Germanica Page 11

  “We haven’t had much chance to bathe,” Columba told her. “Now, as we approach the Nazis, all you have to do is look downcast and scared. If these scum are anything like the ones we’ve run up against before, they’ll let us through without checking too deeply. They will probably make filthy remarks about how they would like the chance to make real women out of us withered old virgins, but we will ignore them. One of two of them might even reach out to paw you, which they seem to think is quite funny. Just whimper and pull away. Look terrified if you can. Defiance might make them suspicious. We nuns are supposed to be innocent little creatures who have run away from the world. If things start to get out of hand, I will step in.”

  “I will have no problem looking downcast and scared. I’m actually terrified.”

  They moved with the crowed to the checkpoint, which seemed to be moving fairly quickly.

  “Aren’t they checking anybody?” Columba wondered aloud.

  A man on a horse cart stood up and got a better view. “They’re not checking anybody because there’s nobody there to check. It looks like the SS and Gestapo have all gone. What the hell is going on?”

  “Did you pray for this?” Columba asked Lena.

  “No, but perhaps I should have.”

  There was commotion in the crowds of refugees in front of them. “The Yanks have crossed the Rhine just across from Vogelgrun,” someone yelled and others picked it up.

  “Where’s Vogelgrun?” Sister Columba asked.

  Lena smiled. “South and, of course, west of here. This means that we don’t have to continue to move to reach safety. The Americans will arrive shortly. All we have to do is wait for them.”

  Sister Columba shook her head. “We will not wait passively. What if the Russians move faster than the Americans? We had always thought about heading west and hoping to find the Yanks. Now perhaps we will.”

  * * *

  Ernie did not buy a car. For one thing, Dulles hadn’t given him enough money, and for another, gas was in short supply. Instead, he bought an old but sturdy bicycle and used it to pedal the streets and surrounding fields of Arbon. It was a great opportunity to familiarize himself with the layout of the town. The locations of stores and homes that he could use for refuge or escape were duly noted. The lessons given him by Allen Dulles and others were bearing fruit. He was beginning to think that this life as an OSS was even better than flying a P51 and being chased around the skies by Germans who wanted to kill him. Of course, the Germans on the ground didn’t much love him either.

  He casually rode up to the border where bored Swiss and German guards stared at each other. There was no apparent animosity. Peace reigned. He didn’t go within fifty yards of the border. No sense attracting unneeded attention to himself, he thought. Instead, he kept to the road that paralleled the fencing. There was enough other traffic to keep him from being conspicuous. Of course, dozens of Nazis could be watching him through binoculars and noting his presence and his every move. What a happy thought, he told himself.

  From what he could see, the German border guards looked far more nervous and even appeared stressed. And why not? he thought. Their country was collapsing into ruins. Their families and other loved ones might be dead or refugees or, worse, suffering terrible fates at the hands of the Russians. He wondered if the border guards could tell him if Goebbels had arrived safely. He could always say he wanted to send the Propaganda Minister a congratulatory card.

  He wondered if any of the guards or any of the soldiers he could see might be talked into surrendering or letting in a commando force in return for a free pass to the United States for them and their families. He congratulated himself on an excellent idea that he would discuss with Dulles as he pedaled back to his quarters at the warehouse. On arrival he found there was a message for him saying that Winnie would meet him at a boat dock at eight o’clock the next morning. He was to wear casual clothes and bring a swimsuit.

  Oh joy, he thought. He had always disliked chubby women in bathing suits. Winnie was attractive enough from her shoulders up, but her body left a lot to be desired, including a bath. Ah well, the things he would do for his country.

  * * *

  Winnie was already on the cabin cruiser when he arrived. As before she was unfashionably dressed in a long baggy dress that did not flatter her in the slightest. “I’m glad to see that you didn’t wear leather shoes,” she said tersely. “Other than damaging the deck, leather shoes are slippery and you might fall overboard. Even though the lake is a lovely shade of blue, it is very cold and extremely deep. I would hate to lose you so quickly.”

  “Winnie, I have actually been on a boat before. And whose boat is this anyway?”

  “Sorry,” she said sounding not the slightest bit sorry. “It belongs to a small corporation owned by Mr. Valenti and thus is the property of the American taxpayer. As taxpayers, I guess this is our boat. Shall we enjoy it?”

  They cast off the lines and Winnie skillfully took the boat well out onto the lake. She ran parallel to the German coast, staying at least a mile off shore. Ernie had read that there were disagreements between the Swiss and the Germans as to where borders on the water began. Winnie said they would not do anything to attract attention from either nation. Although they had been warned that boats on the lake could be in danger, they did not think a small outboard cabin cruiser would be construed as a threat by the Germans. Nor were they alone on the lake. A small number of boats were also out on the dark blue water, either fishing or cruising for pleasure. None were very close. They had privacy if they needed it.

  Winnie had brought a hamper filled with cheeses, bread, ham, butter, and a couple of bottles of a very popular local Pinot Noir and a fruity white wine called a Chasselas. Ernie generally drank beer, but what the hell? he thought. When in Switzerland, do as the Swiss do—or something like that.

  “Do you fish?” she asked.

  “I can hook a worm, but that’s about it.”

  “Well, you’re ahead of me. We’ll cut the engines and pretend.” She opened a chest and took out a couple of fishing poles and laid them over the stern of the boat. “If we were serious we could try to catch trout or whitefish. Instead, why don’t you go into the cabin and change into your swimsuit. We’ll look very natural that way.”

  Ernie did as told and emerged a few moments later. “Do I pass?” he asked.

  Winnie smiled. She really did have a nice smile, he realized. “I was hoping for better, but you’ll do.”

  While she changed, Ernie took binoculars and checked around. He kept in the shade of the cabin to make it difficult for someone to see him. There were no boats that appeared to be official and none were headed their way. He checked the German coastline and again saw nothing in the way of unusual activity. Maybe he was being paranoid, but constructive paranoia was a good way of staying alive.

  “Can you see Hitler or Goebbels from here?”

  “Not quite,” he said and turned. He almost gasped. “What have you done with pudgy little Winnie Tyler?”

  The Winnie Tyler now before him was slender and athletic looking. She was wearing a blue one-piece bathing suit that hugged her figure like a glove. “It’s an incredible diet, Ernie. It’s called how to lose fifty pounds in five minutes. First you wear a lot of padding under an ugly dress that’s way too large. Then you have your hair cut very short so you can wear a number of wigs and don’t forget thick glasses with clear glass to make you look strange, and then add balls of cotton stuffed in the cheeks. And don’t forget to rub garlic and other stuff on your face and hands so you stink to high heaven. We could have met and discussed matters elsewhere but this was a great opportunity to dress and behave like myself and not have to put on an act with the ugly suit. Unless you decide to behave like an animal, today is a holiday for me.”

  “And for me too?” he said happily. “And I am a gentleman and not an animal. Well, usually.”

  “You are very nice, but just to keep things straight, I am not going to sleep wi
th you or even kiss you. Today is recreational. I simply need a day off. I don’t want to get involved with anyone until this war is over. I owe too much to my brother.” Her lips began to twitch as she finished, and a tear ran down her cheek.

  “Tell me,” Ernie asked softly.

  “He’s in Honolulu. He’s somewhere in the rusting hull of the battleship Arizona where he’s been since December 7, 1941, and I have a very hard time even thinking about it and him. He was three years older than me and he was my hero. He still is. I joined the OSS in order to strike back at the Japs. Unfortunately, I later found that General Douglas MacArthur has no use for the OSS and there wasn’t much intelligence work for a woman in other areas of the Pacific, so I decided to strike at the Japs by hurting the Nazis. Does that make sense?”

  “As much as anything else I’ve heard lately. I think it’s time to open the wine. May I raise a toast to your brother?”

  She smiled warmly. “I’d like that very much.”

  * * *

  Shock and dismay tore through the 105’s division headquarters at the sudden news. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, thirty-second President of the United States, was dead in some strange place called Warm Springs, Georgia. A heart attack or a stroke the news said, not that it mattered. He was dead and that was all that counted. The entire army and navy were stunned. Grown men cried at the thought of a familiar father figure passing away.

  “I didn’t even know he was sick,” Tanner said to Cullen, quickly realizing what a banal statement it was. Who would have told him?

  “I guess we should have known in hindsight that he wasn’t well. His most recent pictures made him look old and isn’t it true that he finally admitted that he couldn’t walk? Jesus, we had a crippled sick man in the White House and never knew it. I wonder how I would have voted if I’d known.”

  Tanner shook his head. “That’s probably why they didn’t announce it. Besides, what did his being stuck in a wheelchair have anything to do with his ability to deal with the Depression and fight this damned war?”

  “Nothing I can think of,” admitted Cullen.

  The news was shocking. FDR had been president for twelve years. Many had begun to think of him as immortal. Hell, he was only in his early sixties, which was quite old, but most of them had at least one relative who was older. There were people who had never heard of Herbert Hoover or any other prior president.

  General Evans looked distraught and Tanner could hear the sounds of sobbing. Soldiers weren’t supposed to cry, he told himself as he fought back his own tears. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Roosevelt. He had seriously considered voting for Dewey on the basis that three terms was more than enough. But then he’d asked himself if it was time to change captains on the ship of state and reluctantly decided that it wasn’t. Like most Americans, he’d voted for Roosevelt in 1940. FDR had dragged the country from the depths of the Depression and had led the fight against Hitler and Japan. The world had lost a giant and many people felt that they had lost a member of their family. His fireside chats broadcast on radio had calmed and encouraged them, while his eloquent fury had sent the U.S. off to war after Pearl Harbor.

  And now he was dead and who the hell was this four-eyed stranger with the tinny voice, Harry Truman?

  Evans wiped his nose with a none too clean handkerchief and addressed his staff. “Until and if we hear to the contrary, our orders remain the same. We are to exterminate the remnants of Nazism. It cost us five hundred dead and wounded brave men to cross the Rhine and it is up to us to see that they have not suffered in vain. I don’t know anything about this Truman fellow, except that he’s what we got right now as President of the United States. The next election will be in 1948, so, for good or ill, we’re stuck with him. I would be shocked if he changed the direction of the war. Hitler’s trapped in Berlin and he might just be burning in hell in a short while, and that really ought to change things. Until then, we kill Germans.”

  There were nods and grunts of approval. After a pause, Evans continued. “There will be a nondenominational service tomorrow. At least I hope there will be as soon as the various chaplains figure out who’s going to say what. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to honor FDR’s memory with a drink or two from the private stores that just about everyone has. Dismissed.”

  “Well,” said Cullen, “Your tent or mine?” It was a joke. They shared the same tent.

  “Mine. I’ve got decent Scotch and you’ve got that home brew shit some GI cooked up.”

  * * *

  Josef Goebbels raised a glass of champagne and saluted the large picture of Adolf Hitler that stared down on them from the wall of the cave. “To the Fuhrer. He is always right. He said that something dramatic was going to occur that would change the course of history and now it’s happened. The death of the Jew Roosevelt will bring an end to the unholy alliance that is strangling Germany. Now, perhaps, the people of England and the United States will realize just who the real enemy is.”

  Field Marshal Schoerner lifted his glass as well, “Death to the Jews and death to the communists. Now if only there is enough time for an Allied collapse before our Fuhrer becomes a casualty in Berlin.”

  Schoerner put down his glass. An aide quickly filled it. “With profoundest regrets, Minister, I believe it is too late for Adolf Hitler. I cannot see where the death of Roosevelt will mean anything in the short run. The Red Army hordes are in place and will not be deterred. If anything, I believe that Stalin will urge them to fight even more intensely before events and alliances can change.”

  “Unfortunately, that assessment sounds correct,” Goebbels said sadly. “That makes it all the more important that we hang on here in the Alps. And that reminds me. I have been to the lovely city of Bregenz and I cannot see how we can defend it against the Americans if they come.”

  Schoerner chuckled. “Unfortunately, when people think of Switzerland they think of mountains. Yes, much of the Alps are in Switzerland, but the Alps also extend into Italy to our south and what used to be Austria to our east. Along with those mountain ranges, there are some significant valleys and other areas where the land is hilly but not mountainous. If the land around Bregenz was too rugged, we would not be able to set up a political capital there. We must have roads in order to move our forces and to bring in supplies. So yes, we cannot last forever if the Americans attack with determination and strength.”

  “And when the Americans come?”

  “There are two fundamental ways they can come and both involve their taking the Brenner Pass. American General Mark Clark’s Fifteenth Army Group must force its way up the mountains in northern Italy to get the pass. They might win through but it will be incredibly bloody. They can also attack from the north using both Bradley’s and Devers’ Army Groups, with Devers’ forces bearing the brunt of the fighting for the simple reason that they are in place and closest. This is good since I do not believe that Devers’ armies are anywhere near as skilled as Bradley’s. We also believe that Clark’s Army Group is as exhausted as those of ours he is fighting.”

  Goebbels nodded agreement although he was clearly unhappy at the thought of American divisions forcing their way through to Bregenz.

  “Bregenz has other advantages, Minister. First, our sources say that the Americans have assured the Swiss that they will not bomb the town if we do not make too big a show of our being there. Second, if it does appear that the Americans are going to be victorious, our armies can simply lay down their arms while we escape to Switzerland and on to South America. The Swiss might not be too happy, but I have it on good authority that they will not stop us or fight us. The vast amounts of money from the Reich and from Jews that is now in Swiss banks will buy us a sanctuary for enough time to arrange passage to South America. I’ve been told that Argentina is lovely this time of year.”

  “Or any time of year,” said a reassured Goebbels. “I don’t particularly care what happens to my slut of a wife, but I do want my children to survive. Along with myself, of
course,” he laughed. “Of course it will all be moot when the alliance against us falls apart. My guess is that it will be the French who collapse first and then the British. I firmly believe that the Soviets will see nothing to their advantage in pursuing us into the mountains, especially if we can confront them with a nuclear threat. I have been to Professor Esau’s cave and am impressed. He has a pair of V1 rockets and a number of men working on them and on the bomb itself. He wants more of everything, of course; who doesn’t? But he has assured me the bomb and the improved V1s will be ready. He and his assistants are well aware that their lives depend on it. If the bomb is not ready, they will be shot. The Americans are in for a bloody surprise.”

  “Why did he bring the V1s and not the V2s?”

  “He said that the V1 is a more primitive and therefore a more rugged device. He also said they were easier to transport and will be easier to set up and fire when the time comes. I deferred to his knowledge.”

  “A good idea.”

  Schoerner continued. “So our war will be against the Americans alone and whoever this Harry Truman person is. Perhaps we should salute Harry Truman with another glass of champagne.”

  “A splendid idea.”

  Schoerner laughed. “I still cannot get over the idea that a physicist named Abraham Esau is not Jewish and I don’t care how many times his ancestry was checked. I will feel much more confident when Heisenberg shows up.”

  Goebbels smiled. He was recalling the massages he’d been getting from several lovely and pliant German women since arriving at the army’s headquarters. “Then let’s drink another toast. Let us lift our glasses to the new Republic of Germanica.”

  * * *

  What will the Americans do without Roosevelt? wondered Lena. His death had come as a shock to all of the refugees as they moved towards where they hoped the Americans would come before the Russians. She thought it ironic that a number of Germans were jubilant that the man they referred to as the “Jew Roosevelt” was gone. In their Nazi minds, it was the Americans who had started the war and who were bombing German cities and slaughtering German civilians. They seemed to have forgotten enslaving Poland and Russia and brutally conquering other innocent nations.