On Desperate Ground (17 page)

“And I have a
Führer
Directive to carry out. Does Himmler routinely ignore the orders of the
Führer?
Do you?
”

Hettstedt struggled to regain control, feeling trapped. He knew that the
Führer
Directive gave Faust vast powers, but only in regard to Operation Gambit. He must find a way out of this situation and these intolerable, disrespectful people. Faust’s question hung in the air, dangerous, like a sharp blade that had to be grasped. He did so gently, careful not to injure himself.

“Of course not, Colonel. Tell me what you require.”

Faust studied the suddenly quiet Hettstedt. He folded his arms and tapped his foot, rubbing his chin in thought. Could he trust Hettstedt or had he pushed him too far?

“
Leutnant
, report on our current stocks and manpower for the American contingent.”

“Colonel, we have 44 M1 Garand semiautomatic rifles, 17 Thompson submachine guns, 23 M1 .30 Carbines, two M1A1 Bazookas with six rockets each. Also two Browning Automatic Rifles. We have only one .30 Machine Gun, but we do have a 60mm M2 Mortar with six white phosphorous rounds and 24 high explosive rounds.”
 

Benedikt checked his papers again. “We also have eight .45 automatic pistols. Sufficient ammunition for pistols and Thompsons, but we should limit the Garands to 40 and the Carbines to 20 to insure adequate ammunition.”

“Uniforms?”

“Over 80 full uniforms of all ranks, although we are a little short of officers. We even have dogtags.”

“Current personnel?”

“Twenty-six English speaking enlisted men, although their skills vary, and none of them can be said to speak American style English. We have one
Feldwebel
, very experienced.”

“Very well.
Leutnant
, start training this group on the machine gun, BARs, mortars and bazookas. They will be our Heavy Weapons platoon. Put the
Feldwebel
in command, and issue them the Carbines and most of the sidearms.”

Faust turned to Hettstedt. “While we are training this group,
Sturmbannführer,
you must find us a minimum of 50 more English speakers. Don’t worry about American style English. We only need to fool the Russians, not the Americans. And, get me some officers!” With that order, Faust turned on his heel and left.
 

“Gentleman, the meeting is concluded,” said Dieter. “We have a final meeting with all staff on 14 March, 1600 hours. The Colonel must report to the
Führer
the next day.”

Hettstedt gathered his papers, a frown on his face, and walked away without a word. Benedikt was about to ask him if he wanted to have that drink now, but noticed Hettstedt’s hands were shaking and thought better of it.
 

Hettstedt hurried out of the building, got into his car and slammed the door. He had been working at keeping himself under control since he left the conference table. He was so used to people quaking at the sight of his black SS uniform that he could not believe it when these soldiers ridiculed and ordered him about. For the Wehrmacht to treat a representative of Heinrich Himmler like this was unthinkable! His frustration bubbled forth as he pounded his fists against the steering wheel, a strangled scream hissing out between clenched teeth.
 

How could this be? How could his power be so useless here? He could not understand why these people showed no fear of him, not even a lowly
Leutnant
. He had always counted on fear to get his way, and had never before been disappointed. From deep in his gut Hettstedt felt the same trembling rage that he had known as a child, when the other boys taunted him for failing at all their games.
 

Someday I will show them. I will show them!

 
It was that damned
Führer
Directive that caused all these problems. Without it, they would be the ones to tremble. He steadied himself as he started the automobile, pulling out to begin the drive to Berlin. On the road, the more he thought it through, the more certain he became that Operation Gambit did have a serious chance of success. There was a certain logic to it, and the forces Faust was putting together could do the trick. There was nothing to lose, and it had the added appeal of a ticket out of Berlin should…when… it became surrounded. For a variety of reasons, then, he would give Himmler a positive report. He could use Operation Gambit, even if it ultimately failed. In the confusion, it would be possible to head west and surrender to the Americans.
 

So, how to separate Faust and his men from Gambit and the Directive? Apparently he had the trust of the
Führer.

Then it came to him. How to break that trust with the power of the SS. He would use his power to investigate enemies of the Reich, turning his attention to Faust and his officers. All he needed was one bad apple, and it would cast suspicion on the whole bunch. Smiling, he relaxed into his seat, envisioning Faust and that damned Benedikt being led into the cellar prison cells at Number 8
Prinz Albrecht Strasse
.
 

Yes,
he thought,
that would do quite nicely.
And perhaps command of Operation Gambit for me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

14 March 1945

St. Ludwig’s Hospital

Berlin, Germany

Dieter bounded up the steps of St. Ludwig’s, his heart racing at the thought of seeing Elsa, if only for a few moments. He was on his way back to Zossen after meeting with a Signals Officer at the Home Army headquarters on
Bendler Strasse
. Operation Gambit needed to have radio frequency priority in its operational area once things kicked off. There was a string of codes and passwords that would pass between OKH, the Home Army and Special Detachment 200 to alert all participants, including the Luftwaffe support units under Operation Ritter and the ground support, Panzer Group Linz. It was quite complicated, but right now all Dieter could think about was stealing a few hours with Elsa.

It had been three weeks since he had been torn from her side, yet so much had happened it seemed like a lifetime. Last time, he had arrived exhausted, limping, and hollow-eyed, wearing a worn field uniform. Today he was full of manic energy, wearing his best dress uniform, boots shined and peaked cap set at a jaunty angle on his head. He wore his Iron Cross and decorations, telling himself he needed to cut an impressive figure for the Home Army staff officers to take him seriously, a mere
Hauptmann
. All along he planned to take this detour, whether there was time or not. His unbuttoned greatcoat billowed in the wind behind him as he took the steps two at a time.

* * *

Inside the hospital, Sister Anneliese was expertly removing a cast from the left arm of Senor Antonio Joaquim Gonsaldes.
 

“Thank you, dear Sister,” Senor Gonsaldes said with a sigh and a shake of his head, “I did not think I could stand another minute.”
 

“It has healed nicely, Senor,” Sister Anneliese said, holding the frail, white arm in her hands, moving it at the elbow. Senor Gonsaldes looked at her with a grateful smile.
 

Antonio Joaquim Gonsaldes had been injured in front of St. Ludwig’s Hospital five weeks ago, in the most prosaic of accidents possible in wartime Berlin. He had slipped on ice while crossing the street. Brought into the emergency ward, he was treated by Sister Anneliese for a simple fracture of his left tibia. She took an immediate liking to the small, elderly gentleman who was now the senior Portuguese Consul in Berlin. Senor Gonsaldes was Catholic, an intensely religious man. He had come in once a week since his accident for a check-up and to pray with Sister Anneliese.
 

The Ambassador and most of the embassy staff had already been evacuated to neutral Sweden, following instructions from their government. Gonsaldes had been instructed to remain behind with a few junior staff and household help to insure that any Portuguese nationals remaining in the country could contact him for assistance.

“Sister Anneliese, you are a godsend to me, quite literally,” Gonsaldes said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Senor Gonsaldes,” Sister Anneliese replied, pulling up a chair and seating herself next to the diplomat, “I have enjoyed our talks a great deal. Hearing about your homeland and your family has provided me with a pleasant rest from this war. The hills of Portugal sound warm and wonderful right now.”
 

Sister Anneliese had learned that Gonsaldes’ younger sister was a nun in neutral Portugal and that he longed to return home having spent four years in wartime Berlin. She had enjoyed their talks, and she found his deeply held religious convictions somewhat surprising for a government diplomat.

“Yes, spring is just coming to Braga,” he said, referring to the city where his family came from. “But God has seen fit to place me here, where it seems like the end of the world. Sometimes I wonder why, Sister, and how it will all end.”

Sister Anneliese leaned forward and took his hand in hers. “Senor, it is in God’s hands. What matters is how we conduct ourselves. What matters is our soul, not the outcome of battles.”

“Yes, yes. But concern for the soul can be difficult when great evil surrounds you. Forgive me, Sister, but Hitler and the Nazis are barbarians, and I fear for your country when the Russians, especially the Russians, are…here.” He weakly gestured with his hand, taking in the small room, the hospital, Berlin, everything.
 

“Whatever happens, Senor, I know that my faith sustains me, and the tests that God places before me have given me the opportunity to serve Him more closely. God has tested my countrymen. Many chose to serve the devil, others turn their heads, and some save their souls by doing what is right.”
 

Senor Gonsaldes began to reply, then stopped. He understood that he and the Sister were about to move into dangerous territory. They had begun their friendship as a nun and a lonely Catholic man in a foreign city. Now, he saw that there might be more to Sister Anneliese than a simple nursing sister. He considered the situation, and wariness overcame him. He was, after all, a diplomat and duty bound to consider his country’s interests above personal beliefs.

Gonsaldes narrowed his eyes, staring at Sister Anneliese. “God and country, Sister. How many oaths link these two entities, yet how often do they contradict each other?”
 

“I have contemplated that question myself. God and Caesar, yes?” Gonsaldes nodded his head in agreement, fascinated by what he was hearing and the calm thoughtfulness that emanated from the sister.
 

“Well, I have learned two things,” Sister Anneliese continued. “First, I render my soul only unto God. If Caesar lays claim to one’s soul, then he contradicts God and does not deserve loyalty. Second, I have concluded that country is not the same as government. I come from Flensburg, a beautiful and small city on the Danish border, by the Baltic Sea. I see no contradiction between God and the country of my birth. How can the soil of Braga that bred you contradict God? How can you serve God and not serve your family and home?”
 

Gonsaldes bent his head, nodding slightly. He felt a wave of emotion sweep over him, as he thought of his own sister praying in the convent in the hills above Braga. His first thought was relief that God had not chosen to test her as he had tested Sister Anneliese. Then, with a sudden shudder, he realized God was testing him, as surely as He made the ice he had slipped on in front of this hospital. In his heart he knew that he was about to ask a very important question, a question that could change his life. He knew he would not, could not, serve the devil, but quite possibly he could turn his face and leave St. Ludwig’s right now. He could return to his duties with his arm healed, and never see Sister Anneliese again. No one would ever know. Even he would never need know what form the test might take if he left this very minute. He could thank the sister for her time and care, and walk out into the street.

“Sister Anneliese,” he asked, voice trembling and his eyes brimming with tears. “How can I help you?”
 

* * *

“Dieter!” Elsa’s cry of joy turned heads in the corridor near the main nurse’s station. She had been writing on a clipboard, navigating around people and objects without looking up, an unconscious skill learned from working in a busy city hospital. Glancing up to see who was on duty, she immediately swiveled her head at the sight of the handsome, well-tailored Wehrmacht officer smiling at her. She ran to him, arms stretched wide.

“Dieter,” she repeated, quietly. “You’re back, you’re back.” They stood in each other’s arms for a few moments, doctors, nurses and patients breaking around them as if they were a rock in a flowing stream. Dieter could hardly bear to tell her.

“Just for an hour or so. I have to return, Elsa. I can’t stay. My God, I shouldn’t have come at all.” He could not believe how wonderful it felt to see her again, and how horrible and wrong it felt to have to leave her. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. She could see him struggling with his emotions and understood. She blinked her eyes and held back tears
. No need to break down now, plenty of time for that later.