Germanica - eARC Page 5

  After having watched him for a while, Ernie realized that men and women would occasionally come up to the man, shake hands, and depart. Sometimes they would sit and talk softly. Ernie quickly realized that that some of them were surreptitiously giving him information and documents. Whoever the old guy was, he was likely a spy. Now he really had to meet the guy.

  Ernie walked across the park and sat by the man at the far end of the bench. He lit a cigarette and tried to look casual. The man had been reading a newspaper. He folded it and laid it down. “Good afternoon, Captain Janek. My name is Allen Dulles. How may I be of service to you?”

  Chapter 3

  Whenever there was thunder and lightning, Lena would wonder if these were the sights and sounds of battles that would set her free. Always her hopes were dashed when nothing more than wind and rain pelted down. She swore that she would not feel sorry for herself. As her grandmother used to say, each day of life was a blessing. The fact that she was alive and not being brutalized in a factory or work camp was another blessing. The fact that she did not have to spread her legs for Gustav Schneider or take his manhood in her mouth was one more blessing. The fact that Gustav’s son Anton and his sister Astrid could still be controlled was another.

  Like servants or slaves everywhere, the Schneiders sometimes forgot she was present. Or that she could hear them easily if she simply moved to another room. They had loud raucous voices. Her grandmother would have considered them vulgar and Lena concurred.

  She had a lot of freedom. She often went shopping with Frau Schneider and carried her packages like a good and dutiful servant. This gave her an opportunity to see the world around her and gauge what was happening. She was heartened by the growing sense of despair in the faces of those Germans she saw. Wounded German soldiers, many missing limbs or with mutilated faces, sat on benches and stared vacantly at their terribly changed world. She could pity them as individuals, but not the regime they fought for. She felt the same with the growing columns of civilian refugees that were now streaming west. It pleased her to see the men, women, and children of the master race pushing handcarts with all their remaining possessions piled on them. She thought she could tell by the haunted faces of some of the women that they had suffered at the hands of the Soviets before escaping to Germany. Even though she had shared their fate, she felt no sympathy.

  The Schneiders had not had the yellow Star of David sewn on her clothing, another blessing. Apparently they and other authorities concurred that there was enough doubt about her Jewishness to permit that exception. Lena didn’t think the Schneiders liked being seen in the company of someone who was openly proclaimed to be a Jew.

  On occasion they would even send her alone on small errands. They were not concerned that she would run away. After all, where the devil would she go? They did make sure that she carried a permission slip from Herr Schneider in case she was stopped by the police or the Gestapo.

  Gustav Schneider was a district administrator and an enthusiastic member of the Nazi Party. He was not part of the Gestapo, but he did run a number of informants who fed him information about disloyal citizens. This was forwarded on and those who doubted Germany’s ultimate victory would be talked to. Or they would disappear.

  For all intents and purposes, Gustav Schneider’s word was law. He had served in World War I and had been active in the postwar street fighting that had brought the Nazi Party to power. Lena suspected that he had been a peasant before becoming a Nazi. She sensed that his formal education had been slight, but he had worked hard and corrected those deficiencies.

  But now she had a fair idea of her fate and she was terrified. She had heard them say that they would not take her with them to the Alpine Redoubt. No room for Jews was the reason. Instead, when the time came for the Schneiders to move south, she would be taken away to a hidden factory that made small parts for airplane engines. She’d heard of the place. Rumors said it was a hell from which no working slaves emerged. Despite the fact that it was a small factory with only a couple hundred people confined and working, she knew she would die if she was sent there.

  Thus, she had to escape. But when and how?

  * * *

  Tanner and Sergeant Billy Hill struck up an easy relationship that was both professional and somewhat personal. Each had been in the army long enough to know that sometimes the distinctions of rank had to be eased, if not ignored altogether, when out in the field.

  The American army had advanced beyond where Hill’s column had been ambushed. Still, they went to the site and saw the scars of battle. The dead had been removed, although some of the bloodstains on the road were still visible. The charred and smashed vehicles that could not be salvaged had been pushed to the side where they lay as grim memorials. In the distance, the hills that would grow into mountains seemed to look down on them. A column of trucks drove past them at a prudent thirty miles an hour, evidence that the area was now secure. The German fighting retreat had continued. Almost inevitably, artillery rumbled in the distance.

  They turned down a dirt road and drove to where they could see the Rhine. They’d been told that the river was narrower here than up north but it was still a mighty and powerful obstacle. The current was fast and strong and the water was cold. Falling in would result in a quick death if one were not rescued immediately. Tanner looked at the other side through his binoculars and wondered if a German was looking back at him. He fought a ridiculous urge to wave. With his luck, the response would be an artillery round fired right at him.

  Sergeant Hill spat some tobacco on the ground, happily desecrating the Third Reich. “Excuse the impertinence, Captain, but what’s your take on General Evans?”

  Tanner paused. It was an impertinent question but one he’d been pondering as well. “I think he’s got problems, Sergeant. He’s got a brand-new division that’s seriously understrength and with a whole new cast of characters and most of them are totally inexperienced. Many of the infantrymen arrived here without ever having fired a rifle and haven’t done so yet. Also, the division’s filled with inexperienced officers and NCOs. You and I have been in action, although my avoiding surrendering hardly qualifies me as a combat expert. But most of the officers and men haven’t really heard a shot fired in anger. And that artillery going off in the distance doesn’t count as combat experience either. That’s why the ambush of your platoon was such a shock. In the Ardennes it happened all the time, but not to my division and not to yours. The 106th had just arrived up there and most of the men had barely settled in, just like here. A lot of them hoped they could ride out the end of the war in relative comfort and safety. They were hoping to bide their time drinking beer and screwing German women. Then all hell broke loose and the division was effectively destroyed.”

  “And I’ll bet that most of them didn’t want to fight too hard either, did they?”

  “That’s right. They just wanted to serve their time and get home. Nobody wanted to be a hero and that fact is going to plague Evans. It’s not that the men are cowards. They just don’t want to take a chance on dying when they don’t have to. Ironically some inexperienced soldiers might be talked into taking chances that experienced ones won’t. We’ll all obey General Evans’ orders, but I don’t see too many people going out of their way to show initiative, and that probably includes me.”

  Hill laughed. “Add me to that list, sir.”

  “When somebody opens fire on them, the men are very likely go to ground and call for artillery support rather than moving forward under fire. Maybe that’s one thing that bothers Evans about what happened to your platoon. Your lieutenant made a foolish mistake and paid for it. But he was showing initiative. He was out looking for bear. Somebody once told me that, after a while, all the heroes in any army are all dead or wounded. What’s left are the survivors who do a good job of keeping their heads down.”

  Tanner realized they shouldn’t be sightseeing and shouldn’t be talking like this about their general, but what the hell. “I think Evans is
afraid of failure and that any failure will result in a lot of deaths. That’s why he wants us to provide him with an extra level of security and intelligence. Maybe thinks both of us are survivors and therefore know something about war that other people don’t.”

  Hill laughed softly and bitterly. “I didn’t think I was so smart while I was lying in the snow and mud and trying not to get my ass shot off while my men got killed.”

  “Understood, Sergeant. And I wasn’t doing anything special while I was running through the cold and snowy shit that was Belgium.”

  * * *

  Major Alfonse Hahn stepped smartly to within a few feet of Field Marshal Ferdinand Schoerner and halted. “Heil Hitler, Field Marshal, and congratulations on your promotion. It is long overdue and well deserved.”

  Schoerner returned the salute and laughed. “And you’re kissing my ass again, Major, but I appreciate it.”

  Schoerner waved Hahn to a chair. “According to reports, my old friend, you have been a very bad boy. Just how many American soldiers did you have executed?”

  Hahn rubbed the star-shaped red birthmark on his cheek. “Just a handful of American prisoners that I deemed useless and, of course, a larger number of German deserters who deserved death for their actions. But why do you ask?”

  An aide brought brandies. Before the war, the two men had become close during Schoerner’s time spent turning the SS into a real military fighting unit. Hahn had been a very young officer whose ruthless methods had impressed Schoerner. He thought it a shame that Hahn hadn’t been promoted to a much higher rank. Perhaps he would be in a position to correct that injustice.

  “A very good source has told me that the Americans have put you on a long list of so-called war criminals they plan to prosecute after the war, assuming, of course that they win it and that you are still either alive or haven’t fled to someplace like Argentina. Apparently someone witnessed you executing two wounded soldiers in the Ardennes. I’m sure you remember the incident.”

  “Of course, Field Marshal. One man was unconscious and doubtless dying, while the second had serious leg injuries along with a big mouth. He kept saying that we were going to lose and that Hitler was going to hang. Even if I had wished to, I could not have taken them with me, so I shot them. I was leaving the Ardennes to report our great victory to our mutual friend, Herr Goebbels. It was just a shame that our victory turned so sour so quickly.”

  Schoerner nodded agreement. Like many senior officers, he’d had doubts about the Ardennes offensive, feeling it was a desperate move. “But now we have an opportunity to turn it all around, which we shall do. Perhaps then we will not be forced to hide in caves.”

  Both men laughed. Albert Speer and hordes of his capable assistants along with thousands of laborers, mainly slaves, had performed miracles. Hundreds of large caves now dotted the hills and mountains, including the immense command cave they were now in. It was located a few miles outside the Austrian city of Bregenz, on Lake Constance and close to the Swiss border. Several hundred people worked in the cave and other caves were being constructed. Much of the brute labor came from a small concentration camp in the area, while other workers had been shipped in from the much larger camp at Dachau.

  Schoerner continued. “Right now it almost goes without saying that the war has become a disaster. It is going to be up to us to salvage what we can and lead a renaissance of the Nazi Party and, of course, of Germany. The Fuhrer has said that Germany is not worthy of him and he is largely correct. Perhaps the time was not ripe for something as dramatic and wonderful as a world run by Nazis. Someday soon it will be and we will be at the forefront along with Herr Goebbels.”

  Hahn swelled with pride. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t. How many men did you manage to bring with you?

  “With regrets, only a couple dozen. However, they are loyal men who would be willing to die for the Reich.”

  Schoerner smiled warmly. “Let’s hope they don’t have to. I know you’re curious as to what your duties will be here in this new capital of Germany. They will be quite simple. You and your men, augmented by other new arrivals of course, will make it your life’s purpose to find and stamp out traitors and Jews. You may use any means at your disposal.”

  Hahn was puzzled. “Isn’t that the job of the Gestapo?”

  “It would be except for the fact that the Gestapo’s presence down here is less than minimal. You are a devoted SS man, which is the next best thing. In fact, it is better since you are also a soldier and this is going to be a totally military operation and will be until some later time. You will report to me until Minister Goebbels arrives. If Bormann makes it here as well, then he will be in charge.”

  “Between the two of us, Field Marshal, who will rule Germany if the Fuhrer does die in Berlin?”

  Schoerner pondered the question. There were a number of claimants for a throne that wasn’t yet vacant. Goering was an obese joke, but Himmler was a serious contender as were Bormann and Goebbels. Both Schoerner and Hahn hoped it would be Goebbels. Then too, there was a rumor that Admiral Doenitz was Hitler’s designated heir. It was hoped that there would not be a number of pretenders whose infighting could jeopardize the continued existence of the Reich.

  Schoerner poured them some more brandy. “To answer your question, Major, the new ruler of Germany will be the survivor.”

  * * *

  The dying German plane shrieked across the sky. Flames spewed from its tail and it looked like the pilot was trying to find a place to land. It was also unlike any other plane Lena or the Schneiders had ever seen or heard.

  “He isn’t going to make it,” muttered Gustav Schneider. His wife and children said nothing. As usual Lena hung back. They were outside the house and near a field that abutted the Schneiders’ property. They’d been tending the vegetable garden that now provided them with much of their food. The plane slammed into the ground with a loud crack, bounced once in the air and settled on the earth. An instant later, the onboard fuel exploded. Even though it was hundreds of yards away, they felt the warmth from the flames flow over them.

  Lena could also smell the contents of the plane burning and wondered if any of the smell was the pilot. Part of her said it was good that the Nazi had died, while another felt it was terrible that another young man’s life had to end so violently.

  Anton yelled and pointed. “Papa, is that the pilot?”

  It was. The pilot had been thrown clear and had landed facedown in the field. He hadn’t been burned, but he was still very dead. Behind them they could hear the wail of sirens growing nearer. They walked to the body with Gustav taking the lead and Lena again in the rear. If they noticed her, she was afraid they’d send her back to the house.

  Herr Schneider waved his arms angrily. “Look at this. It’s another one of Hitler’s super-weapons. How super can it be if the damned thing gets shot down?”

  Lena was stunned. She had never heard him criticize the Fuhrer. Perhaps he was drunk. Or, like everybody else, perhaps he was frustrated with the war. But from what she’d seen of it in the air and the remains of the wreckage on the ground, the plane was indeed unique. There were no propellers and the shape had been sleek and looked like a predator. She’d heard people talk of jets and presumed that this was one of them. She was not impressed. Herr Schneider was right. How could it be a super-weapon if it could be shot down? The thought pleased her.

  Gudrun tried to calm her husband. There were no spies or informers around, but one shouldn’t get careless, not even if they were themselves closely allied to the Gestapo. “There will be other weapons and other opportunities to stop the Americans,” she said soothingly.

  Gustav glowered. “Certainly there are,” he said sarcastically. “Just like the V1 rocket was supposed to bring England to its knees, and then the V2 was supposed to finish the job. I’ve talked to people who know these things and the V1 flies so slowly and predictably that it can actually be shot down. The V2 is much faster but neit
her of them can be aimed with even the slightest degree of accuracy. They only thing they can guarantee hitting is the ground. Did you know that thousands of both rockets were aimed at the Tower Bridge in London and not one of them hit it? Thousands were fired, but not one hit. Not only that, but their warheads are too small. Even a direct hit on Target 42, which was the Luftwaffe’s name for the Tower Bridge, wouldn’t have destroyed it.”

  He angrily and petulantly stamped his foot. Anton had wondered close to the corpse and his mother pulled him back. Astrid averted her eyes. She had no wish to see more death.

  “Damn it to hell,” Gustav continued to rage. “Germany is being betrayed by the scientists. I’ll bet they are all Jews pretending to be real Germans.”

  The fire was rapidly burning itself out. The local fire and police continents had arrived and contented themselves with containing it. The dead pilot had been pulled from the ground and laid on a stretcher. The impact had flattened the man’s body and left a rough outline of his corpse indented in the ground. She shuddered. At least he’d died quickly. Or she hoped he had.

  Gustav Schneider decided that the show was over and they all headed back to the house. Lena maneuvered so she was last. They hadn’t noticed her and she had not spoken. Only Anton had been aware of her presence. He had turned and looked at her. The glance had turned into a stare and then into a leer. Her dress was an old one and the hem was too short, showing more of her legs than she realized she should have.

  He grinned and winked. She turned away and walked just a little faster.

  * * *

  When Ernie Janek presented himself to the Marine guard at the U.S. embassy in Bern, he expected to be told to wait. The summons from the old man in the park had been simple—be at the embassy at ten in the morning. To his surprise there would be no waiting. He was immediately ushered into a small room with a card table and two chairs. Not impressive, was Ernie’s first thought.