Berlin Wolf (18 page)

Peter and Franz had barely spoken for almost half an hour. They were shivering and a little out of sorts. The weather was unseasonally cold for the time of year, as spring defied the approaching summer of 1943. The icy wind blowing through Berlin in the middle of the night penetrated their overcoats all too easily. The warming effect of Lotte's coffee laced with cognac had long since gone. If only Wolfi had come with them. With his thick fur coat they would have been cosy and warm. This was not an occasion for Wolfi's help, much though it would have been appreciated.

Apart from the cold they were cramped, having spent an hour in a hollow on the side of the railway embankment. It was a black night with little visibility as the normal blackout curtain had once more shrouded the city. In the near distance the dim glow of Lehrter railway station could just be seen as the workmen operated in the minimum light necessary. Other than the light of the station the only other illumination was the blue flash or spark as trains arrived and departed.

Many freight trains had come and gone. It was approaching four in the morning and no passengers had either arrived or left the station. The one train that they awaited was overdue and they were close to calling off their raid. The temptation was so much the greater with the knowledge that they were so close to Lotte's apartment, just minutes away. This was to be their most audacious escapade yet. A train was due with a valuable cargo: not coal, nor oil, nor weapons, nor even foodstuffs. It was carrying paper and not just any old paper. This was the same cardboard-like paper used for official documents such as identity and ration cards.

A few days ago the last of the ‘official papers' had been distributed. It had been an extremely worthy gift, for the recipient was a former railway worker, who had worked at this very station. His job had been in the dispatch office, checking and counting consignments bound for destinations throughout the Reich or arriving at the station for distribution throughout Berlin.

Shortly before he was due to be arrested for ‘anti-war sentiments' and ‘sabotage', he had happened to see a ‘special order' about which he knew nothing. Taking a great risk he had opened the document to discover that a train was due to arrive a week later and its cargo was paper for printing. The train was to be heavily guarded by an army escort. Luckily the man had been tipped off about his imminent arrest and had disappeared just as the Gestapo appeared to take him away.

Within a week of his disappearance he had come to the Professor's attention. Though not a fleeing Jew, he still needed help and all had agreed, without dissent, that he should receive their assistance. And so it was that a few days later, Peter and Franz were freezing in a ditch at the side of the tracks, awaiting a train.

‘This is madness,' Peter whispered.

‘Maybe it is, still we have to try. We need that paper,' Franz whispered back.

Peter knew he was right. With the correct paper they would no longer have to rely on altering stolen passes. They could print their own without regard to the sex or age of the recipient. It would save them a fortune and there would be no more dangerous liaisons at train stations.

‘At least tell me your plan again,' Peter insisted.

Franz's plan was hardly that. They would await an opportunity to sneak onto the train. If no chance arose they would return home empty handed.

‘Don't worry. It will work. At least we know when the shifts change.' Franz's optimism was often infectious. Not on this occasion.

They were about to concede defeat, when a locomotive approached the station. As soon as they saw it, they knew this had to be the one. As it slowed to enter the siding sheds they could just make out at least eight, possibly ten soldiers armed with machine guns and rifles.

‘The train is too well guarded. We'll have to forget the whole thing.' Peter was disappointed, but looked forward to the warmth of the apartment.

Franz had other ideas. As soon as the convoy came to a standstill he began to creep across the tracks towards the rear of the train.

‘Franz! Franz! Come back!' Peter said, as loudly as he dare. It was too late. He had to follow.

In the darkness of the night they were able to reach the end of the train undetected. Some of the soldiers walked towards the platform to use the toilets or purchase a sludgy substitute coffee. As one soldier left his post he was relieved by a different soldier.

Peter was about to drag Franz away when they noticed that the guard at the very back of the train had left and had not been replaced.

‘Now's our chance Peter.' Peter nodded.

Moving alongside the rear wagon, Franz tried the lock on the sliding door. It was firmly shut and would not budge. With his pocket knife he attempted to pick the lock. Again it would not yield. He ducked under the compartment and tried to prize two floorboards apart. To Peter's amazement a section of one of the boards came away and then another. The carriage had seen much more use of late than was normal and much less maintenance than was required. Fortunately the creak of the boards splintering was drowned out by the sound of men working all around them. There was now a gap about seventy centimetres wide. It was too small for a full-grown man, or even Peter to climb through, but Franz was smaller and in seconds he disappeared completely into the darkness.

Inside Franz felt around him and then nervously switched on his small torch. There were reams of thick paper wrapped in polythene. With his pocketknife he cut open the wrapping and removed several reams. They were more cumbersome than he anticipated and it took a considerable effort to move them.

‘Peter! Peter! Catch!' he said, as he dropped one onto the track through the hole in the floor. Peter just managed to catch it before it hit the metal rails.

‘Careful! Not so much noise Franz.'

Peter opened the empty rucksack he was carrying and carefully placed the paper inside, rolling it first as much as possible.

‘That's enough Franz. Let's get going,' Peter said quietly. He was anxious. Franz was already dragging more reams towards the hole.

‘Halt! Don't move or I'll shoot! Step forward and identify yourself!' a voice shouted in the half-light. Peter could just discern the silhouette of a soldier with a rifle pointed towards him. He was nearly thirty metres away.

He stood completely still, more from fear than obedience, until a familiar voice whispered, ‘Run Peter, run! There's no point both us getting caught!'

Peter responded instantly and, diving behind the train for cover, he ran away as fast as he could. The rucksack was quite heavy but fear sped him on. He did not look behind him. His body tensed as he awaited the inevitable shot. As a train approached the station he was just able to run in front of it, evading his pursuer and avoiding the bullet that whistled nearby and into the approaching train.

He had reached the embankment and was about to descend the other side, when he cast an anxious look behind.

‘Over here! Over here!' he shouted as loudly as he could. It was pointless. His pursuer had given up and was trudging back to the platform. He was war-weary, tired and quite overweight. Above the noise of industry he could not hear Peter calling out.

‘Good luck Franz! Good luck,' Peter said to himself and turned away. Once down the embankment, he sprinted the short distance home, hoping against hope that Franz would be safe.

Lotte was extremely distressed when Peter arrived in the apartment without Franz. He was out of breath and in between panting could only say, ‘he's bound to be caught, he's bound to be caught.' Wolfi nuzzled his master's leg with his nose, but even that did not console him.

‘What happened to him?' Lotte asked a little impatiently. Straight away she recognised the harshness of her tone. ‘Don't worry Peter,' she said more gently, ‘Franz is very resilient. If anyone can escape, he can. However I am going to give him the best chance possible.'

With that she disappeared into the bedroom, reappearing just five minutes later. She looked stunning in a figure-hugging black dress, its hem-line above the knee. On her feet she wore black stilettos, with silk stockings, a rare item for any Berliner. On her head was perched a wide-brimmed straw hat and around her shoulders hung a fur wrap. Her lips were painted with a deep ruby red lipstick.

She crossed the sitting room to the walnut drinks cabinet and opening the flap at the front, rummaged amongst the bottles. She pulled out two large bottles of vintage cognac.

‘Pity,' she said, ‘I was saving these for your birthday.'

She poured half the contents of one bottle into a silver hip-flask encased in leather. The other bottle she dropped into her handbag and marched towards the door.

‘I'll be back soon. Wait here for me,' she said. Peter was not going to argue with Lotte as determined as this.

As Peter was running away from the train, Franz was considering what to do. It was clear that at least one of the soldiers had given chase, yet there were still many about. For the moment it was safer to stay there. He replaced the two pieces of board as best he could and sitting down on one of the large bundles of paper, he began to wait.

To his horror, having just sat down, he heard the sound of gunfire and worryingly in the vicinity of the rear of the train. He prayed that Peter would be all right. Outside the fat soldier had looked very cursorily under the compartment. He was too unfit and stiff to bend far. Franz held his breath as a bayonet clinked between the metal wheels of the train.

He still dared not breathe as the lock rattled. The soldier was checking the door. Franz exhaled quietly, relieved that the door remained shut. Satisfied, the guard returned to his post.

As he sat there in silence, Franz could not help recall all the events of the past year. He hated the Nazis for taking his parents away. On the other hand he had made some wonderful friends. Peter was now more like an older brother, than just a friend.

‘Please let him be unharmed!' he murmured to himself.

Suddenly a single, beautiful voice trespassed upon his daydreams.

‘Underneath the lamplight by the barrack square.' It was the familiar words of ‘Lili Marlene', a favourite song of both Allied and German forces. The voice was soon joined by male voices and the haunting notes of a mouth organ. The soldiers were singing.

Franz forced his way through the bundles to the opposite side of the wagon. He placed his eye up to a tiny gap in the wooden wall of the compartment and peered out. His one eye confirmed what his ears had already suggested. It was Lotte!

She was on the train platform, swaying in time to the music as she sang, hip flask in one hand, a bottle of cognac in the other. She was surrounded by a group of about ten soldiers, all singing along. Each had their army issue tin mug with a generous splash of cognac inside.

Franz moved away from the spyhole. This was his chance. He prised open the hole in the floor and lowered himself onto the rails. Seconds later he crept away into the darkness and made his way over the tracks and down the embankment. As he did so he could still hear the distance strains of Lotte's voice. Somehow it seemed less mournful than earlier.

It was indeed less mournful, for Lotte had glimpsed the unmistakeable sight of Franz's boots as he clambered onto the track. As a professional performer she had maintained her composure and continued singing. Following one more rendition of the soldiers' favourite song and a further request, Lotte thanked them and left the station.

* * *

The next morning Peter, Franz and Lotte slept until much later than usual. The drama of the previous evening had frayed their nerves, with only Franz seemingly unaffected. When Lotte had returned home she had discovered him telling Peter what had been happening at the station. Peter was extremely happy to see his friend again and they were full of praise for Lotte's diversion. After embracing them, Lotte had retired to bed promising that she would tell the full story in the morning.

* * *

It was just after eleven when she recounted the events of the previous night.

‘It was quite simple,' she began modestly. ‘I told the officer in charge that I had just lost my husband at the front. The last time I had seen him was at Lehrter station on that very platform and I wanted to pay my respects by drinking a cognac and toasting him, as I couldn't very well do it on the front. I invited them to join me, which they did quite eagerly.'

‘What about the singing?' Peter said.

‘Oh that! Most of the soldiers were just boys, some about your age. I could tell they were homesick and wanted to cheer them up. It just seemed the right thing to do. Also I couldn't think of any other way of letting Franz know I was there,' she replied nonchalantly.

‘Remarkable! Quite remarkable!' was all that the Professor could add. By now he was a regular and welcome visitor to Lotte's apartment. He was examining the printing paper very carefully and expressed his approval with a tilt of his head.

‘It seems to me, however, that Lotte is taking all the risks. Everything operates through this apartment. The photographs are done here, the forgery and all the refugees come through here. If this place is discovered the whole operation fails,' the Professor added.

It was a thought that had occurred to each of them at various times. There was now a more pressing reason that they find a new venue. Lotte's husband had been on business for the Reich in the Eastern territories. He was due home in a week's time. She had been able to use her charms on him many times, although recently he had become less agreeable. He certainly would not look the other way if she harboured Jews in the apartment. At least it would be a short stay of just a few weeks before he would be off on his ‘essential' travels.

‘Peter and Franz can stay with me, along with the equipment,' the Professor offered.

‘No. Your apartment is too small, Professor. Franz can stay with you. We can take the paper and photography equipment to your apartment today. I will go back to the woods for a few weeks,' Peter said in a voice that left no doubt that his mind was made up.