to do is the first thing, See if the fucking window will open.
For a moment the window seemed frozen in place, but then he saw that there was a track for it to move upward. He gave a mighty heave, and the window opened.
Now that he had taken one action, everything seemed to fall into place.
The thing to do first is get rid of the body.
He looked out the window, then up the track. He could see nothing up ahead but the roadbed.
He grabbed the body under the armpits, heaved, and got the head into the open window.
The sonofabitch weighs five hundred pounds!
He wrapped his arms around the waist and heaved and shoved at once.
Fulmar’s face was right next to the entrance wound. A glob of blood oozed from it. When he let go, the body was halfway through the window, bent double at the stomach.
He wrapped his arms around the knees and heaved and shoved again.
For a moment it seemed caught on something, but all of a sudden the body let loose and was gone.
Without thinking why, he closed the window and sat down on the seat.
He was snveat-soaked and exhausted.
After a while, he hoisted himself to his feet and turned and opened the suitcase. He took out a brimmed cap with the Nazi eagle on the crown and the SS skull and crossbones on the band, and tossed it on the opposite seat.
Sure as Christ made little apples, that hat is either going to slide down over my ears, or be so small it will sit on my head like a pimple.
There was a shirt and a tie in the suitcase, a tunic with Sturmbannfuhrer’s insignia on the collar and epaulets and the SD triangle sewn to the left sleeve above the cuff, a black leather belt for the outside of the tunic, a pair of breeches, a pair of calf-high black leather boots, and finally, on the bottom, a black overcoat.
Fulmar wondered where the uniform had come from. Probably stolen, he decided. The next thing he noticed was that the SS uniform was cheap and shoddy compared to the U. S. Army wool gabardine pinks-and-greens he had left at Whitbey House. He was surprised. He had been told the SS had the best uniforms and equipment.
He dumped the contents of the suitcase onto the seat, then quickly stripped to his underwear. After that, he put the discarded civilian clothing into one of Reber”‘s suitcases. At first he just threw it in, but then he reconsidered. Presuming it did not burst open when it hit the railroad right of-way, it would be best if the suitcase were found neatly folded.
He therefore carefully folded Reber”‘s clothing and placed it in the suitcase.
Then he dressed. It had been’ projected as a possible difficulty” that the uniform would not fit him. But it had been decided that nothing could be done about that. As it turned out, the shirt fit, but the breeches were too large and the tunic was tight. The hat that he had worried about fit perfectly, but the boots were so tight that he had difficulty getting them on.
The likelihood that the boots would not fit had been another’ possible difficulty,” but for this problem there had been a “possible solution”, Soak the boots in water and keep them on until they dried.