Dr. Hauptmann’s mouth is partially open. His face is flushed, adrenalized. “What is your name, cadet?” “Pfennig, sir.” “What else can you make?” Werner studies the parts on his table. “A doorbell, sir? Or a Morse beacon? An ohmmeter?” The other boys crane their necks. Dr. Hauptmann’s lips are pink and his eyelids are improbably thin. As though he is watching Werner even when he blinks. He says, “Make them all.”
