Germanica (27 page)

Gudrun took a deep breath and composed herself. “I did not mean to impugn your manhood, dear. I am just shocked that events have come to this. Wasn’t it just a few months ago that German armies were on the verge of conquering Russia and North Africa and then on to the rest of the world? What has happened?”

Ernst scowled. “The filthy stinking Jews happened, that’s what. The Jews and the communists have taken over this war and that is why it is so important that we win so that we can ultimately destroy them. We started sending them to the camps far too late. Can you imagine what it would be like to live in Germany under the vengeful rule of those people? I will fight, and if necessary, I will die.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” Gudrun said softly. “I still can’t believe that you would be able to use a Panzerfaust. You’d have to get so close to an American tank for it to be suicide. At least with a rifle you can kill from fairly far away.”

Ernst smiled. He’d already decided that he would not get close to an American tank. He would either fire the thing from a distance or give it to someone else to use, someone young and foolish. “Spoken like a true German woman. By the way, I am considered an officer with the rank equivalent to a captain. Right now I only have a couple dozen men under my command and, yes, some of them are boys, but that will change. I will have more.”

“Just so long as one of them is not Anton. He is still getting over being assaulted by that Jewish bitch. If I ever see her, I will claw her eyes out.”

“If you ever see her, it may well be because the Americans have conquered us. More likely she has gone back to wherever she came from. She was Czech and has doubtless attempted to return home. I believe she once mentioned she was from Prague. The Russians are in Prague and I can only hope they have taken her and are fucking her day and night.”

Gudrun laughed. “You are still quite crude and you always will be, but I am in total agreement with you. Since Anton and Astrid are out working, we are quite alone in this tiny palace. Why don’t you lock the door and we can celebrate your promotion.”

Ernst grinned and they both began to undress. “I hoped you might feel that way so I brought a bottle of schnapps.”

“Only one?” Gudrun asked.

* * *

There was muted uproar in the ready room. To say that the pilots were dismayed was putting it mildly. As usual, George Schafer was one of the more outspoken.

“Nothing personal, Colonel, but what asshole thought of this idea?”

Colonel Trent shook his head tolerantly. Tight discipline did not exist in the air force and each pilot felt he was entitled to speak his piece. “I believe the asshole was from the Pentagon and was routed here by the Eighth Air Force.”

Schafer was not impressed. “That’s a great pedigree, sir, but it doesn’t change the fact that radar bombing in the mountains at night is going to kill a lot of American pilots and one of them might just be me.”

The United States Army Air Force, to use its full name, had recently developed a small radar set that could be attached to a fighter like the P51s the pilots in this group all flew. It had been derived from and was an acknowledged improvement over similar radars that had been used by the RAF in detecting German U-boats. The German subs had to surface to charge their batteries and, since they were quite vulnerable during the day, they did so at night. With the radar attached to a low-flying bomber, the bomber could strafe and bomb a sub as soon as radar found it. Powerful searchlights were also attached to the bomber to improve aiming and possibly scare the hell out of the sub’s crew.

“So elaborate for me just what you think is wrong with this idea?” the colonel asked.

“Sir, it’s really quite simple. It’s one thing to locate and bomb a ship on a nice flat ocean, but it’s totally another to find and hit a tank in a valley surrounded by mountains. And don’t forget that the wind might just be blowing like hell. And we are supposed to fly a plane under those conditions? And actually hit something and survive the experience? My wingman and best friend got shot down in the Brenner and was fortunate to live to tell the tale. Will he be fortunate a second time? Will I be lucky? I don’t like to plan on luck.”

“We have our orders, Lieutenant.” The colonel’s tolerance was getting thinner with each statement and question. What made it worse was the fact that he agreed with his pilots. The idea was lunacy. But orders were orders.

“And we will obey them to the letter, sir. But don’t expect reckless enthusiasm. I would imagine that any pilot who senses anything whatsoever wrong with his plane is going to abort the mission and fly straight home.”

Trent’s face was turning red. The other pilots in the room began applauding, which didn’t help his disposition one bit. It was one thing to be tolerant, but quite another to permit insolence. Still, Schafer and the others had a point. They could not be expected to fly planes that were malfunctioning and, at high altitude, only the pilot would be the judge as to whether something was wrong or not. And what the hell kind of raid could he launch if twenty percent or more of the pilots opted out because of real or imagined malfunctions?

He remembered a military doctrine—never give orders that the men won’t carry out.

Trent stood and the pilots did as well, although slowly. “I will discuss your concerns and mine with the powers that be,” he said and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster.

* * *

The prisoner was shackled to a bed. He was naked and his body was covered with only a sheet and there were cuts and bruises all over his very hairy body. To the doctors and nurses he looked like a pink ape. Completing the scene, he stank to high heaven. He had been found in a trench surrounded by other Russians, all dead. They had fought like tigers and refused many offers to surrender. This one hadn’t surrendered either. He had been knocked unconscious and taken prisoner while helpless.

Doctor Hagerman gave up trying to hold his breath to avoid the stench. He made a note to get the man bathed while he was chained. “I’ve always wanted to see a Russian. I just never realized it would be under these circumstances. Don’t let appearances fool you,” he said to the others. “He’s not badly hurt at all, he’s strong as an ox, and, yes, he’s listening to every word we’re saying even though it’s highly unlikely that he understands a word of English.”

Tanner leaned over. “Comrade,” he said and got no response. “Spasibo. Vodka.”

That last word got a flicker of a response. The man opened his eyes and glared at the two men with feral hatred.

“I hope you speak Russian,” Hagerman said.

“You just heard my entire Russian vocabulary. I’ve asked around and still haven’t found anybody who really speaks Russian.”

“Are you telling me there’s a language the lovely Lena doesn’t speak? I’m stunned.”

The Russian snarled and began to speak, this time in German. His German was poor and he had to speak slowly so that Tanner and the others could understand him. He said that he wanted to die and would they shoot him before the Red Army did. He said that the Reds might just shoot him right off, but not likely. He said that Stalin’s monsters would torture and starve him, maybe for years, before finally killing him. He added that Stalin’s thugs had likely already murdered his family. He had nothing to go home to.

Hagerman was puzzled. “Why on earth would the Russians do that to their fellow Russians?”

“Vlasov,” said Tanner and the Russian nodded vigorously.

Tanner continued. “Andrei Vlasov was a Red Army general who thought he was betrayed by Stalin so he went over to the Nazi side, taking thousands of Russian soldiers with him. He felt that he was actually fighting against Stalin rather than for Hitler. His forces were called the Russian Liberation Army and were about the size of a corps, and the prisoner is right about Stalin wanting them all dead. Worse, there’s a treaty between the U.S. and the Reds saying that all of them would be forcibly returned to the Soviets. That Stalin would murder them is a given.”

“Is this Vlasov still alive?”

“No idea, but unlikely.”

Hagerman was shocked. “Jesus, no wonder they fought like animals. But doesn’t it make sense that we should induce them to surrender to us and tell Stalin to go to hell?”

“Good idea, Hagerman, and the next time you see Truman why don’t you tell him. All this stuff is way above our pay grade. Besides, there’s another issue.”

“And what is that?” Hagerman asked.

“Vlasov’s troops, what remain of them, are supposed to be to the east. What are they doing in the Brenner Pass?”

“I don’t know but you’re going to tell me, right?”

“Absolutely. There have been rumors that the Germans were withdrawing from the Eastern portion of the abortion called Germanica. This is the first concrete indication that the rumors are correct. I think they’re afraid that we’ll cut Germanica in half and leave about a third of their army to be starved into surrender.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” said Hagerman.

“If they are consolidating their positions, then it’s bad. If the Germans are using Vlasov’s men to hold us up, that’s also bad. In fact, I can’t think of anything good about this. We will be kicking the information this man’s given us up the chain. I hope they know what to do about it.”

“So what do we do with him?” Hagerman said pointing at the Russian whose head had been swiveling as each man spoke.

“He’s a prisoner and we’ll treat him like one. Once you decide he can be released we’ll put him in with the other prisoners and hope for the best. Maybe he’ll get lost in the crowd or fall through the cracks or something like that.”

“Sure,” said Hagerman. “Did you at least find out his name?”

Tanner grinned. “It’s Ivan, what else?”

* * *

The second OSS team led by Marie Leroux had left in the night, a week earlier. Neither Winnie nor Ernie knew how they did it, but they had made it across the border, set up camp, and immediately began reporting on German troop movements. The trio also informed Dulles about the distribution of supplies to the German front lines.

Winnie and Ernie had found out that Marie and Sven were lovers, which made them wonder what Hans felt about being odd man out. “Maybe they take turns or something like that,” Ernie said. Winnie said that he was disgusting.

The second team had been in Germanica for only a week when their messages ceased abruptly.

“There could be a number of reasons for that,” said Dulles when he arrived in Arbon after hearing of the problem. “First, there could be a simple malfunction with their radio. In which case, there are ways of extracting them or getting them a new radio.”

“Do you really think it’s that simple?” asked Ernie.

Dulles shook his head glumly. “No. There are other signals they could have sent if they were having a technical problem and these have not been done. I’m afraid that they either have been captured or killed. For their sake, I pray for the latter. It is my understanding that this General Hahn, the man in charge of the SS and Gestapo, is a monster.”

Winnie was close to crying. “Are you saying they will break them?”

“Of course they will,” Dulles replied bluntly. “Everyone will break under torture, and the Germans are masters at it. It’s just a question of how long and how much they can tell their interrogators. I would suggest that, in very short while, the Germans will know of every one of us, where we’re quartered and anything else the missing group might have known. We will make arrangements to move immediately. I’m sorry, but this lovely little dormitory will have to cease to exist.”

Winnie bristled. “I’m far more concerned about Marie, Hans, and Sven than I am about this miserable place.”

“As am I,” Dulles snapped, “but I must be realistic. Should a miracle occur and they suddenly show up either in person on the radio, I will rejoice.”

“I would trust seeing them in person, but not on the radio,” Ernie said. “It would be possible that they had been turned and are providing us with false information.”

“Precisely. However, they have all been given different signals to indicate that they are or are not under duress. But I agree with you, Captain, anything and everything can be extorted from them under extreme torture. One of their more sadistic tools is to torture one in front of one of the others, especially if two of them are lovers as I understand Marie and Sven were.”

“What can we do?” asked Winnie, her voice breaking. Finding her friend from her teenage years had been such a wonderful surprise and now it was all ashes.

“I will be speaking with my German friend. I will see what I can find out and, more important, what he can do for me. That is, if he wants to. He could still be compromised if the wrong persons find out about our talks. In the meantime, we wait and listen.”

Ernie was sickened by what he was thinking, but he had to ask the question. “Did either of them have a poison pill to take?”

Winnie started crying. “Hans and Sven did, but Marie didn’t. She told me the afternoon before they left.”

Dulles cursed himself for his failure to realize that human nature and passions would intrude. Had he known that they were lovers, he would have broken up the team. He didn’t think that Winnie and Ernie had crossed that threshold, but, if he was any judge of character, it wouldn’t be long. Of course, he had no plans to send them across into German-held territory.

Dulles sighed. “And why didn’t Marie have a cyanide pill?”

Winnie continued to sob. “Because she’s still a Catholic and suicide is a mortal sin.”

* * *

Joey Ruffino was twenty-five and perversely proud of the old foot injury that had resulted in his being categorized as 4F and, therefore, unacceptable to the military. He walked with a noticeable limp that he sometimes exaggerated if he thought that people were wondering why an otherwise healthy young man wasn’t in the service. Well, he
was
, sort of. He worked in a factory that produced parts for jeeps and was making a lot of money that he couldn’t spend because of rationing.

Joey wasn’t a bad kid, far from it. If called, he would have served to the best of his abilities. But he was a realist. While he now had a high-paying job and his choice of chicks, he knew that little bit of heaven would cease as soon as the war ended and the real heroes came marching home. Therefore, he would enjoy today and let tomorrow care for itself. Thanks to rationing there was little for him to spend his wealth on. Therefore, he had decided to take college classes and was getting good grades.