Germanica

CHAPTER 13

The air raid system had failed. Again. There were supposed to be radar stations letting the German infantry know that the American planes were en route. So what had happened? It didn’t matter. Hummel and Schuster just wanted to survive the horror that was exploding all around them and threatening to blow out their lives.

The two men were in their strong little bunker but far from safe. Bombs exploding nearby were sending shock waves that threatened to collapse their fort and even suck the life from their lungs. Hummel had lost his hearing again, but that seemed to be it. Schuster, on the other hand, was clutching his knees to his chest and screaming silently. At least Hummel thought Schubert was silent. He wouldn’t know for certain until his hearing came back. Or if it came back. If he was deaf, would the army discharge him? Fat chance.

Schuster started to rock back and forth and Hummel could see that he’d wet himself. There was a pause in the bombing and, even though his hearing still wasn’t working right, Hummel could detect Schuster making loud, keening, screeching noises, lunatic noises.

Hummel reached out and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Calm down. It’ll be all over in a minute.”

It wasn’t. Schuster shook off Hummel’s hand. More bombers came and dropped still more bombs. The world was turning to dust and it felt like the earth was disintegrating. Hummel looked into Schuster’s eyes and saw nothing but madness. Schuster pushed Hummel away and tried to climb out of the bunker.

“Stop. You’ll get killed. Stay down here and be safe,” Hummel said.

Schuster clawed at the earth and continued to howl. The tips of his fingers were bloody and raw. Hummel tackled his friend and dragged him back to the relative safety of the bunker. Outside, it was raining murderous hot and sharp metal.

An explosion hit close by and caused the roof of their bunker to collapse. Now I know I’m going to die, Hummel thought. Schuster had stopped digging. He simply lay there, half covered with debris, his chest heaving. At least he’s alive, Schuster thought.

And then it was over. The bombers were gone until the next time. Hummel started to dig his way out, but it was difficult with Schuster inert and in the way. He called for help. A few minutes later, he heard voices and rescuers started digging. Another few minutes and Lieutenant Pfister and several other soldiers pulled the two men out and laid them on the ground. Someone poured water over Hummel’s head and then let him drink.

Pfister looked at Schuster who didn’t respond. “What happened to him?”

“It was the bombing, sir. He couldn’t handle it anymore.”

The lieutenant examined Schuster who lay there until someone sat him up. His eyes were blank. His mouth was open and his tongue lolled around.

“He isn’t faking it,” Pfister said. “I just hope he recovers soon.”

“Sir, should I take him to the hospital?” Hummel asked.

“And what will they do for him?” Pfister asked angrily. “He doesn’t have any apparent physical wounds, so the SS will decide that he’s a coward and not sick and hang him. No, he’s better off with us. Maybe this shock will wear off enough so that he can function, at least a little, but until then he stays with us. We’ll all take turns watching out for him until something happens.”

Hummel stared at his lieutenant and their eyes locked. They both nodded. Pfister was not going to fight to the death either, at least not if he could help it. It was good to know. Too bad it took turning his good friend into a vegetable in order to find it out.

* * *

Fifty-year-old Lieutenant General Lucian Truscott was the new commander of the U.S. Seventh Army. General Alexander Patch’s health had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer function in such a stressful position. They said he had pneumonia but Ike wondered if it wasn’t something more serious. Regardless, the Seventh Army needed a more vigorous commander and the strong Truscott was such a man. He was also a realist. He looked at Ike and Devers and asked a very simple question.

“I just flew up from Italy and crossed the Alps. We probably flew over German-held territory, but don’t worry. I don’t want any medals for that. The scenery was magnificent from a tourist’s point of view but appalling and horrible from a military one. Just how many men are you willing to lose while pushing south to Innsbruck, and what the hell do we do when we take the place? There are no real roads leading from Innsbruck to Bregenz or any other place that the Nazis feel is important.”

Ike winced. The backlash against continuing the war against Germany was gaining momentum. Back in the States, protests had become larger and louder, with many extoling the martyrdom of Mildred Ruffino. There had been no real violence yet, or any large refusals on the part of military personnel to do their duty, but there was tension. A handful of soldiers were being brought up on charges while others had declared that they had suddenly decided they were conscientious objectors. Ike had ordered that any court-martials be held in abeyance until the situation clarified itself. Some historians had likened the period to that just before the Russian Revolution broke out. Most thought that comparison was utter nonsense. It was inconceivable that soldiers would refuse to fight an enemy and form soviets to make collective decisions. Nor was there any inkling whatsoever that the nation’s hatred of Japan had receded. Just the opposite. The ever louder cries called for an American exit from Europe so that Japan could be squashed.

“We will do our duty,” Ike said tightly.

“Never suggested that we wouldn’t,” Truscott responded softly. His vocal cords had been damaged years earlier, which made some think he was soft spoken and not dynamic. Those who thought that way quickly found out that they were dreadfully wrong. “But has anybody thought of what might happen if the Japanese were to surrender first?”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Ike answered, forcing a smile. “Although I’ll admit that I’ve wondered that as well. While we can be fairly certain that it won’t happen, we cannot totally rule out the possibility. The Japs are suicidal stubborn bastards who won’t quit until the last one is dead. If they do go first, maybe it will motivate the Nazis to give up. Who the devil knows? Unless something dramatic happens to change the game, we’ll be fighting the Japs for a very long time.”

“I suppose that’s good to know,” said Devers. “However, it does mean that our boys will be getting killed by Japs and Germans instead of just Germans.”

Truscott was not finished. “It also means that I am not going to send our boys into a man-killing meat grinder. Have either of you seen a lion eat an elephant?”

“Not lately,” Ike said while Devers looked puzzled.

“Well, I haven’t either. But I understand that the lion eats the elephant one bite at a time. Now the German force is not an elephant. We are larger, you could say that we are the elephant, but they have the stronger ground. Therefore, there will be no more three-division frontal assaults and their subsequent appalling losses. We will isolate an area, pound and shell the crap out of it, and then chew it up and spit it out. It’ll take time and be slow but steady, but there won’t be anything much that the Germans can do. We eat a chunk and their positions to either side are in danger of being flanked while we expand the chunk. When that happens, they’ll either have to come out of their holes and attack or retreat. If they attack, we hit them with bombs and artillery and destroy them. If they retreat, which is the more likely scenario, they will soon wind up with their asses up a mountaintop and nowhere else to go.”

Ike nodded and checked his watch. He’d spent enough time in Strasbourg welcoming Truscott to his new position and he’d liked what he’d heard. Truscott would put immense pressure on the Germans and they would, sooner or later, fold. Some thoughts were nagging at him. In his position he heard rumors, or sometimes just rumors of rumors. They all said that the United States was developing some kind of super-weapon. If this was true, wonderful. If not, then life and death would go on and the Seventh Army would push its way south through the confines of the Brenner Pass towards Innsbruck while Mark Clark’s armies would claw their way north. After that, anything could happen.

* * *

Is there really a war on? thought Tanner. This day was just too idyllic for words. He and Lena were sitting on a blanket spread on the grass in a field and having an old-fashioned summer picnic. They were a few miles away from their workplaces and living quarters. Better, the weather was cooperating. It was pleasantly warm and the sun was shining.

It was the first time he’d been with Lena on a totally social basis and he’d been as nervous as a high school sophomore about asking her. Then, he’d been as pleased as a little kid when she agreed.

Tanner had gotten some good food from the cooks-fried chicken, potato salad, and apple pie with ice cream. A bottle of decent Rhine wine completed the picture.

Lena looked up at the blue sky and smiled. “You have no idea how many times I wished for the simple freedom to be able to do exactly this.”

“And with me?” he asked with an impish grin.

“Of course I didn’t know you then, but definitely with somebody like you. And that reminds me. You call me Lena and that’s correct, but how do I call you? Should I say Tanner or Captain Tanner or Scott, or, God help us, Scotty.”

Tanner laughed. “It’s always been as if I never had a first name. Everybody who knew me always called me Tanner. I would be very happy if that’s what you did.”

“Then Tanner it is, Tanner. Except when we are on duty and then I will remember your rank.” She looked around again. The not so distant mountains were sharply visible. “And I did not come with you just for the chance at some really good food, although that did help. I think you wanted to know me better and I felt the same way. Or am I being too forward and European.”

“I think you’re being just great.”

He also thought she looked great. Instead of the semi-military uniform she normally wore, she’d somehow scrounged up a white blouse and a full blue skirt that still showed enough of her shapely legs. She’d mentioned that she’d liked dancing and it showed in her lean muscles. Now that she no longer was a refugee, she no longer looked like one. She had a lovely trim and proportioned figure. He was also pleased that, unlike many European women, she did shave her legs. With her dark hair, it might have looked very strange to an American. She had no stockings. Few women did. She had attracted a lot of attention when he’d picked her up at the tent she shared with seven other women and drove her in a jeep to the picnic site.

“Someday I would like to go back to Prague,” she said wistfully.

“I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll try. You may have to wait a while. The Red Army is still setting up shop and things could be nasty until they really get the place under control.”

She leaned over and patted his arm. “I understand. I really do rather doubt that my father is even alive, much less waiting for me in Prague. Still, I would like to find out what I can.”

“Understood.” She had told him that Father Shanahan was going to use the Red Cross to help, but there was no Red Cross setup that she knew of in Prague. He wished that she hadn’t let go of his arm. God, he was again acting like a kid and he had the feeling she knew it and was laughing at him.

The day became evening and they talked about life, their pasts, and whatever futures they thought they might have or wanted. He already thought he knew the details of her life before the war and as a slave with the Schneiders, but she elaborated. She held his hand tightly while she told him, purging herself and crying a little. He wanted to kill the Schneiders, but she said no. The Schneiders were not worth it.

He drove her back to the tent where a couple of her other tent mates were lounging and trying not to stare.

“Come with me,” she said taking his arm and leading him to the tent. She stopped and looked in. “Both of you, out of here,” she said laughing.

A few seconds later, a pair of women came out, stared and smiled at Tanner. Lena took his hand and led him into the tent. The heat was stifling. “Have you ever seen anything quite so grand?”

Eight cots were set up in no apparent order. Clothes were strewn about and duffle bags hung from hooks. A bra lay on one cot. He asked if it was hers and she laughingly said no. “I am not a slob. All my things are put away.”

“You are right, though, Lena, this is truly magnificent.”

She didn’t bother to smile. She simply slipped into his arms and they kissed. The first one was most pleasant, even tender. The next few were much more passionate. She pulled away but kept smiling broadly.

“While it’s tempting, dear Tanner, I am not going to make love to you on an army cot with seven other women hanging around.”

He kissed her on the forehead and hoped that his erection would go down so that he could get to the jeep without drawing too much attention. “I will work on it. Maybe I will find you a palace for rent in Innsbruck.”

* * *

Ernst Schneider entered the small apartment he shared with his wife and their two grown children. At least he lived in the sunshine of Bregenz and not in a cave like so many others were forced to. He couldn’t decide if he felt foolish or terrified. His wife did not share his indecision.

“Good lord, Ernst,” she gasped, “what is that you have and what have you gone and done?”

“This is a Panzerfaust,” he announced proudly, holding out the several foot long tube-shaped device. “It is a tank killer and I am now a captain in the Volkssturm and this is one of the two weapons I’ve been issued. The other is an old Mauser rifle and they gave me a few dozen rounds of ammunition.”

“But why?” Gudrun asked. “Have things gotten so bad that the Reich has to enlist older civilians and men who are veterans of the first war?”

“I am not old,” he sniffed. “I am barely forty. And if I can help defend our country, I will do exactly that. The army is considering drafting men as young as our Anton.”

Gudrun rose quickly from her chair. Ernst could not help but notice how much spryer she was since she and all the others were now on an enforced diet. She had lost thirty pounds and he twenty. Both Anton and Astrid had also slimmed down. It was almost impossible to find a fat person in Germanica. This had led to numerous jokes about how Herman Goering would look if he had made it to the Third Reich’s last hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only one?” Gudrun asked.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

“I hope you speak Russian,” Hagerman said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this Vlasov still alive?”

“No idea, but unlikely.”

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

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

“And what is that?” Hagerman asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

All had been well until his mother died in the arms of Harry S. Truman, President of the United States. Like his late mother, he thought that Truman was an accidental president and not much of one. And, while he hadn’t given his mother’s antiwar activities much thought, her sudden death had changed his outlook. He had made himself a leader of Ruffino’s Marchers, a group dedicated to bringing the troops home. He had inherited all of his mother’s followers and added a number of his own. Mildred had gone from being a gadfly protester to a martyr. It was his fervent hope that her death would not have been in vain.

There would be another protest, but not a random one like the event that had seen his mother die. No, this one would be organized. Marchers would be grouped into companies and they would all have plenty of water and there would be doctors and nurses scattered through the crowd.

To his surprise and delight, Joey found that he could organize large numbers of people and, better, get them to follow him. When he talked, he spoke from the heart. He would not be able to bring his mother back, but it was his goal to make that Harry Truman person regret the day he’d become president.

* * *

SS General Alfonse Hahn looked up from the papers he was signing. Armies are supposed to fight, he thought, not drown in paperwork. “What is it, Diehl?”

“The prisoners have been broken, General.”

“I never doubted your abilities,” Hahn said with a smile, thinking of all the bodies, minds, and souls that Captain Rufus Diehl had destroyed.

The young people in the OSS team hadn’t been very good or very smart. They’d kept their radios too long in the same spot and it had been fairly easy to triangulate their rough location in the hills overlooking Bregenz. The fact that they were broadcasting had been noticed almost immediately by German radio experts who’d been on the lookout for just such an event. Locating them more precisely in the rough terrain had taken only a little bit longer.

Nor had they done a very good job of hiding their position. They were OSS, which meant that they were amateurs. He’d allotted one company of infantry to find them. They’d been caught in their sleeping bags. They hadn’t even set up a guard. It amused him when he was told that one of the men and a woman were sharing a sleeping bag and had been pulled naked from it. Now he knew just where and how Diehl’s interrogations would begin and he’d been right.

Hahn followed Diehl to the interrogation area. Torture chamber would have been a more accurate term, but interrogation had a more benign sound to it.

“Are all three of them alive, Captain?”

“No. The man named Hans managed to swallow a cyanide pill. The others, however, are still among the living.”

They entered a room where two people were laid out on cots. They were spread-eagled and their arms and legs were chained to the four corners of the cots. Their bodies were covered with only a sheet. Hahn pulled back the cover on the man. His body was a mass of burns caused by the electrical currents roaring through the clips and then into his body. He was unconscious and breathing shallowly.

“Will he recover?”

“If you wish him to, General.”

It was an easy decision. “I do wish it. Alive he can still be a tool. Dead he is only so much rotting meat.”

Two steps took him to the other cot. He pulled back the sheet. Despite the fact that the woman named Marie was badly bruised about the face, she was quite lovely. He was mildly annoyed that she had been beaten. Fists only cause pain, which can be tolerated. He preferred the subjects to be in agony and a state of terror. Besides, when he decided to take her, he wanted her looking as attractive as possible. He would have to wait until the swelling went down. He ran his hand down her breasts and between her legs. Her eyes opened wide with fear and horror. She closed them tightly as if doing so would make him go away.

Diehl was proud. “They told us everything they knew. We now know the names of their confederates and their locations in Arbon. We could go in and wipe them all out if that’s your wish. You said you wanted the girl totally broken so we did. Once she told us everything she knew, we told her she was a liar and that she was holding back.”

Hahn laughed. Giving a prisoner false hope and then snatching it away was a marvelous technique for extracting additional information.

Diehl continued. “We brought out the bathtub and filled it with water. We stuck her head underwater and waited to bring her up until she had half drowned. We did this a half dozen times; then we did it to her lover. I am extremely confident that she will cooperate.”

Hahn continued to probe her. Her eyes were open again and the look of terror excited him. She tried to twist her body away from him, which was quite impossible. “Sadly, Captain, we will not go after the OSS in Switzerland. An attack by us on Swiss soil would annoy the people who are providing us with so much in the way of food and medical supplies. Catching this pathetic little group in German territory was fair. Going into Switzerland would not be. Tell me, are there any women in the OSS group still in Arbon?”

Diehl quickly checked his notes. “One young woman named Winifred Tyler. She’s short and about in her mid-twenties.”

And doubtless the slut who’d tripped him and escaped from him. How nice it would be to have her in front of him instead of Marie Leroux. No, he could not fixate on the Tyler woman. The Americans in Arbon were doubtless scattering to the four winds. Even if he were to get permission to launch a raid, the Yanks were doubtless well away from this area of the world. No, Marie Leroux would have to take Winifred Tyler’s place.

Marie continued to stare at him through swollen and discolored eyelids. He again allowed his hands to roam her body, feeling her quiver. It delighted him. She had no further information that would be useful.

“Did you sodomize her, Captain?”

Diehl smiled. “Indeed, sir. She screamed when I entered her, and her lover howled just as much. It went as you ordered.”

He patted Marie on the cheek. “You are a lovely thing and you will be quite useful. Your lover is still alive and will remain so as long as you cooperate. Do you understand?”

The OSS had been fools to send lovers on the same journey. Along with pain from electrical currents, Diehl had told the boy that German soldiers would rape his girlfriend in front of him, which was one reason for sodomizing her. Another was that Diehl enjoyed it. Marie’s lover was told that the interrogators would mutilate her face and body. He had made much the same threat to Marie with the added proviso that she would watch while his manhood was slowly cut from his body. That had been the last straw. Both had collapsed.

Marie nodded and Hahn continued. “Diehl will be responsible for seeing to it that you are given medical care and that your wounds are healed. We will do the same for your boyfriend. As long as you are a good little girl, he will remain alive.”