Leverkusen, Germany           “Today, we will annihilate the enemy. Yes?” The question was posed by Ernst Wolfe, a young research assistant working with German scientist Gerhardt Schrader.           Schrader laughed. “Yes, Ernst. Today, the leaf lice will die.”           “The farmers will love us!”           “The Führer will love us. We’ll be able to grow more food to fatten up his youth corps.”           The two men were working in a lab owned by I. G. Farben, the largest chemical manufacturer in Germany. They were standing outside the agricultural hothouse attached to their laboratory. Behind a glass wall, were fruits and vegetables ripening on the vine, and the insects that preyed on them. Between the beds of produce, nozzles sprayed whatever pesticides or fertilizers were being tested. Today they were testing a new chemical called Tabun.           Schrader called out a series of numbers to Ernst as he adjusted the ratio of chemicals in the formula. “If I’m correct in my calculations, what we have here is the deadliest fog known to insects. Are you ready, Ernst?”           “Yes, Sir.”           Schrader pushed a few levers and a fog permeated the air inside the glass room, settling among the fruits and vegetables. He switched on a bank of lights to simulate the sun. “I think we have time for some coffee before we check on the results.”           The two men crossed the hall to a room dominated by a wooden counter that ran along its perimeter. But, instead of racks of beakers and large jars of chemicals, this counter contained ashtrays and coffee cups. Schrader poured steaming coffee for them, while Ernst rummaged through a drawer, looking for a knife. He used it to cut the string that was binding a paper package he had brought from home and nicked himself in the process. He sucked the blood from his finger tip and then removed two fat sticky buns from their wrappings. A bee that had been trapped inside the package, escaped out of the room. Ernst passed a bun to Schrader in exchange for a cup of coffee.           “I see your wife has been baking again,” the older man commented.           “Ever since she found out we’re going to have a child, she’s been baking. I told her our new son won’t be able to eat these buns until he has a good set of teeth and that will be quite some time, considering he hasn’t been born yet. But that doesn’t stop her. She just keeps baking more and more. And her mother, who is always with her, just keeps eating more and more. Pretty soon, we won’t be able to push the old woman out the door because she’s getting so fat.”           Ernst continued talking about impending fatherhood and his dream to buy a home for his family, far away from his wife’s parents.           “Trust me,” Schrader replied. “You’ll never get far enough away from your wife’s family.”           The two men laughed as they made their way back to the laboratory.           Inside the hothouse, the mist had started to dissipate. “I’ll collect the specimens for you,” Ernst said, as he entered the greenhouse.           At the plant bed, he raked his fingers through the rich loam, then looked through the window, nodding. He collected some of the soil and leaves that had been infested with lice, and carried them back into the lab. “This batch was really quite effective.”           “It’s about time,” Schrader replied.           Ernst began coughing, lightly at first, then more violently as he continued his task. Suddenly, he was gasping for breath.           Schrader protectively placed his hand on Ernst's shoulder. “I’ll get you some water.” By the time he returned, Ernst had collapsed to the floor, and was lying on his side, gagging. There was blood mixed in with the saliva, dripping out of the corner of his mouth. His body jerked with convulsions.           “I’d better call for a doctor,” Schrader cried, running to an adjacent office. When he got back, Ernst wasn't convulsing as violently. “There now, Ernst, you don’t seem to be as bad as you were. I think you’re getting over it.” Schrader bent over and rolled Ernst toward him. “Don’t you worry, my young friend, the doctor is on his way.”           But Ernst didn't respond. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets. Only red, broken capillaries were visible where the whites of his eyes had been.           Ernst’s body stiffened into another shudder and a gurgle escaped from his throat. Then nothing.           Ernst Wolfe was dead. ***