Germanica

CHAPTER 8

Tanner woke slowly. It was like he was back in the hospital in Belgium, only worse. He was in agony. His whole body ached and he was nauseous. He was afraid that his head would roll off his shoulders and bounce onto the floor. Jesus, Jesus, he thought, wouldn’t that be a sight. He hadn’t had such a hangover since he’d been in college. Or was it his senior year in high school when he woke up in Mary Ann Kutchinski’s bed a week before graduation. He’d had to run like hell when he realized that her parents had just come home and were downstairs. He tried to smile at the memory of her naked and nubile young body but it hurt too much.

It didn’t matter. In a short while he would be as dead as Adolf Hitler. There was no possible way he could recover from this horror he’d inflicted on himself. He hoped his friends and family could come to his funeral.

He managed to keep his head attached to his shoulders and stood up. He lurched to the latrine where he relieved himself of several days’ worth of urine and then threw up. He kept vomiting until he reached the point of almost uncontrollable dry heaves. Other officers had their heads stuck in toilets as well. Well, it had been one hell of a party. After all, it wasn’t every day that a bona fide monster kills himself. Hitler was kaput. Hitler was dead. But what, he thought, does that have to do with the price of tea in China or the end of the war? As near as anyone could tell, the war would continue.

“Do you believe in mercy killing?” asked Cullen as he knelt back on his haunches. He turned away from his personal toilet lest sight of the contents inspire him to be sick again.

“Captain Tanner, if you still have an iota of Christian charity in you, get a gun and blow my brains out. Wait, I have no brains, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this condition.”

Tanner stood and found he could stand only if he didn’t make any sudden moves. Better, his stomach seemed to be settling. Maybe he would live to see another day. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to suffer like the rest of us. Besides, like you said we have no brains. They’ve all been fried away.”

“Heartless bastard.”

A young and disgustingly sober second lieutenant approached them, stifling a grin. “Sirs, General Evans would like to see the two of you as quickly as possible. He said in an hour or less.”

Cullen nodded. “I gather he survived the massacre?”

“Barely, his eyes are flaming red marbles. And I wouldn’t dawdle. He’s mad as hell although he does understand everybody’s situation.”

“How did you make it through the slaughter, Lieutenant?” asked Tanner.

“Dumb luck. I had duty. Tonight I’ll celebrate but it won’t be anything monumental like last night. God only knows what’ll happen when this war actually ends. I can only hope I’m there to celebrate.”

“Amen,” said Tanner. He found a sink and splashed cold water on his face. It seemed marginally refreshing. “You don’t happen to have fifty or sixty aspirins, do you? I’d like to take them and end it one way or the other.”

The lieutenant laughed. “If I did, I could sell them for a fortune.”

Cullen turned on the shower and stepped in wearing his skivvies. He howled as the cold water hit him. “Did the good general say why he wanted us?” he asked.

“Yeah. There was a shooting and two of our guys are dead.”

Tanner stripped and stepped into his shower and let the cold water run over his body. By God, it was working. He could feel life returning to his tortured body. “This is still a war, so what is so damned important about two guys getting shot?”

“The general thinks it might have been Werewolves.”

“Aw shit,” Tanner said. “Lieutenant, do you think you might get us a full pot of black GI coffee along with a knife to cut it with?”

* * *

Two hours later and with Sergeant Hill to guide them, they drove to where the two dead soldiers still lay. There had been no attempt to move them or take them to a hospital. They were clearly dead with their heads nearly blown off. Even though sickened by the sight, Tanner acknowledged that it was very good shooting.

“Don’t look for the provost marshal’s boys to come and investigate,” said Hill. He looked pale but otherwise okay. Tanner and Cullen had each pronounced the other to be a little greenish.

“Why not?” asked Tanner. “This is a murder. These guys aren’t anywhere near the front lines. Somebody sneaked up on them and killed them in cold blood. The cops should be involved.”

“Regardless,” said Hill, “I was told when I called that they were busy collecting deserters and black marketeers. I also think they might have a point. Whoever did this is military. While waiting for you to get here, I reconnoitered and found a firing position that indicated two men waiting and shooting. Just like that time on the road.”

Tanner nodded. “And I’ll bet nothing personal was taken.”

“Correct, Captain. These two boys still had their wallets and ID. They even had some money in their wallets. All of it was untouched.”

“So why were they killed? Just targets of opportunity?” asked Tanner.

“Maybe, even probably. But also they were queer and you know how the Nazis feel about queers. They hate them even more than we do. Yeah, I cleaned up the place and I got the guys who found them to promise to keep quiet about these two guys getting caught with their pants down, literally. They probably got shot with their hands on each other’s dick.”

“Any chance that the scene was staged?” Cullen asked. Like all soldiers, he held homosexuals in contempt. If caught they would have been court-martialed and made to serve long prison sentences. Homosexuality was one of the worst crimes a soldier could commit.

“No,” said Hill. “People heard the shots and the alarm was sounded. The snipers probably ran off first chance they got.”

With that new thought, they walked to the firing point. From impressions in the dirt, they could see where two men had crawled up to where they could take a clean shot and killed the GIs. Was it Werewolves or did the two Americans just run into a couple of German soldiers sneaking around? Either way, the Provost Marshal was not going to be involved.

Tanner rubbed his eyes. His headache was returning. “We will report them as killed in action by German snipers, which is close enough to the truth. Ignorance might keep their families from finding out about their relations. Nothing else matters. If there really are Werewolves, then we are going to have to be especially vigilant.”

“More patrols?” Hill asked.

Tanner stood and dusted himself off. “Yeah, and maybe this time they’ll be sober.”

* * *

Ernie Janek was worried sick. He had grown fond of Winnie Tyler of Philadelphia and now she was across the German border in Bregenz on some damn fool errand for Dulles. She was supposed to have gotten back the day before, but the news of Hitler’s death had changed things. The border was tightly sealed. Clearly the Germans were concerned about some kind of reaction to their beloved Fuhrer’s death. Maybe they were concerned that a lot of their loyal followers would desert and flee to Switzerland, taking themselves out of the war. What a happy thought, he concluded.

Ernie had been lying hidden in shrubs for the better part of the day and now it was becoming dark. He was a hundred yards from the fence and a mile from the normal checkpoint. It was where he was supposed to wait if something had gone wrong. Well, it looked like something had damn well gone wrong. It was now an hour past the time when Winnie should have arrived.

He shifted slightly and felt the bulge in his pocket. It was a Walther P38 pistol. Since it was of German make, he hoped it would confuse people if it was found on him. Guns were frowned upon by the Swiss and he generally didn’t carry one, but he made an exception for this day. As he always said, what could the Swiss do besides throw him out? Besides, he was reasonably confident that Dulles would intercede for him. Dulles was concerned as well, but he’d told Ernie that delays like this were to be anticipated. The spy game did not run like a railroad. Or a Swiss watch. Still, he didn’t like it.

Day became a partly cloudy night and still no Winnie. He wondered if the Germans knew he was lying where he was. If so, he should move, but he couldn’t. This was the secondary exit point she was going to use if leaving through the checkpoint like a regular visitor wasn’t feasible. He checked his watch. In a few minutes another time frame would have passed. He was to do nothing until he spotted her and then use his discretion about actually helping her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he detected motion and froze. Two German soldiers walked along the fence line, only a few feet inside the border. He’d seen them before and they had a regular route. They did not look terribly concerned about anything. They carried their rifles slung over their shoulders and not in their arms. He could hear their voices and they seemed to be talking casually about something. Probably Hitler, he thought. It would be a good half hour before they got back. If Winnie could see them and was careful, she could get to the fence without being seen.

But then what? He made an easy decision. He would do what he could to make it easier for Winnie to escape.

When he thought it was clear, he crawled to the fence and paused. Nothing. He took out the wire clippers he’d brought and carefully snipped several strands until he thought he’d cleared enough space for a small person like Winnie to slither through. He smiled. The thought of her slithering was intriguing.

“Hurry!” It was Winnie’s voice and she was only a few yards away. How the devil had she gotten so close? He snipped the last wire and pulled them aside, thankful that the Germans hadn’t yet hung any bells on the wire.

She crawled up to the wire. Her face was filthy and contorted. “Help me. I’m hurt.”

Ernie crawled through the opening and grabbed her arms. He crawled backwards and pulled her. She groaned and stifled it. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Just pull me, damn it. Be sorry later.”

He braced himself and pulled hard. A piece of wire gouged along her arm and she barely stopped a scream.

Ernie pulled again and she was free. He knew they should crawl back but he doubted that she could do it. She looked like she’d been through the proverbial wringer. Nuts, he thought. Let Dulles fire me.

He stood and scooped her into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and he thought she was crying. He walked back into the shadows just as he heard someone on the other side yell, followed by an angry response. They were safe, at least for the moment. He didn’t think the Germans would send any soldiers across the border, or even shoot into Swiss territory.

“Can you walk? The car’s a little ways down the road.”

“Yes, but you’ll have to help me.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

Winnie took a deep breath. “I don’t think so.” The clouds cleared and he could see her more clearly. Her face was a mass of bruises. The dress that made her look overweight was ripped and filthy. “Don’t look at me,” she commanded angrily.

Ernie put his arm under hers and they hobbled down the road. She groaned with almost every step. He finally got her in the back seat and drove back to the warehouse. She had her own apartment in another building, but didn’t argue when she took him to his Spartan quarters.

“Please let me have a towel and a washcloth and a few minutes to clean up. I wouldn’t mind a couple of Band-Aids for my arm, and, oh yes, a bathrobe. Needle and thread would be nice if you have it.”

“Of course, but what happened?”

“In a few minutes, Ernie. Let me get myself back together.”

It was closer to an hour when she emerged, wearing the robe. It went all the way down to her ankles. She carried the dress she’d been wearing. It had been badly torn and she’d tried to make some repairs with his sewing kit to keep it from falling apart. He made some instant coffee and she sipped it gladly. The bruises on her face were bluish-black and one of her eyes was black and swollen. The bruises extended down her neck and below her collar. He couldn’t help but wonder just where else she’d been hurt and it angered him.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? Dulles has one under contract.”

“I’m sure. It’s just bruises and, no, I wasn’t raped, although it almost happened. An angry and drunk German officer beat the crap out of me. Of course he was one of the SS pigs.”

He felt relief that she hadn’t been assaulted but fury that she’d been beaten. “Why did he do it?”

“I was supposed to pick up some information from an agent at a drop site in a park. Before I could, this drunken lout appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed me and started crying about how bad it was that Hitler was dead and what a great man he was. When I tried to get away, he was sober enough to realize that my accent wasn’t German, or even Swiss. Then he realized that my dress had so much padding. He dragged me into some bushes and started to ask me who I was and what was I doing in Bregenz. He wasn’t stupid and realized I was an American, an enemy, and a spy.”

“I’m going to kill Dulles for sending you across.”

“Wait your turn. Actually, I volunteered. Don’t worry, Ernie, it won’t happen again.”

“How did you get away?”

“He was drunk and he decided he would attack me. He pushed me onto the ground and started tearing at my fat girl clothes and simply lost his grip when more came off than he expected. I got up and pushed him down and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I think he sounded the alarm because the border was very quickly closed, which is why I took so long to get across. Thank you for being there. By the way, the guy’s name is Hahn and he’s a major in the SS. He also has a bright red scar or birthmark on his cheek so you’ll know him if you see him.”

She stood shakily. “I haven’t slept in two nights. I would like to borrow your bed for a few hours.”

He thought about making a smartass comment about her borrowing his bed at any time, but thought better of it. “It’s all yours. I’ll drag a cot over by the door and sleep outside, just like a faithful dog. Except this dog will have a pistol.”

She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. “Thank you again, Ernie.” He became aware that she had little or nothing on underneath his unworthy robe.

* * *

Josef Goebbels stood at attention facing the flag of the Reich and the black-draped portrait of Adolf Hitler. Like most of the men in the large room hollowed out of a mountain, he’d been weeping. Even though it had been expected, the announcement of Hitler’s death had hit them hard. Magda had been devastated. The last he’d seen her she’d taken to her room and was sobbing hysterically. Despite their long simmering animosities, they had hugged and sobbed together and tried to comfort each other. They even made love or whatever passed for it now. Both of them had found it strangely comforting.

He would have stayed longer, but duty called. Magda went to comfort the children while he met with the handful of leaders of the new Germanican government.

Goebbels wiped his eyes. “Is it possible the communists are lying?”

Field Marshal Schoerner shook his head. He was pale but appeared to not have been crying. “The communists are always lying. However, in this case they are likely telling the truth. Their armies have had Berlin surrounded and have been steadily squeezing the area around the Chancellery. Our Fuhrer always said that he would die in Berlin at the head of the Nazi cause. I am certain that the Reds will publish pictures of his body and proclaim the triumph of their cause. The question remains, Minister, what do we do now?”

Goebbels thought quickly. Even though the Nazi Party in Germany appeared dead, as dead as the Fuhrer, there were a number who would want to become Hitler’s successor. “Where is Goering? Is he still under house arrest?”

SS Major Alfonse Hahn entered the room. He had heard the last question. “He was freed by loyal members of his Luftwaffe and may be trying to make it to the American lines as an alternative to surrendering to the Soviets. He should not be considered a factor in our future, Minister. The orders regarding his possible treason are a matter of record. I do not believe that he will be obeyed by anyone of consequence.”

Goering had considered himself Hitler’s heir until he tactlessly broached the subject, implying that he should take over before Berlin fell and took Hitler with it. With Bormann’s backing, an outraged Hitler had then considered the corpulent Luftwaffe marshal’s actions treasonous. He had publicly discredited the man and placed him under house arrest. No, Goebbels thought, Hermann Goering was out of the picture. Leave him to his alcohol and drugs.

Hahn rubbed the bruise on his chin where that American bitch had hit him. He was certain she had been an American spy. He had punched her several times and was going to attack her sexually when she’d somehow managed to get away.

In the absence of a formal intelligence-gathering apparatus, Hahn had effectively taken control of that aspect of life in Bregenz. Along with chasing down Jews and other enemies, he had established radio contact with a number of Nazi loyalists in Germany proper.

“Himmler and Bormann have disappeared,” Hahn said. “It is feared that Bormann was killed trying to flee from Berlin following Hitler’s death when it became every man for himself.”

“What a shame,” said Goebbels. He didn’t bother to hide his smile. If the detested Bormann was dead, it was better for him and for Germany. “I suppose that leaves Admiral Doenitz as a possible pretender.”

Hahn nodded. “The admiral has been in radio contact with us. As you know, he has located his headquarters at Flensburg, near the Danish border. He now commands all German military forces not in Germanica and under our control. He considers himself the current president of Germany, but not of Germanica.”

“Just as well,” said Goebbels. “We could do nothing to support each other.” He laughed bitterly, “Too damn many Allied armies in the way.” It occurred to him that he should promote Hahn to some higher position. The man obviously had skills and was needed.

“Minister,” said Schoerner, “The admiral wishes to know what to do about surrendering his armies to the Allies. He wants desperately to avoid surrendering them to the Soviets.”

Goebbels thought for a moment. “Let him work out whatever arrangements he wishes. He can surrender all the damn armies and ships under his command. The armies of Germanica, however, are not under his command and any announcement that he is attempting to surrender them will be rejected. Germanica is an independent country and does not answer to any rump German government in Flensburg.”

Goebbels lit a cigarette and puffed angrily. Smoking in the caverns was supposedly prohibited, but who was going to stop him. He was Adolf Hitler’s successor. He took a deep breath and continued. “It has occurred to me that we have been too focused on the bare needs for our survival. Now we must go beyond that if we are to become a true nation. We need other nations, preferably a number of them, to recognize Germanica. That way we can send people out armed with diplomatic immunity. Ergo, we need a diplomatic corps, albeit it will have to be a small one. Anyone have suggestions?”

“I assume von Papen and von Ribbentrop are not possible,” said Schoerner, referring to the current and previous foreign secretaries.

Goebbels agreed. “Ribbentrop is an ass and von Papen is too old. That assumes, of course, that we could find him and bring him here. Albert Speer might be acceptable, but where is he? The last I heard, he was headed towards someplace near Hamburg.”

“I will make some contacts, Minister,” said Hahn. “If he is in the Hamburg area, it should not be too difficult to bring him here, via Switzerland of course.”

Schoerner was dubious. “I have serious doubts that anyone will recognize the nation of Germanica, much less negotiate with us. The Americans are in total control and will exert enormous pressure on countries to ignore us. Even some otherwise sympathetic nations like Argentina might wait a long while before recognizing us. I would think that the same would hold true with Spain. It may be quite a while before any major or even second tier nation acknowledges our existence.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Hahn. “How can anyone ignore us? We are here, aren’t we? We aren’t spirits or ghosts.”

Goebbels smiled tolerantly. “You still have a lot to learn, Major. Nations, especially victorious ones, can do what they wish and not necessarily what is right. And by the way, your work here in Bregenz has been above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Thank you, Minister.”

“It has occurred to me that you do not have enough rank to do your job properly. Therefore, I am promoting you to the temporary rank of SS-Brigadefuhrer. I understand it is equivalent to being a brigadier general in the American army.” He held out his hand, which was taken by a stunned Hahn. “Congratulations, General, now go and continue your good work. And someday you must tell me the truth about how your face got so badly bruised. I’ll bet she was a real tiger.”

Hahn laughed indulgently. He would never tell his leader and new Fuhrer that he’d been momentarily bested in combat by a woman and that his bruises had nothing to do with a sexual encounter. Well, almost nothing. In private he’d already contemplated the fate in store for the woman if he should ever find her.

“One other thing,” said Schoerner. “Has there been anything on the whereabouts of the physicist named Heisenberg? The non-Jew Abraham is very upset that he hasn’t turned up. Apparently, he is very important to the success of our nuclear program.”

Goebbels shrugged dismissively. “I don’t understand. He’s already told us he will succeed with the resources he currently has. Perhaps you should tell him that failure will not result in his being shot. Instead it will entail his being hanged by the neck by piano wire while his toes barely scrape the ground. I’m told that dying that way is lengthy and excruciating. Perhaps that bon mot of knowledge will motivate him.”

* * *

Lena and Sister Columba walked through the crowd of people waiting at the gate at the sprawling American army base. There seemed to be a line of sorts and there was some grumbling when they walked right up to the front of it. The guard, a young sergeant, seemed amused by the disturbance.

“And what can I do for you sisters?” he asked politely and in passable German.

Lena shocked him by responding in fluent English. “I would like to see a Roman Catholic priest and it is a matter of some urgency.”

“Perhaps I should call the officer of the guard and let him decide. Does what you want to talk to the priest about have anything to do with the Nazis?”

“In a way, but not what you suspect. It is also very personal, which is why I want to see a priest. I believe that chaplains are also officers, so why not let him decide about the officer of the guard after I have spoken to him.”

“Sounds fair,” said the sergeant. “Although I can’t imagine what kind of sins a nun like you has committed that requires such personal service.”

A few minutes later, Captain Richard Shanahan, chaplain and captain in the U.S. Army, arrived at the gate. “Why do you wish to speak with me, Sister, and I am told you understand English. That’s good since my miserable high school German hasn’t improved at all.”

Father Shanahan was short and slight. He wore glasses and was nearly bald. Lena guessed that he gave long sermons. “May we speak privately?”

Shanahan waved her inside the compound. The sergeant looked away. As always, what officers did was their business. “Now what is it, Sister?”

Lena spoke quickly to prevent Father Shanahan from cutting her off. “First, I may have killed two people. Second, I am neither a nun nor a Catholic. I was kept as a slave for several years by a family of Nazis. When I found that they were going to sell me to a munitions factory where people were worked to death, I escaped. Their two adult children tried to stop me and I know I hurt them badly. These nuns have sheltered me. They are saints, or they should be.”

“How much of this can you prove?”

Shanahan looked away when she reached under her habit and removed the cloth-wrapped pistol. The priest took it and whistled when he unwrapped it. “This came from the first war. It’s quite valuable,” he said.

“For a man of God, you understand weapons quite well.”

He chuckled. “I took vows of chastity and obedience, but not poverty of any kind. I like to hunt and, after all, I am in the army. So yes, I do understand weapons, and I do have many other vices. Now, what else do you have for me?”

She also showed him her identity papers, the ones that said she was a Jew. “But I am not a Jew.” She then gave him the papers she’d forged on Nazi letterhead and a pass once given her by Frau Schneider.

“You’ve been quite prudent and clever,” the priest said admiringly. “Now, what do you want from me?”

“I need a job, and a job in which I can use my skills to hurt the Nazis. I want to punish the people who killed my fiancé and probably murdered my father. I want to punish the people who kept me enslaved.”

“Your enslavement wasn’t all that horrible compared with others.”

“Agreed, but wasn’t it your Abraham Lincoln who said that to the extent a man is not free, he is a slave? And besides, they were about to sell me to a factory where I would have been worked to death.”

“Can you type and file?”

“Of course. And I can translate as well. As you see, I speak fluent English, which I can also read and write. The same is true with German and Czech.”

Shanahan grinned. “Well, we don’t have all that much call for Czech speakers, but one never knows. I do know that we are hurting for locals who weren’t members of the Nazi Party. Of course, everybody swears on their mother’s grave that they were never Nazis. So many do that it makes you wonder just how Adolf and two or three other guys took over Germany and much of the world. You certainly qualify for the honor of genuinely being a non-Nazi.”

Lena took a deep breath. Is this going to be the first step in leading a normal life? She turned and saw Sister Columba edging away. She waved and Columba waved back, still slowly leaving.

“Are you dressed decently under the habit?”

“Yes, and I have other clothes in the bag I brought.”

“Good. I’ll find you a place where you can change into something civilian and then I’ll introduce you to some people.”

“Thank you,” she said and started crying.

Father Shanahan gave her a handkerchief. It wasn’t terribly clean but it did help dry off her tears. “Lena Bobekova, let me be the first to welcome you to the 105th Infantry Division.”

* * *

The next morning, Winnie was still in terrible pain and could hardly walk. She managed to clean herself but she looked awful. The bruises on her face had darkened and the eye that was nearly swollen shut also had a ruptured blood vessel that made the white of her eye look scarlet. She looked like something from a cheap horror movie. She’d insisted that Ernie go to her apartment and get her a pair of sunglasses.

It also hurt her to breathe. It was difficult for her to stand up straight. This finally convinced her to go to a doctor who informed them that she had at least two cracked ribs. There might have been a third, but the x-ray machine he was using wasn’t very good. The doctor also added that nothing could heal broken ribs besides time.

On hearing of Winnie’s problems, Dulles had flown into Arbon in a five-seat Cessna AT-17. Two other men flew in with him but they disappeared quickly. Ernie assumed that they had OSS-related jobs to do and he was not about to inquire about them.

In deference to Winnie’s injuries, they met at Ernie’s quarters. He had moved out of his room and been assigned another one. The remaining two units were still empty.

Dulles was visibly upset. He’d had agents killed and wounded in the line of duty and hated it. “Winifred, I very much regret getting you involved in that mess. You were fortunate to survive. Had we lost you, I would have been devastated.”

“So would I,” she said with an attempt at humor, “It’s all right, sir. After all, who could have known that Hitler would choose that day to join his friends and relatives in Hell? But was anyone able to finish my task?”

Dulles smiled. “That is being taken care of as we speak.” It was an obvious reference to the men who had flown in with him. “On the other hand, Captain Janek, I understand you had a little, ah, fun this morning.”

“I was just doing some reconnoitering, sir.”

“What in God’s name did you do?” asked a shocked Winnie. “You didn’t cross the border, did you? You wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds if you’d been stopped.”

Ernie was quietly delighted that she was concerned. “Nothing of the sort. I just wondered if the hole in the fence I’d made had been fixed, so just before dawn I went and checked it out. At first it didn’t look like anything had been done to it, so I crawled closer. Then I noticed a bunch of wires and realized the place had been booby-trapped by the Nazi swine.”

He smiled at the memory. “So I went to the garbage dump and found a really ripe dead cat. I put it in a bag and crawled close to the wire. When I figured I was close enough, I took the stinking animal out of the bag and hurled it into the hole in the fence. Sure enough, it triggered the booby traps and they exploded. Dead cat went flying all over the place. Lights went on and German soldiers went screaming towards the pieces of the poor little dead kitty. When I left them, I think they were trying to figure out if it was the cat who’d set of the explosives or something else. It was nice to see the Germans grubbing through debris and dead cat.”

Dulles shook his head. “Do me a favor and don’t do it again.”

“But I did it for Winnie.”

Winnie leaned over and clutched herself. “I told you not to make me laugh.”

Ernie decided it was time to change the subject. “Sir, what plans do you have for us?”

“For the time being you are to sit tight and observe. Check the border and note any changes. Take the boat out and observe, but only after Winnie is cleared to swim in case something should happen.”

“What was the information I was supposed to pick up?” Winnie asked.

Dulles smiled tolerantly. “Are you wondering just what was worth risking your life? Well, I can’t tell you that right now, but someday I will. Trust me, though, it might have been worth many lives. And if we can still get it, the info will indeed be worth it.”

* * *

Eisenhower and Devers looked over the several pages of information they’d just received courtesy of someone. “Amazing,” said Devers. He had flown into Reims at Ike’s request. “It certainly looks like we have people high up in the Redoubt.”

Ike was not so confident. “You’re assuming that the information is correct. If it is, it is a godsend. How many generals would have loved to have all this much detail about an enemy army before a battle?”

“I can think of a few who did and still blew it,” Devers said and Ike chuckled.

What they had before them was a detailed listing of all German units in or near the redoubt. It gave their size, location, and a succinct analysis of their fighting ability. It said that the Germans had reconstituted twenty-five divisions out of the retreating remnants. These totaled one hundred and eighty thousand men. An additional twenty thousand Russians who had turned against Stalin were included along with a division of ten thousand Croats. The Germans also had four hundred tanks. All of the German units were said to be above average in fighting ability. The two generals had their doubts.

Devers gave his own analysis. “First of all, I believe this analysis tells Goebbels and Schoerner what they want to hear and not what is necessarily the truth. I sense some lower-ranking staff officers trying to save their own skins. I just can’t believe that all the German units are such rabid and diehard Nazis. After all they have been surrendering by the thousands, the hundreds of thousands north of the Redoubt. Why should these guys be any different? They weren’t chosen for any particular skill or dedication. These are just the poor schmucks who happened to be in the area when the Redoubt was formed. If they’d been more fortunate, they’d be in prison camps awaiting repatriation instead of the opportunity to get blown to pieces.”

“Are you saying they might surrender if given a chance?”

“Couldn’t hurt to find out.”

Ike agreed. “Any other thoughts?”

“Yes. The Russians and the Croats will fight like cornered tigers because they know they are all dead if they are captured. Any captured Croats will be murdered by Tito and the Serbs, and the Russians will be turned over to Stalin who will either shoot them outright or send them to Siberia to be worked to death. If there was some way we could promise either group sanctuary somewhere, perhaps they would not fight so desperately.”

Ike conceded that Devers had a good point. The current agreement with Moscow required the U.S., Great Britain, and France to turn over to the Russians any captured Red Army deserters. Already there had been incidents of suicides and suicidal resistance from those preferring death with a rifle in hand. Killing one’s self was preferable to either being executed or spending a horrible brutish existence in the snows of Siberia. He did not know of anything regarding the Croats. He made a mental note to check it out.

“It may be a lost cause, but I will contact General Marshall regarding your thoughts. Any soldier we can get to surrender will be one less that we will have to root out and kill while he’s killing our boys.”

“Ike, I could not help but notice that those non-German troops are all stationed on the west side of the Brenner Pass. I wonder if that’s a coincidence. Or maybe they don’t trust them all that much.”

Ike had noticed it as well. “Very interesting,” was all he said.

* * *

Wolfgang Hummel and Martin Schubert had known each other since the day they’d been inducted into the German Army some six years ago. Now they had each risen to the rank of corporal and were still close friends. The men were a team. They operated the MG42 machine gun. Hummel did the actual firing while Schubert supplied ammunition and generally assisted whenever he could. Sometimes they’d switch, but not for long. Hummel was by far the better shot.

They’d lugged the twenty-five pound weapon along with many pounds of ammunition across several European countries and now found themselves in Germany with the Alps to their back. They considered the gun to be a marvel. It could easily fire twelve hundred rounds a minute, had a range of more than a thousand yards and this one even had a telescopic sight. It also gave off a horrible screeching noise that could easily terrify an enemy soldier. They treated their new gun like a queen, keeping her clean and oiled. And why not? She had helped keep them alive.

Hummel looked around to see if anyone could hear them speak. He had to do it casually since any furtive movements attracted suspicion. “Martin, do you think we’ve come far enough to stop retreating?”

“I think we went far enough a month ago. When the Americans landed at Normandy I knew it was all over. We couldn’t stop either the Russians or the Americans. Germany had to sue for peace, but our leaders didn’t and now it may be too late.”

“Agreed.” Hummel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Martin. They lit up and enjoyed the smoke. The cigarettes were Americans, taken off a dead GI. He would no longer need them, they’d thought. Besides, they had laughed, cigarettes were bad for your health.

“So what are we going to do?” Schubert asked, almost plaintively.

Artillery was rumbling in their rear. American spotter planes had found something and their guns were trying to kill it. At night when they were trying to sleep, the rumbling would be accompanied by distant flashes of light. The Americans were not going to leave them alone. “If the Yanks push us, we’re going to have to climb those damn mountains. I can’t climb mountains. Christ, I sometimes can’t even climb a ladder.”

“I can’t either. Are you suggesting that we should surrender?”

Hummel finished his smoke and field stripped the butt. He thought about saving the shreds of tobacco in case he had to try and roll his own, but figured the hell with it. He let them go with the wind.

They were in a foxhole that they had turned into a small bunker. With skills learned from years of experience, they had made it strong and practically invisible. They had solid fields of fire and were confident that they could decimate any attacking force, just as they had so many times before. They didn’t particularly enjoy seeing enemy soldiers being riddled with bullets and turned to bloody pulp, but this was war and nobody wanted to finish in second place.

Their small fort also had places to relieve themselves, although they joked that it didn’t much matter. It had been so long since they’d been able to wash or put on a clean uniform that their personal stench would overwhelm that of body waste. All the German soldiers were in the same condition. They joked that the Yanks would find them from their smell.

Hummel just wanted the war to finish. “I would like to surrender, Martin, but I don’t know how to go about doing it. We can’t just tell the others to have a good war and then go walking up to the Americans with our hands in the air. First, the Yanks might shoot us as revenge for some of the atrocities the SS and others have committed, and second, Lieutenant Pfister would have the others kill us before we got twenty feet.”

Schubert again looked around. Lieutenant Pfister was walking towards them. “What the hell does the idiot want now?” Pfister was a devout Nazi, to put it mildly. They’d heard that the lieutenant had howled like a dog when he’d heard that his beloved Hitler was dead. He had vowed that he and the platoon would die to the last man before surrendering. Sadly, Hummel and Schubert and the others believed him.

They did not stand and salute when he arrived. The Americans were too close and they had their own snipers.

“What are you two plotting?” Pfister asked.

Hummel almost froze before answering. Then he realized that their usually uptight lieutenant was just making a small joke. “We were just talking about some marvelous carnal adventures that we will have when we win this war and get to go home.”

Pfister laughed. Some days he actually had a sense of humor, proving that he used to be human. “Don’t get your priorities mixed up. Gather all your gear. We’re going to be maneuvering again. As usual we will move when it’s dark so the Yank planes can’t see us.”

The two gunners nodded their understanding. “Maneuvering” was another word for retreating. “Any idea where we’re going, sir?” asked Schubert.

“I’ve heard that we’re going to the northern head of the Brenner Pass.”

Hummel looked intently at the lieutenant. “Sir, when are we going to stop and fight the Americans? I’m sick and tired of retreating. I want to stop and kill the bastards who are violating our nation.”

Pfister looked impressed. So too was Schubert who knew that Hummel meant not a word of the bullshit he was spouting. He wanted to know when they might make contact with the Americans so they could give up.

Pfister smiled broadly. “Corporal, our opportunity will come soon enough. When we get to the pass there will be no more retreating. There we will stand and fight. Then we will destroy the swine who have invaded our land and who are violating our women.”

“That was most impressive,” said Schubert after the lieutenant had left. “It almost brought tears to my eyes.”

“Not to mine,” said Hummel. “Once upon a time I thought Hitler was God. I thought that Germany would conquer the world and then there would be a true peace, one that would be based on Nazi values. For the longest time I even enjoyed fighting in Poland and Russia. The fire bombings of our cities opened my eyes and cleared my mind. Germany doesn’t stand a chance, if indeed she ever did. I know longer wish to fight for a cause that is lost. I don’t care if Jews take over the world. I want to go home and find my family.”

Schubert shook his head. He felt infinite sadness. “I just hope we have families to find.” They both came from cities that had been leveled by American bombers. They’d heard nothing from their families and expected the worst.

* * *

Harry Truman was still growing into his job as President of the United States. He was mad as hell at Franklin Delano Roosevelt for shutting him out of the decisions that had been made and now had to be enforced by a very inexperienced Truman.

He had been considered such a nonentity that he’d lived in an unguarded apartment until Roosevelt’s death. Now, however, he had Secret Service crawling all over the place trying to protect him. He’d joked that they even wanted to go to the john with him. He liked to take brisk walks and now he did so surrounded by guards. It was a little unsettling.

He still hadn’t moved into the White House because Eleanor Roosevelt hadn’t yet left. In a moment of generosity, he’d told her to take as long as she needed and now he wondered if she would ever move out.

Truman wanted to be furious at the military and diplomatic leaders who’d quietly humiliated him by shunning him, but he knew it wasn’t their fault. It had been Roosevelt’s and they’d had to follow his orders. But why, he wondered, and realized it no longer mattered. FDR had made a pattern of ignoring his vice presidents, so why should his experiences or lack thereof, have been any different?

He was seated behind Roosevelt’s massive desk in the Oval Office that he’d already decided to retain for his use. Many of the former president’s personal items had been removed, either taken by Eleanor or packed up to be moved. A few pictures of his own wife Bess and his daughter Margaret graced the desk. Thank God he had them as his anchors, he thought.

A glum group of men looked at him. He wondered if they thought they were having a bad dream and would wake up and find that Roosevelt was still president. Someday he would tell them that he’d had that same dream.

Shortly after becoming president, he’d been informed that the U.S. was making a super-bomb, an atomic bomb. He’d been staggered to realize just how much money and effort had gone into the project. Almost as astonishing was the fact that it remained a secret. Even from FDR’s vice president, he thought angrily.

Truman forced himself to smile. “Gentlemen, I trust that the first test of an atomic bomb is still scheduled for mid-July?”

“That is correct, sir,” responded General George C. Marshall, the Army’s Chief of Staff. He was accompanied by Major General Leslie Groves.

Groves was very overweight and pear-shaped, which somewhat bothered Truman. He felt that soldiers should look the part. Still, Groves had been the man who’d ramrodded construction of the Pentagon and now the physical parts of the development of the atomic bomb. The unmilitary looking Groves was reputed to be one tough son of a bitch and Truman did like that. Groves was not a physicist, but he understood enough of the bomb to explain the military aspects of it.

No one was present from the State Department. Edward Stettinius was the current Secretary of State and he was high on the list of people Truman wanted removed. They disagreed on too many things. Nor was anyone present from the navy. The discussion points related to the army only and, of course, the air force, which was part of the army.

As president, Truman was the first to speak. “General Marshall, General Groves, I think I understand that using the atomic bomb in Japan would be a catastrophe for the Japanese and might bring them to the surrender table. A bomb dropped on a wooden Japanese city would cause massive fires and devastation along with God knows how many thousands of civilian casualties. It would be even worse than the fire-bombing we are now inflicting on them. I can and will accept responsibility for those casualties if the bomb ends the war in the Pacific without the need to invade the home islands of Japan. But what about using it in Europe? How can it be used to end the fighting that is otherwise going to happen in the Alps?”

Groves was blunt. “I don’t see a use for it in Europe.”

Truman was aghast. “After all the money we spent on it? And wasn’t it intended to be used against Germany and Hitler in the first place?”

“Yes, sir, it was,” Groves responded. “And it still would be if there were any proper targets remaining. We planned on dropping it on Berlin or Hamburg, or some other major city. We’d even configured the bombs to be carried by a B29. They are just too big for a B17. There aren’t any B29s in Europe that I know of, although that can be changed quickly enough. The simple fact is, there are no major targets left in Germany and we won’t have enough bombs to throw around.”

“This Germanica is a legitimate target, isn’t it?”

“Of course, but let me explain. In mid-July, we’re going to test one of the three we will have and we will do it in New Mexico. We’re overwhelmingly certain it’ll work, but not totally so. I agree with Oppenheimer and the others who insist on a test. We have to know that it’ll work before we drop it. If it fails, we’d look like idiots. That and we’d have given away a lot of our secrets.”

“That much doesn’t concern me,” said Truman. “If it doesn’t work, our precious secrets won’t be worth much, especially if the bomb was dropped from thirty thousand feet. I imagine the bomb would exist only as fragments. But I guess you’re right. Test the damn thing.”

“That leaves two bombs left and they are designated for Japanese cities.”

“But not Tokyo,” Truman said.

“Not Tokyo,” said Marshall.

It had been agreed that the capital of Japan would not be hit with anything other than conventional bombs. It was a small honor. The fire-bombings of Tokyo had burned vast sections of the city and killed tens of thousands of civilians.

“There are other issues,” said Marshall. “An atomic bomb set off in an alpine mountain valley would be somewhat contained by the mountains and its effectiveness would be reduced dramatically. The three bombs that I’ve mentioned are all that we’ll have for the foreseeable future. We will produce more, but not until we determine which type works best. Then there is the issue of Switzerland and her neutrality.”

“Damn the Swiss,” snapped Truman.

Marshall was unfazed. In a way he was pleased by Truman’s directness. FDR had the maddening habit of talking in circles and leaving listeners to try and figure out what it was he wanted.

“Mr. President, any bomb set off anywhere near the German city of Bregenz could cause thousands of casualties among innocent Swiss civilians.”

“I would rather have Swiss casualties than American,” Truman snapped. “The Swiss have been coddling and protecting the Nazis for too damn long if you ask me. This asinine Republic of Germanica would not even exist if it wasn’t for the protection provided by the Swiss. And now you’re telling me that we can’t use the bomb because of the Swiss? Bullshit.”

“There are good reasons,” said Marshall, ignoring the outburst. “We all know that high-level bombing is inaccurate. We are planning to drop the bomb from thirty thousand feet but it will not detonate until it drops to fifteen hundred. This means that any mistake by the bombardier or even strong gust of wind could send the bomb off its course by many miles. It is conceivable, but admittedly not likely, that we could wind up dropping an atomic bomb on Switzerland and not Germanica. Or worse, it could detonate in some desolate mountain valley and no one will notice.”

“Shit.”

It was Groves’ turn. “Sir, I think we should talk about radiation.”

“Go ahead.”

“Since no bomb has yet been exploded, no one knows what is really going to happen with radiation. There are those who feel that we could unleash unknown forces that could destroy life on earth. Most scientists, however, feel that the explosive forces of an atomic bomb will be absorbed by the planet without any significant problem. The real concern is the possible lingering effects of radiation. We know that radiation burns and can kill. What we don’t know are the long-term effects. We’ve had some accidents in which men and women have been exposed and burned. Some people have died. Although a large number of scientists believe that radiation burns are like any other burns and just need to be treated, there are those who think that deadly radiation will remain in the ground, or buildings, or human flesh for many years. There are also those who feel that lethal doses of radiation will be spread by the exploding bomb’s shock wave and debris cloud. We simply don’t know what could happen. Some scientists visualize a black cloud of death crossing Lake Constance with a large part of Germany and Switzerland being uninhabitable for generations.”

Marshall looked even more glum than usual. “I had hoped to use the bomb to clear a path through the valleys and the Brenner Pass. The Germans have built strong defenses in depth. I’d hoped the bomb would simply obliterate them and that our boys would literally walk over the rubble and into the heart of their Germanica. Radiation may dissipate over a period of time, but I don’t think I can take a chance with our boy’s lives like that.”

Truman swore under his breath. He had seen combat in World War I as an artillery officer and thought he understood bloody death. But not death on the magnitude being described, and certainly not caused by something as sinister as radiation. Workers in watch factories had died from radiation when they licked small paintbrush tips dipped in some radioactive material to make the dial glow in the dark. Many of them suffered from horrific cancers to the mouth that further indicated that there would be long-term consequences.

American soldiers would not die from radiation poisoning if he could help it. But there was still the terrible equation confronting him. If the atomic bomb, or any bomb, could stop the killing of American boys, it had to be used.

“All right,” he said unhappily. “We will continue to plan to use the atomic bomb on Japan only. However, we will hedge our bets. I want a squadron of B29s available to fly over this damned Germanica. After we kill some Japanese cities, perhaps the Germans will realize what we can do and how little they can do to stop it. Maybe the Nazis will recognize what a threat the atomic bomb is. Maybe it’ll put pressure on them to surrender.”

Maybe, Truman thought glumly, the moon is made of green cheese. “And what about Germany’s nuclear threat?”

Groves answered. “We believe it no longer exists, if indeed it did. We have teams of scientists scouring the areas of Germany we now occupy for their nuclear scientists as well as any facilities for the making of atomic weapons. It is called the Alsos Project and the Alsos teams have seen nothing that would indicate that the Germans have an atomic bomb.”

Truman nodded. At first he’d thought that Alsos was another secret that had been kept from him. In a way it was, but it wasn’t that major. He had been amused to find that the name, Alsos, was Greek for “grove” and that it had been decided on by General Groves. He hadn’t known the man had a sense of humor. He could only hope that the Alsos information was correct. If what he had found about the bomb was even halfway correct, having it in the possession of an enemy was a terrible thing to contemplate.

Truman stood and paced. “Then can you guarantee me that this report from Switzerland about the Nazis having an A-bomb in Germanica is nonsense?”

Groves winced. “I’ve spoken to Oppenheimer and others, and they do not believe the Germans are capable of building an atomic bomb. First, we don’t believe they have the resources and the scientists to build the bomb and, second, they have no means of delivering it even if they were to build it.”

“Does that mean you are a hundred percent certain there is no possibility of the Germans building one of the infernal devices?”

Groves turned red. “Nothing is a hundred percent, sir. It is, however, considered highly unlikely and that the Germans are bluffing.”

Truman shook his head angrily. “I want one hundred percent. The risk of the slaughter of American soldiers or the destruction of a major city like Paris or London is too awful to contemplate.”

As Truman was making this pronouncement, another thought was forming in his mind-a thought that he didn’t like one damned bit.

* * *

Gustav Schneider was bitterly disappointed by the reception he and his family received on making it through to the Alpine Redoubt now called Germanica. It was unenthusiastic to the point that he thought the bureaucrats in charge had been disappointed by his safe arrival. He had spluttered and complained to no avail. One Nazi Party functionary had even told him that he’d been fortunate to be allowed access. Only important members of the Nazi hierarchy were eligible for rescue, and not the minor ones. Fortunately, Schneider did have at least one friend.

Gerhard Unger was a civilian administrator in the Redoubt. He reported directly to the still absent Albert Speer and was responsible for the ongoing construction in the area. He was fifty and had once been a physically powerful man. He had somewhat gone to fat but still looked like he could kill with his massive arms. Schneider recalled that he had done so on a couple of occasions when the Brownshirts were engaged in street fights with communists and other riff-raff opposed to Hitler.

“Gustav, I know you’re unhappy, but you are truly fortunate to be here at all. The criteria for entry into Germanica are very specific. You must bring something significant to the table. Let’s be honest, all you were was a low-level Party functionary and let’s be even more honest. You weren’t very good at it. The only thing you did of any consequence was to administer a group of informers. If it wasn’t for the fact that you and I were so close in the old days, we would have sent you away. Germanica cannot hold everyone in Germany. Our resources are extremely limited.”

“So, you’re saying I should quit complaining and be thankful.”

“Precisely. Now, I’ve gotten you a job as a clerk in my office. I would appreciate it if you did not fuck it up, at least not too badly,” he added, softening the comment with a smile.

Schneider had visions of himself and his filthy and starving family trudging down roads and looking for refugee camps. He shuddered. He would rather die. “I will do my best.”

Unger smiled. “Excellent. Now how is your family?”

“Gudrun is well. As a result of the food shortages, she’s even managed to lose a little weight. As to the children, they are a different matter. You are aware that they were ambushed and brutally beaten by that Jewess we took under our wing.”

Unger nodded solemnly. “I am. That was a terrible betrayal and so typical of a Jew. You saved the child from the ovens and for that she assaults Astrid and Anton. It’s almost unspeakable. How are they recovering?”

Gustav had no trouble speaking frankly to Unger. “It is coming slowly. For Anton, the physical pain is gone, but the psychological terror is there. He is now afraid of women. I even tried to have him serviced by a prostitute. She said he had a terrible time getting it up and couldn’t function at all unless it was dark. It was as if he was afraid of seeing a woman. I will bring this whore around whenever he feels like he can handle it.”

“Terrible,” said Unger.

“Astrid has had no problems like that. She sometimes gets severe headaches from being struck in the head, but even they seem to be less and less frequent. I am confident that she will recover fully in time. It’s Anton that I’m worried about. He has got to get over this irrational fear of women. If I could find a good psychiatrist here, I would like to use him.”

“I am not aware of any in Germanica, but I will check around.” It was not lost on either man that many of the better psychiatrists had been Jewish.

“It would be greatly appreciated. In the meantime, I take great joy in planning terrible revenge on the Jewish slut who almost killed my children. If I find her, she will die a long, agonizing death.”