Germanica

CHAPTER 20

Captain Charley Ward from the provost marshal’s office was not comfortable. “You know you don’t have to do this,” he said.

Lena smiled. “But I want to. It’s time to set things straight, if only in my own mind.”

Gustav and Gudrun Schneider had been swept up by the Americans and been arrested. To her utter astonishment, they’d listed her as someone who could provide them with an alibi and keep them from being tried as war criminals. As the jail where they were being held was only a few miles from where she lived and worked for the 105th, she convinced Tanner to go with her to see them. He wasn’t certain such a confrontation with the Schneiders was a good idea, but she said it would help her get over what had happened to her, and he reluctantly agreed. They also had a candid and somewhat uncomfortable conversation regarding what she would say.

Lena and Tanner met the Schneiders in what had been a doctor’s waiting room. There were chairs and a table. Ward said he had to be present and Tanner said he wanted to. Lena squeezed his hand and said she wanted him there as well.

Ward cleared his throat. “The last thing we want to do is send innocent people to prison. Miss Bobekova, the Schneiders are claiming that they took you into their house and kept you safe during the war. They say they fed you, clothed you, gave you shelter, and treated you with courtesy and respect. What do you say to that?”

Lena stared at the Schneiders. They looked smaller now, and petty. It was hard for her to believe that they’d once held the power of her life in their hands. “In large part, it is true. I did have a roof over my head and what food they had was shared with me. They got the larger portions, however. Mine barely kept me alive.” She pulled a photo out of her purse and handed it to Ward. “As you can see, I was little more than skin and bones.”

Gustav protested. “But we gave you what we could. No one had food during those last days.”

“But you always did,” Lena said. “I saw the stores of food hidden in your basement. You took food shipments meant for the German people and for me. You stayed fat while others starved.”

“But you lived,” Gustav continued. “So many Jews like you didn’t. We could have sent you east to the camps in Poland. You would have died almost immediately in a place like Auschwitz. And for that we are fighting for our lives, and our children were brutally assaulted.”

“I will give you credit for taking me in, but I think it was only because there was doubt about my being a Jew. That and you needed someone to work in your house and I happened to be handy and qualified. That doesn’t excuse your keeping me a slave for those years. Nor does it excuse you for raping me.”

Even though he knew about it, Tanner froze when she said it so calmly. Lena continued. “You forced yourself on me. And as thanks for being your slave you were going to have me sent to a factory where I would have been worked to death in a short length of time. You two forgot that I had ears and was not part of your furniture. I overheard much of your plans. If I hadn’t escaped I’d be dead. Your two children had the misfortune of finding me trying to escape so I had to hurt them in order to get away. Part of me says I am glad they survived, but it would not have bothered me if they had died.”

Gustav had begun sweating. “I am truly sorry that I assaulted you. I was drunk.”

Lena laughed harshly. “Yes, you were drunk. So drunk, in fact, that you were practically impotent, but that was the first time. There were many other times, or had you forgotten?”

Gudrun gasped and stared at her husband. “You swine, you swore there was only the once.”

“Are you that stupid, Gudrun, that you believed Gustav’s lies?” Lena said and enjoyed both of them wincing at her use of their first names. It was a clear sign that she was on top and they were below the bottom rung.

“Gudrun, there were many times when your pig of a husband would come to me and take me because he said that having sex with you was like humping a large piece of cold meat.”

“You bastard,” Gudrun screamed and struck Gustav, splitting his lip.

“It’s not true,” Gustav protested as blood flowed down his chin, and she hit him again, bloodying his nose.

Lena smiled coldly. “And let’s not forget the innocent people you sent to the Gestapo if they couldn’t pay the bribe you insisted on. And sometimes, Gudrun, that included sending over their wives and daughters if they didn’t have enough money or anything else of significant value.”

Gustav began to blubber while Gudrun screamed at him. Ward nodded solemnly. “I think this marriage is in serious trouble. Irreconcilable differences, if you ask me. I think we’ve all heard enough. This hearing is over.”

Lena stood and took Tanner by the arm. Together they walked out and Ward followed. “Miss Bobekova, Lena, I don’t think they’ll be calling on you to be a character witness anytime soon, and I’m glad. I don’t think you should have to relive your experiences and have them put on an official record.”

“What will happen to them?” Tanner asked.

Ward shrugged. “It’s kind of up to them. We’ll offer him five years in prison if he confesses and implicates others and ten if he goes to trial and is found guilty. And he will be found guilty. As to Gudrun, she’ll probably get a few months’ hard labor. Quite frankly, these two are small fry. We want people like Goebbels. I think Herr Schneider will decide that five years is a bargain, especially if it keeps his wife away.”

As they walked to the car, Lena took Tanner’s arm and squeezed. “Even though much of what I said was a lie, I’m glad I did it. I saw real fear on the faces of the Schneiders and I’m glad.”

Lena had told him that she’d been assaulted only the once by Gustav Schneider. She’d said she was going to exaggerate to frighten him. She hadn’t expected Gudrun’s violent outburst but it didn’t upset her. It was their turn to know fear. Ward had been in on the charade as well. Nobody wanted Gustav Schneider executed. It would have been a waste of a noose or a bullet. She just wanted justice and that included frightening him as he had frightened her. If he went to prison for a number of years, that was enough for her. They were brutal filth, but they had kept her alive, at least until the last moment.

* * *

“I think I could walk all the way across the lake without getting my feet wet,” said Tanner.

“That would be good,” said Cullen. “Doc Hagerman says you’re still supposed to keep them dry.”

“Go to hell,” Tanner said good-naturedly. It was the kind of stupid, nervous banter that men who were about to go forth and try to kill other people would sometimes engage in. It also was an attempt to drown out the thought that they could be killed at almost any time. They were not invincible and they now knew it. Their experiences in the war had proven it.

Tanner used his binoculars to scan the vast array of landing craft and other, more lethal warships. He fervently hoped that the sight of the armada would scare the Nazis into surrendering. Sadly, he didn’t think it would happen. Maybe some would give up, but far too many would fight until the end or until they were given orders not to. Maybe they weren’t crazy fanatics like the Japs, but the Nazis were bad enough.

“At least we won’t be in the first wave,” Tanner said. Their orders had them placed in the fifth wave, which was still no picnic. Worse, they would have General Broome in the boat with them. The general was not a glory hound but did feel it was his responsibility to be as close to the action as possible. Tanner and the others admired him for it, but it also meant that they would have to be closer to the action as well.

They had been awakened in the middle of the night and told to be prepared to board the boats. This would be the day. They did not call it D-Day. That was reserved for the landings at Normandy and the term was now considered almost sacred. This had been designated R-Day for Redoubt. Some were happy it hadn’t been called G-Day for Gas, which was on all their minds. Of course, G-Day could have stood for Germanica, too.

Only a few moments earlier, the officers had been gathered and told that there would be no poison gas used. Instead, it would be a nonlethal combination of tear gas and white smoke that would hopefully terrify and confuse the Germans. While there was relief that poison gas was not on the agenda, there were mixed emotions. No gas meant that Germans who weren’t terrified and confused would be alive, ready, and able to defend against the landing.

The men were still ordered to wear the awkward and sweaty gas masks. First, even a light dose of tear gas could incapacitate a man, and, second, it was hoped that the sight of U.S. soldiers storming ashore wearing the masks would unnerve the Germans who had precious few of them.

“Well, it sure as hell unnerved me,” said Cullen. Tanner and the others heartily agreed even though they didn’t quite believe the denials from on high. The government and the army did funny things and often at the expense of the troops in their command.

Shortly before dawn, the long caravan of landing craft headed out onto the clear blue waters of Lake Constance. The waves were negligible, which didn’t stop one of the sailors from puking, which then got a bunch of soldiers joining him. The sky was bright, clear, and blue, marred only by the odd white contrails made by high-flying planes. At least they’re ours, thought Tanner. He hadn’t seen a German plane in months, well before they arrived to attack the Redoubt.

The landing craft circled and jockeyed for position. There were to be six waves, each consisting of thirty boats. It was hoped that a full regiment, along with armor and artillery, could be delivered in a very short time against what was hoped to be a shocked and demoralized enemy that was expecting to be slaughtered by poison gas. When unloaded, the craft would circle back and pick up more soldiers, repeating the process until the 105th Infantry Division had landed and joined up with the Tenth Mountain Division.

“What the hell!” yelled Tanner. “I thought we were supposed to be in the fifth wave where it’s safer.”

General Broome was in the bow of the boat. If he heard, he didn’t show it. Broome and his staff, Tanner and Cullen included, had just found themselves in the second wave, where it was far more dangerous.

A lieutenant from Broome’s staff grimaced. “He asked for the change just a little while ago. He said he wanted to be closer to the action so he could support the troops by being seen.”

“Shit,” said Cullen, “I’d like to inspire them by being invisible.”

Artillery fire erupted from the shore. Shells splashed among the small craft, sending up geysers of water and shell fragments. One came close to their boat, dousing them with water and spent metal. No one was hurt.

Another shell hit a landing craft directly, and it erupted in flames. Men jumped overboard and into the cold lake. Only a few managed to get out of their gear. Most of them sank, a couple waving their arms futilely as they disappeared under the water.

“We don’t stop,” yelled the young ensign in charge. Tanner understood. War consisted of terrible equations and values. They were still about a mile away from shore. More men loosened their gear to the point where it was barely hanging on them. If they were thrown into the water, the hoped they could get out of the gear and not be dragged down to drown.

The line of destroyers began shelling suspected German positions. Insanely, some of the German gunners began shooting at the destroyers and not at the landing craft. But not all. A shell hit the bow of their craft, shaking them violently and destroying one of the machine-gun mounts. Tanner crawled over to see if he could help. The two men working the gun had been pulverized. Someone was screaming. The skipper of the LC had been hit by shrapnel and disemboweled. The only thing Tanner recalled was his name, Kubiak. He’d seemed like a decent guy and now he was going to die. Medics were swarming over him, but they would only ease his passing by heavily dosing him with morphine.

The landing craft was taking on water and in danger of sinking. No, Tanner thought, it was definitely sinking. The water was up to his ankles and rising quickly. They were only a few yards from shore when the LC hit ground and stopped. Someone in the crew ordered the ramp dropped and men poured out into the still frigid waters. This is just like crossing the Rhine, he thought, and realized irrelevantly that the lake was part of the Rhine. His feet were getting wet along with the rest of him. He jumped into the lake and waded the last few yards to the shore.

He looked around and saw the general helping people make it to land. “I hope he’s happy,” Tanner said to a bedraggled Cullen.

Cullen looked skyward and over the coast where a white cloud was advancing. Above the cloud, waves of planes were flying over and out into the center of the lake after dropping their loads. “Oh, God. Now we’re gonna find out whether the army was lying to us or not.”

* * *

Sibre and Schafer hadn’t seen so many airplanes in their young lives. Hundreds of fighters were escorting many hundreds more bombers. They would carpet bomb Bregenz and the areas around the German capital.

The two pilots were towards the rear of the extended column. The lead planes had the task of taking on German planes and positions. There would be no enemy planes, so that left them free to attack antiaircraft batteries. By the time they arrived overhead, however, many of these had been silenced by other planes or naval gunfire. This gave them a clear view of what was going to transpire. They had heard the denials of the use of gas and kind of believed them. Better, they were many thousands of feet above ground, and gas couldn’t climb to their height. They hoped. They didn’t have gas masks. None had been issued to pilots despite their protests that they might be forced to land and might need them.

Bomb bay doors opened in the bellies of hundreds of bombers. At a signal they began dropping thousands of small bombs. From where they were, it looked like a snowfall. A minute later, the bombs began impacting. Clouds of white smoke erupted and, taken by the wind, began swirling towards the lake, blanketing the German lines.

“Dear God,” muttered Sibre. “Can you begin to imagine what’s going on down there?” Schafer could not. What looked like blankets of death were heading though Bregenz and towards the lake. It was a vision of the Apocalypse. Inside the cloud, he visualized four deadly horsemen riding their skeletal steeds and mowing down victims with their scythes. He shuddered. Sometimes having a vivid imagination was a curse.

He shook off his bleak thoughts. He and Schafer were the victors and to the victors belong the spoils. Tonight a bunch of them would go to Stuttgart and head directly to that whorehouse where the hookers pretended to be nuns and the place a convent. Both he and Schafer had gone to Catholic school, so it was deliciously decadent to screw pretend nuns in a make-believe convent. They had to admit that the madam, Sister Columba, ran a hell of a fine place.

* * *

Hummel screamed as the cloud enveloped him. He and the others had tried running, but the gas was inexorable. Like an all-consuming monster, the wind, favorable to the Americans, drove it towards them and the lake, finally overtaking them.

As it approached and in their panic, they had thrown away their weapons, clawed out of their bunkers, and headed away as fast as they could run. Mindlessly, they’d headed in the direction of a once peaceful Lake Constance that was now covered by American landing craft that were moving ever closer. They could see that the Yanks were wearing gas masks and would be safe. They, poor German soldiers, would not be. Once again, their Nazi government had sold them out. Hummel cursed as his eyes watered and he choked. He was going to die and he wanted vengeance and it didn’t matter who would be on the receiving end.

An SS officer, his mouth covered with a rag, confronted them. “Get back to your positions, you fools. This is just tear gas. You aren’t going to die!”

Hummel had never endured tear gas before, so he had no idea whether the officer was telling the truth.

The officer, his eyes wide and running and streaming tears, waved his Schmiesser machine pistol and pointed it at Schubert. Without thinking, Hummel fired his own pistol, shooting the SS fanatic in the head and dropping him instantly. He looked around to see if he was going to be arrested and realized that nobody cared. It was the same as when Schubert had killed that other SS man. The body had never been discovered and no fuss had been made about one more soldier gone AWOL. It didn’t matter if the missing man had been SS or not.

Hummel was in the middle of a swirling mass of humanity all headed towards the lake. He also realized that he wasn’t dying. His eyes burned and he had begun coughing but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He had never smelled tear gas, but realized the SS man had been right. Coughing and retching, he grabbed his comrades. “Get to the lake. We can wash this shit out of our eyes.”

“Then what?” asked Pfister, all pretenses at differences in rank forgotten.

Hummel howled with glee. “Then we throw down our guns and surrender to those monsters who are arriving from the sea.”

The U.S. boats were close enough that they had begun disgorging their human cargo, and they indeed looked like monsters. They were also protected by masks that the German military couldn’t provide.

Up and down the shore, Hummel could see hundreds of German soldiers throwing away their weapons and throwing themselves into the lake. They did the same, and the irritation from the gas was soon controllable. The three of them raised their hands and hung close together as Americans disarmed those who still retained their weapons. There was confusion but no resistance.

A moment later, an American medic, still masked, looked at Schubert. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked in passable German.

Hummel answered. He was now their leader. “Shell shock. He got it a couple of months ago.”

“You want me to get him to a hospital or you gonna watch out for him yourselves?”

“We’ll take care of him,” Hummel said softly. “He is our comrade.”

* * *

Goebbels had finally found somebody with a radio. After a couple of tries, he made contact with Doctor Esau and ordered him to launch the rocket immediately.

Goebbels heard nothing but silence for a few moments, but finally, “It will be as you wish. We will launch in a couple of minutes.”

“Hurry, you fool. We might not have a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, Minister.”

Goebbels raged at the now silent phone. The next few minutes would determine whether or not he lived as the head of state or died in a town that was being overwhelmed by the enemy. It occurred to him that those in the Fuhrer Bunker in Berlin must have had the same feelings as the savages from the Red Army closed in and were only a few hundred yards away.

He fondled the box with the poison. Soon, he thought. Just not yet. And maybe never.

* * *

Overhead, Lieutenants Bud Sibre and George Schafer were breaking off their latest attack when Schafer noticed something on the ground through the thinning cloud of tear gas.

“Would you mind telling me just what the hell that is?”

“Not certain,” said Sibre. “But it looks an awful lot like a V1 rocket that’s about to be launched.”

“Say, buddy, why don’t we do something about that?”

The pilots dived and lined up to strafe the rocket, which was unmistakably a V1. They were just about to open fire, when the tail of the rocket belched fire and launched it into the sky. They tried to give chase but it was no use. The rocket was too fast. They watched in fascinated horror as the V1 headed towards the massed landing craft in Lake Constance. They would not be able to stop it.

Sibre’s hands began to shake. “Jesus, I hope that isn’t what I think it is.”

* * *

Tanner heard the roar of the rocket’s engine through the sound of battle. He looked up and saw the odd-looking craft streak over him. He could clearly see the stove-pipe design. “What the hell?” he wondered as did everyone else who could see the evil thing.

Then the rocket’s engine cut out and there was a brief moment of silence. They all knew what that meant from reports of the attacks on London. It was through flying and was about to strike. The rocket’s nose tipped forward and it knifed into the water only a couple hundred yards away. Everyone froze and waited for an explosion.

None came.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Cullen gasped. They were all breathing heavily.

“If the army wants us to know, I’m sure they’ll tell us.”

* * *

Goebbels screamed in impotent fury as he got the report of the rocket’s failure. “Schoerner, find those bastard Jew scientists and kill them immediately. Don’t worry about hanging them, just shoot them. They lied to me. They lied to Germany. They are traitors.”

Schoerner tried to calm him. “I will send some soldiers to their bunker. That is, if I can find any. Esau and his assistants have doubtless run away and we don’t have time to chase them now. We have more important things to worry about. Our survival must be our first goal.”

Goebbels shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Of course. We must escape and begin again to build another Reich. We will catch those swine some other time.”

* * *

“Where the devil is Sergeant Hill?” Tanner yelled.

A very nervous PFC responded. “Sir, Sergeant Hill said to tell you that he’s gone snipe hunting and that he’ll be back shortly.”

“He said that, did he?”

“Yes sir. He also said to remind you that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. If it matters, he was heavily armed.”

“Private, just where was he headed when you last saw him?”

“Sir, he was headed for Bregenz and, oh yeah, he was carrying a German officer’s tunic. I have no idea where he got it.”

And it doesn’t much matter, Tanner thought. Sergeant Billy Hill had been chafing at being idle. Being attached to division headquarters didn’t leave much time for excitement. Hill’s skills as a sniper were becoming legendary, and so was his wanting to go hunting for kills. Was that what he was going to do, kill more Germans before the war came to a halt? That seemed plausible. And what difference was there between a snipe and a sniper? He wished the sergeant well. It would be a tragedy for him to get his ass blown away this late in the game. Of course, the same held true for himself.

Tanner dismissed the private, but not before telling the man to let him know the moment Hill returned. If he returned, that is.

* * *

Josef Goebbels and Field Marshal Ferdinand Schoerner decided that whatever happened, they would look the part of world leaders. Schoerner dressed in an immaculate field marshal’s uniform complete with baton, while Goebbels wore an expensive blue suit made for him an eternity ago by an exclusive tailor in Berlin. They would cross into Switzerland and claim sanctuary, confident that there were enough German sympathizers in the Swiss government to protect them. From Switzerland there was the probability that money would talk and that they could be sent secretly to South America. Argentina would be their ultimate destinations and a new Reich was their goal.

Only the gas masks they were wearing marred the effect. As they approached the door that led outside they could hear the sounds of chaos. Schoerner drew his pistol and suggested that Goebbels do the same.

“Some panic-stricken soldiers could try to take our masks from us in order to save themselves,” he said. “And it wouldn’t matter if they recognized us or not. Terrified men will not obey orders or be impressed by rank.”

Goebbels nodded agreement and pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster. They opened the door and stepped out. They had not actually seen the gas clouds when they blew in, but what was left did not appear too thick. Could these wisps be lethal? Or was the wind causing them to diminish? It occurred to him that the German soldiers he did see were running around aimlessly and not lying dead in the streets. In fact, there were no bodies in the streets.

“Schoerner, either there is no gas or it has dissipated. I think we can remove our masks. We might even be safer that way.”

“If it’s all the same with you, Reichminister, I’ll keep mine on for a while longer. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “it does look like you might be correct. Was this a huge charade to cause our army to panic? If it was, it worked marvelously.”

“Halt!” A soldier had worked his way behind them. He had a Thompson submachine gun pointed at them. Curiously, he was wearing the tunic of a German officer, a captain. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. This was no German. It was an American who’d gotten this far in the panic.

“Scheisse!” howled Schoerner. He pulled out his pistol and fired. He missed. The American ducked and fired his Tommy gun. A dozen bullets struck Schoerner in the head and chest. He collapsed like a bloody wet rag. Something slammed into Goebbels’ shoulder and dropped him as well. It was over. He had to get the cyanide capsule into his mouth.

“No you don’t,” said the American. He pinned Goebbels’ good arm and ignored the screams as he tied it to his wounded one. He ripped off Goebbels’ gas mask and flung it away. In the back of his mind, Goebbels realized that he could indeed breathe. Calloused hands pushed his mouth open and fingers probed for a capsule disguised as a tooth filling. Through his agony, Goebbels regretted never having had that done. He hated dentists and he’d constantly put off having one inserted.

The American took off the German tunic and threw it away. He searched Goebbels’ pockets until he found the jewelry box. He opened it and laughed. Then he continued to search, convinced that where there was one poison cache there might be two.

Satisfied, the American pulled Goebbels to his feet. More American soldiers had arrived and, on seeing that it was Goebbels, began to cheer.

A grinning medic slapped a bandage over Goebbels’ wound and pronounced that it wasn’t serious. “The fucker’ll live long enough to hang. You want me to take him to the hospital or you got plans for him?”

Staff Sergeant Billy Hill grabbed Goebbels by his good elbow and began to propel him towards the shore and through crowds of Americans who were pushing other Germans towards prison pens that were being hastily thrown together.

Hill laughed. Captain Tanner would be pleased rather than pissed by his running off. Damned if he hadn’t caught the biggest snipe of all. The publicity he’d get from this would almost guarantee his getting elected to sheriff. Hell, maybe even to Congress.

Damnation, but this was a good war.

* * *

General Heinrich von Vietinghoff sat behind his desk and drummed his fingers on the highly polished surface while he listened to the reports. Every one of them said that what was left of the German Army was being destroyed. What fools. He tried to tell them that so many months ago. There was no way what remained of the army could withstand the overwhelming might of the Americans, even without their British and French allies. How many lives had been lost or changed because people like Goebbels wanted to save a thousand-year legacy that would last only a little more than a decade?

He had long since seen the light when he was commander of German forces in Italy. He had initiated contact with the Americans through Allen Dulles and tried to negotiate a surrender of German forces under his command. His plans had fallen apart when the now abortive attempt to create an Alpine Redoubt and call it Germanica had begun.

Vietinghoff sipped some very bad and cold black coffee and looked at the reports chronicling the litany of disasters. The gas attack that had been no gas attack had sown panic and confusion among much of the army. As a result, the Americans were in Bregenz and tens of thousands of German soldiers were now prisoners of war. All he had left were a few understrength divisions situated east of Bregenz.

The Americans had announced that Schoerner was dead and that Goebbels was a prisoner. Vietinghoff thought that it should have happened sooner. An aide had unctuously informed him that he was now the ranking person in the Third Reich, the new Fuhrer. The aide had the good sense not to suggest that he would likely be the last Fuhrer. What, therefore, were his plans?

Vietinghoff stood and glared at his staff, as if daring them to argue with him. They looked so defeated he didn’t think was likely. “Gentlemen, we have a choice. We can choose either life or death. I choose life and I order you to choose it as well. I wish to be connected with General Truscott.”

A few moments later and the raspy-voiced Texan was on the radio. There was an interpreter, but he wasn’t needed. The German general’s English was up to the very basic task before them.

“General Truscott, I wish to surrender what remains of the German army. I am in the process of ordering all units to cease fire and lay down their arms. I sincerely hope that you will command your units to accept my army’s surrender and that it occurs both quickly and without incident. I wish to bring an end to this foolish extension of a war that should never have been fought. We can arrange a formal signing of a surrender document at any time and place of your choosing. In the meantime, I wish to stop the killing.”

“My orders are going out as we speak,” said Truscott. To Vietinghoff it sounded like the American’s voice was heavy with emotion. Well, his was too. Perhaps someday he would be able to go home.

* * *

Archie Dixon’s Sherman tank plowed through the knee-deep water and onto dry land just outside Bregenz. As instructed, their hatches were closed. Even though the white cloud might not have been deadly, it was, they were told, uncomfortable and could incapacitate Driver and play hell with Gunner’s vision. That meant closed hatches, even though that might make them targets for fanatics with Panzerfausts or Molotov cocktails. As it was, a few bullets had pinged off their hull and turret. No harm had been done to men or tank, but it had been unsettling.

Dixon was pleased that Gunner had fired on seeing the flashes and hit the target with the first round. The building hiding the shooter had already been badly damaged and the rest of it flew to pieces when their 76mm shell hit and exploded. Dixon had trained them all well.

At first they’d thought it annoying that they had to wear gas masks. But now, as they drove slowly through throngs of choking, gasping and terrified German soldiers and gaunt, frightened civilians, they changed their minds.

Dixon stopped his tank in the charred mess that had been the town square of Bregenz. He was amazed. He had just seen Josef Goebbels being hustled onto the back of a truck. Even better, he and his new crew had survived the war. He climbed out of the tank and his crew followed. They looked at him with apprehension and a little bit of fear. He had been a monstrous and cold taskmaster. But he had won. They had all survived. He could be a human being again.

Dixon slipped off his mask and took a quick breath. The tear gas was almost gone, dissipated and blown away. He took a deeper one and signaled for the crew to do the same. They did and looked around in amazement. Several German soldiers came up, lay down their rifles and stood with their hands up. Some grinned sheepishly like this whole thing had been a silly mistake and could we all go home now?

For the first time in a long while, he grinned and turned to his crew. They had climbed out and stood beside him. “Guys, what say we go find a bar and get a beer or six?”

* * *

Lena found Tanner in Doc Hagerman’s clinic. He was sitting on a table while a medic swathed his feet in ointment and wrapped them in white bandages. Hagerman looked at her. “I told the foolish little boy not to get his feet wet, so what does he go and do? Why he spends all day playing soldier in cold mud and water. So now he has a flare-up that was caused by his initial trench foot incident. This has to stop.”

“So what are you going to do?” she asked timidly.

“Why, after I’m through curing him again, I am going to sign papers that will have his worthless ass thrown out of the army. You two might as well book passage on a ship back to the U.S., unless you’d like to fly. I’ve got some friends in the air force who can arrange it.”

She slid easily into Tanner’s arms. Neither cared who saw. “I think flying is a great idea,” Tanner said, and Lena nodded. “I’ve had enough of Europe.”

* * *

Swiss soldiers had moved several hundred yards inside what had been the German border. It was necessary in order to control the large numbers of people who wanted to leave the remnants of Germany. The Swiss were meticulous. They would ultimately admit everyone, but they wanted to know who each person was. That some of the more odious Nazis would disappear was obvious and none of their business.

Ernie Janek was getting used to life on crutches and enjoying the scene. The curtain on the final act of the Third Reich had fallen. The Twilight of the Gods part of the Wagnerian opera had ended with a ludicrous whimper and not in flames of glory. An entire army had run from a terror weapon that wasn’t. The German army might never recover from the embarrassment. Good.

Winnie slipped her hand in his. “I’ve arranged for us to go and see Vietinghoff formally surrender. It’s going to be across the lake in Constance. You’ll have to be careful of your leg.”

“I was planning on it.”

“I’ve also arranged an elegant suite for us in a hotel overlooking the lake. With all those American warships out there, the view won’t be as lovely as it could be, but who plans on looking out a window? I just want to learn how to make love to a man with a broken leg.”

“Carefully,” Ernie said, “very, very carefully.”

* * *

In the White House, Werner Heisenberg was well on his way to being drunk. He was being toasted for the failure of Germany’s atomic bomb. He’d almost passed out when word that the warhead on the rocket had been a dud. Heisenberg wondered if there had even been a warhead on the V1. Esau had likely been working in a secure area and could have filled the warhead with sand.

He’d even been hugged by Harry Truman, who clearly had been crying. He’d been informed that his incarceration would cease immediately. He could go wherever he wanted, but with one exception. General Groves said he would not be able to work with the American scientists in what was called the Manhattan Project. So be it. He’d had enough of nuclear weapons. He would go back to Germany-the American zone, of course-and try to pick up the pieces of his life.