On the Road to Sibiu

By Raymund Eich

Romania. August 1944. The Red Army pursues the retreating Germans. Captain Khavanov's orders: occupy an old fortress on the road to Sibiu, to secure the Red Army's supply line.

In the fortress lived a frail old man. What about him drew the interest of a commissar from division headquarters? And why did Khavanov's men disappear one by one?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CV-2 Books
• Release date: Jan 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466092129

Raymund Eich

Raymund Eich files patent applications, earned a Ph.D., won a national quiz bowl championship, writes science fiction and fantasy, and affirms Robert Heinlein's dictum that specialization is for insects.In a typical day, he may talk with university biology and science communication faculty, silicon chip designers, patent attorneys, epileptologists, and rocket scientists. Hundreds of papers cite his graduate research on the reactions of nitric oxide with heme proteins.He lives in Houston with his wife, son, and daughter.

Book preview

The only light in the courtyard came from the moon, which stood one-third empty high in the clear sky. The moonlight made the whitewashed walls a pale gray and the doors and roofs near black. An observatory rose from the northwest corner of the two-story keep whose walls defined the courtyard in which they stood.

B Platoon’s runner, a fellow with big ears who must have stood on tiptoe to meet the Red Army’s height requirement, emerged from a door near the base of the observatory and looked around for a moment, before walking quickly across the cobblestones. He stopped and saluted. Captain Khavanov, the runner said with a Ural accent.

Khavanov returned the salute. You found the master of this keep?

Yes sir! The runner smiled. In the observatory. Please follow me.

They entered the keep, twisted through corridors, and climbed a set of stairs. The runner opened the door for them. The room was circular, eighteen feet in diameter. There were no windows, only a stair which curled up along the wall to Khavanov’s left, steps and scaffolding of exposed wood over an unsafe-looking collection of cracked and holed floorboards.

Three guards and the interpreter snapped their heels at attention, and Lt. Zubov of B Platoon saluted. Khavanov returned the salute absently. The prisoner had caught his eye.

The prisoner was an old man, with a pale bald head too large to hold upright. He sat in a creaking chair with his back against the scaffolding of the stair. He glanced at Khavanov with sunken eyes. He wore a black cloak, and his chest labored with each breath.

What do you know about him? Khavanov asked Zubov.

His name is Tepes. Zubov took off his helmet and scratched the back of his head. "He doesn’t speak Russian, only Romanian and German. He says the Romanian Army