Germanica

CHAPTER 19

Ernie hugged Winnie. “I love you; now get the hell out of here.”

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. “I love you too, especially when you talk so romantically. But you know I can’t go too far. I have a job to do, too. I don’t like it that Arbon is so close to the German border either, but I volunteered for this job just like you did.”

They were in the rear of the suite of offices that were the United States consulate in Arbon. Normally, a small town like Arbon wouldn’t rate a consul, perhaps just a local person authorized to dispense with routine affairs on a part-time basis, but her proximity to the German border and the newly ordained capital at Bregenz made an exception to the rule a necessity.

“Winnie, people are leaving this one-chalet town. They know the war’s going to come and they know that mistakes always happen, sometimes even accidentally.”

She released him. “What are you implying?”

“Only that we’re pawns in this giant thing called World War II, and that maybe the U.S. would like to smack Switzerland across the head for being so helpful to the Germans. Rumor has it that some priests in the Vatican are now helping Nazis escape. I’m not accusing Pius XII of anything wrong, but some in the Church’s hierarchy certainly are. While we can’t bomb St. Peter’s, maybe we can hit a small town in Switzerland and let it serve as a warning to those who would help the Nazis.”

Winnie was shocked. “Are you saying that the President of the United States is that devious?”

“Show me a politician who isn’t devious and I’ll show you someone who died several years ago. Don’t you ever wonder just what Dulles is really up to? Here we are planning to fight a final battle with the Nazis and the Russians are expanding their reign over much of Europe. What do you think Truman and Dulles think about that? What do you think they might do to slow down the Reds?”

“Are you saying there might be another war, only this time with the commies?”

“Winnie, I think you can almost count on it.”

Winnie was about to reply when air raid sirens began to wail.

* * *

“Once more into the breach,” said Sibre. He and Schafer headed a flight of almost a hundred P51 and P47 fighters as they escorted a miles long stream of several hundred American bombers. Most were B17s, but there were B24s and B25s as well. They were headed for Bregenz and most of the men were delighted. It meant an end to the German’s sanctuary and hopefully an end to a war that seemed to have gone on forever-with America starring in it.

Deep down they knew that was an untrue and unkind statement. Both Great Britain and the Soviet Union had been fighting for far longer and, in the case of the Soviets, had suffered appalling losses.

Their target was the center of the capital of Germany. They would fly, drop their bombs and then leave by flying over Lake Constance. The stream of planes would turn north and head for their home fields. It was understood that this would involve flying over Swiss territory. It was also understood that they could return the fire of anyone who shot at them, regardless of where the firing was coming from. Nor were they to concern themselves about the likely killing of innocent civilians. If those deaths could help save Americans, then their deaths would not be in vain.

Puffs of black smoke appeared around their planes. Flak. “Can you see the guns?” Sibre asked. A moment later Schafer said he could and dived for the ground. Sibre swore and followed, along with several others.

As they got lower, more and more German guns sent shells up to meet them. “Where the hell are they getting the guns?” Schafer yelled. “They must have been saving them for a rainy day.”

They dropped their bombs and strafed what they hoped was a gun emplacement. There was no secondary explosion, which made them doubt it. Regaining altitude, they saw that the Germans were targeting the bomber stream and that several had been hit. One B24 blew up, sending debris and bodies all over the sky. Others were either burning or had chunks bitten out of their wings or tails. A surprising number were either cripples or had turned around. They wondered how many casualties were inside the planes and whether or not the wounded would live. Their buddy Morelli had died of his injuries a few hours after they’d visited him. They convinced themselves that it was for the best but that was a hard sell. Morelli had been a human being, not a dog that needed to be put down.

“Once more and this time with feeling,” said Sibre. The raid was becoming a disaster. During their briefing, the intelligence officer had minimized the German antiaircraft defenses. Now they’d like to get the dumb bastard up in a plane so he could see what was really happening.

They strafed another possible site and pulled up. They were out of ammunition. Now all they could do was try to distract the Germans. As if to mock them, a B17 flew nose-first into the ground and exploded in an enormous ball of fire. Neither man said a word, but each wondered if anyone had gotten out before it hit.

The bomber stream had begun to disintegrate. Cohesion was lost and planes were flying in numerous directions.

“Where the hell are those idiots going?” Schafer yelled. A dozen bombers were following another one that was on fire. Their route was taking them over the border and towards a number of small towns in Switzerland.

“This is going to be bad,” said Sibre, and Schafer concurred. The lead plane’s left wing suddenly broke off and the bomber began a death spiral to the ground. They didn’t want to, but they couldn’t help but watch. Hatches opened and several men jumped out. They counted four, but there were ten in the crew. Four chutes opened, but where would they land? Both agreed that it would be Switzerland, which meant that the Americans would be safe.

“Oh no,” said Sibre. The other planes’ bomb bay doors were open and bombs began to fall out and downward. They were bombing Switzerland. Had the commanding officer made a mistake, gotten lost, or was he pissed at the dense German antiaircraft fire? They would never know. The new lead plane took a hit and fell apart. This time there were no chutes.

* * *

Winnie and Ernie huddled in a shelter along with several dozen other people. As the explosions drew nearer, an elderly Swiss gentleman with a well-trimmed white beard glared at Ernie. “Can’t you bloody people be trusted to tell Germany from Switzerland?”

“It ain’t all that easy from maybe twenty thousand feet and with a few score antiaircraft guns blazing away at you. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

The gentleman was about to respond when more bombs hit and caused the shelter to vibrate. Ernie was going to add to his comments when the old man simply disappeared in a rain of flesh and bone.

Ernie managed to cover his and Winnie’s heads with his jacket with one hand and cup his balls with the other as the shelter fell apart. “Winnie!” he yelled as consciousness faded and then disappeared.

* * *

Werner Heisenberg had been given American fatigues and been flown to New York in a DC3. He was accompanied by two MPs and others on the flight assumed he was a prisoner. If they were puzzled by the fact that he wasn’t in irons, nobody said anything. From there it was time to refuel and change pilots. Then it was another hop to Washington. He was tired and frightened. Were they taking him to America to be shot, hanged, or put on display as a war criminal? He was a scientist, not a criminal. How could he convince them of that?

The major in Bonn had quickly found his name on a list and he had been interviewed by an Alsos team, primarily to make sure he was who he claimed to be. From there he had been flown to an American air base in England where he figured he’d be interned for the duration. He’d been there only a couple of days when he was put on a plane and sent across the Atlantic.

After landing in Washington, he’d been put in a staff car and he’d promptly fallen asleep. When he was awakened, he was astonished to find that he was at the White House and would be meeting with President Truman in a few minutes. That and a cup of excellent coffee had perked him up. Perhaps they weren’t going to try him as a criminal after all.

He was taken to the Oval Office and given some more coffee. It was fascinating to see a national capital that hadn’t been bombed and devastated. Even during his brief stay in England, he had seen where bombs and rockets had struck.

He was ushered into the president’s office. Truman was seated behind a large wooden desk. He was introduced to General Marshall and General Groves. He knew who Marshall was but only knew of Groves as the man who had built the Pentagon.

“Tell us about Abraham Esau,” Truman said.

Heisenberg blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. “Dr. Esau is an excellent physicist, one of Germany’s leading scientists.”

“Is he as good as you?” asked Groves.

“No. He is a good man, but definitely second tier.”

Truman leaned forward. “Could he and a small team located in the Alps build an atomic bomb?”

Heisenberg smiled broadly. So this is what this is all about. “Doctor Esau couldn’t build a bomb if he had all the resources in the world and all the time in the world.”

* * *

Heisenberg was brought up to speed. He was told about the German threat to use a bomb and that Truman was thinking about halting the attack on Bregenz because of the fear of what a bomb might do to massed American forces.

There was more coffee and some sandwiches. “Gentlemen,” Heisenberg continued, “there was never a threat of a German atomic bomb. I had already seen to that.”

Truman was astonished. “What do you mean?”

“Because I could not abide the thought of a monster like Hitler getting his filthy paws on a weapon like the atomic bomb. There were several competing programs, but mine was the major one. I saw to it that we were constantly going off in the wrong direction. Along with not having enough Uranium, all I had to work with were second and third-rate talents. The Nazis considered physics to be Jewish science and chased the good ones away. I assume that they are working for you.”

“That’s a safe assumption,” said Groves as he reached for another sandwich. “But does Goebbels know that?”

Heisenberg shrugged. “He was the Minister of Propaganda. He might be lying or he might be being lied to. Who knows? Now, may I politely ask what will happen to this information and to me?”

Truman smiled coldly and Heisenberg could see how people could underestimate the short man with the wire-rimmed glasses. “As to your motives, I don’t give a damn. For all I care you are lying through your teeth about intentionally derailing the bomb research and really wanted it to succeed because you were a good Nazi until the end and decided it was time to save your ass. In the meantime, you will remain in our custody. You will be kept comfortable and secure. And, if by chance, the German bomb does work, I will personally blow your goddamned brains out. If their bomb is either a dud or a fraud, you will be rewarded. In the meantime, the attack on Bregenz will go on as scheduled, and God help us all.”

Heisenberg was led away. He would be sent to the Marine Barracks in Washington and held in confinement. He was confident that he would be vindicated. But then he felt a chill. What if, just if, Esau and his people had indeed managed to utilize existing research to develop something that could cause great harm to the United States Army? It didn’t have to be a full-fledged atomic bomb. Something close would do just as well.

* * *

Josef Goebbels was frightened but safe. His shelter was in the bowels of a hill overlooking Bregenz. Even so, the room shook and he looked at the walls and roof to see if they would stand up to the pressure of Allied bombs.

No senior members of his government were with him. They were all in other shelters, fled to Switzerland, or dead. More explosions and the mountain seemed to rise up from the ground.

He fingered the little box in his pants pocket. Was it time? If he wanted to die, he would have to take the cyanide at the earliest possible moment. He hadn’t thought of it, but he now thought it possible that he could be injured in a bombing attack and unable to reach the capsules. The rain of bombs was beginning to taper off. He would live through this day. Still, he had to be better prepared. He smelled smoke but nothing to indicate a major fire.

The door to the shelter was cracked open. “Minister!” yelled an officer from outside.

“Over here,” Goebbels said and managed to stand with great difficulty. He was shaking, but why? He’d endured far worse while in Berlin. It was because he now realized that any feelings of safety he’d had were an illusion, a pipe dream.

The steel door to the cave was open and his officers were tentatively stepping outside. The sky was clear and there were no fresh contrails in the sky. Much of Bregenz was in ruins. Dark smoke was heavy and firefighters were at work. There would be little shortage of water since the city was close to the lake. Dead and wounded were being pulled from the rubble, proof that not everyone had taken the threat of bombing seriously. Goebbels wondered if this would stiffen the spines of those left to fight for Hitler’s vision. Sadly, he doubted it. Instead, there would be an exodus to the Swiss border.

Field Marshal Schoerner stood watching the activity. He did nothing and Goebbels didn’t either. The people in charge of handling disasters such as this were doing an excellent job. They did not need anyone yelling encouragement at them.

Schoerner smiled. “Minister, did you hear the good news?”

“What good news could there be? The Americans bombed us. There is no longer any sanctuary.”

“The Americans made a huge mistake. For some reason, they bombed Arbon as well.”

Goebbels perked up, suddenly elated. If the Swiss were angry enough at the assault on their territory, would they be willing to ally themselves with the Reich? The addition of the Swiss Army to Germany’s defenses would cause the Americans to think about the blood price that must be paid. Perhaps this day wasn’t such a miserable one after all.

And he still had an atomic bomb to fire at the Americans. Was it time to launch? No, he told himself. Not just yet.

* * *

Why am I tied up? he thought. He wanted to strain at the bonds that restricted his movement, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His brain wouldn’t function. His thoughts were coming out mushy and incoherent.

And he couldn’t see. Am I blind? He twisted as much as he could but nothing seemed to be working. He was able to blink and felt something over his eyes. What had happened? The last thing Ernie recalled was being in a shelter and something exploding. He thought he recalled a man scolding him before the man disappeared.

Oh God. Had Winnie been with him? He couldn’t recall. Was she okay? He had to find out. He tried to move again and thought there was some feeling in his right leg but nothing in his left. He took a deep breath. Okay, I’m alive. He tried to say something but only a squawk came out and he wasn’t certain he’d made any sound anyhow.

Something grazed his right hand. “Ernie? Can you hear me?” It was Winnie’s voice, and he exulted. She was alive and clearly in better shape than he was. “If you’re conscious, just nod.”

It took willpower but he did. “Wonderful,” Winnie said. “Now I’m going to put a straw in your mouth so you can get some water in you.”

A few moments later he was sucking on a straw and drinking cold, clear water. A few more moments and he tried to talk. It came out as a croak so he drank some more water. Better.

“Where am I?” he whispered.

“In a hospital in Arbon, and don’t try to talk too darn much. Since you can hear me, just listen. You were found in the rubble of that bomb shelter. You were very lucky. Several people were killed.”

Ernie nodded, recalling the explosion and the death of the old man.

“You were injured pretty badly. While I was thrown clear and am unhurt except for some more bruises, you’ve got a broken leg and several smashed ribs. Fortunately, it’ll all heal but it will take some time, although you will be up on crutches in a short while. I hope you weren’t counting on dancing anytime soon.”

He smiled and felt her tears fall on his cheek. “A bunch of American bombers got lost and dropped their load on Arbon. The Swiss government is furious. You and I are technically under arrest, although you are obviously not going to escape. They’ve decided to let me stay with you for the time being. Dulles is a major diplomat so he has more immunity than we do and he’s trying to straighten out the mess with the Swiss government. He thinks he will succeed since the Swiss are such pragmatists.”

Ernie reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Am I blind?”

“Oh God, no. You’ve got some serious cuts on your forehead and around your eyes. You caught a lot of debris with your thick skull, which knocked you out. Your head is bandaged up and you’ve been restrained so you won’t pull your bandages off or thrash around and hurt your leg even more than it is already.”

“Take off the bandages. I want to see that you’re really okay.”

“Tomorrow. Right now a nice nurse is going to give you some more morphine so you can sleep in happy land and get some rest. They tell me that when the morphine wears off, you will be in great pain, so be prepared.”

“Will you be with me?”

“Yes, dear, of course.” Again he felt her tears and then her lips grazing his. Then it was time for a deep sleep.

* * *

Ensign Ted Kubiak, USNR, looked on in disbelief as one of his small crew leaned over the side of the boat and donated his lunch to the little fish. The rest of the crew were laughing hysterically.

“Dalton, you cannot be sick. This is a river and the water is barely moving. There are no waves. You’ve ridden out storms with no problems. What the hell is wrong with you now?

A very green Dalton stood up. To Kubiak’s disgust he had slobbered down his chin and onto his shirt. “Don’t know, sir. Maybe it’s because it isn’t rough enough. I’d love to stop barfing but I just can’t seem to.”

The twenty-four-year-old Kubiak shook his head and joined in the laughter. Despite his stomach problems, Dalton was a good guy, a draftee from West Virginia. Like Kubiak, Dalton had never seen combat. He and all the others had missed the landings at Normandy and in Southern France. They’d been scheduled to attack the Japanese island of Kyushu, but the Japanese surrender had put a welcome halt to their preparations for what promised to be a terrible fight against an insane and fanatic enemy. They’d gotten new orders and these sent them to France-and now up the Rhine. “Up the Rhine” seemed strange. Every time he looked at a map he wanted to say down the Rhine, but he was assured that they were going up the Rhine towards its source, which he thought was in Switzerland.

The long column of landing craft had made it up the Rhine to the Swiss border. There had been multiple stops for the boats to be refueled and the crew allowed time to eat and sleep. Numerous other columns of boats were towed by tugs with the crew simply along as passengers. None of the craft carried any troops, only U.S. Navy crews. Soldiers would come on board at the small German town of Lindau, a few miles away from the Nazi capital of Bregenz. This was assuming that the American forces had taken the city.

They had been further delayed by the need to ensure that the river was clear of obstructions. Channels had been made through the remains of the bridges that had been destroyed by German demolitions. Buoys had been laid to mark the existence of other potential dangers. Mines were not a major factor, although the possibility of their presence had not been ignored. Minesweepers kept a lookout for them and sharpshooters were constantly present and alert. If a mine was spotted, the riflemen would shoot and detonate the mine.

There were no problems. And the trip had taken on the feeling of a Rhine cruise vacation. The days were still bright and sunny. Numbers of sailors had stripped to their skivvies and lolled the sun, enjoying the scenic cliffs and historic castles as they passed them by. Heidelberg was pointed out along with the Rock of the Lorelei and everyone was curious about an ugly, squatty little fortresslike thing in the middle of the river. One of the men said it had been a medieval toll booth, which the guys thought was funny. The idea of boats paying tolls had never occurred to them.

None of them had ever seen the Rhine, and they had been stunned by the steep earthen walls that nature had carved, forming a natural line of fortifications. It was easy to see that the Germans could have held the river line for a very long time and how fortunate the American army was to have taken the bridge at Remagen before it collapsed.

Earlier in the war there had been problems with a shortage of landing craft. Increased production had partly solved that, while the transfer of the small boats from the now dormant Pacific theater had completed it. Thus, there was an abundance of landing craft of all sizes heading up the Rhine. Their destination was Lake Constance.

Kubiak’s landing craft was relatively large. It was able to hold one hundred men or a tank and fifty men. Some genius in Cologne had decided that the tank could be shipped with the landing craft and later joined by a crew, so a Sherman tank was tied down in the hull. Scores of other craft had similar cargoes. Nor was the craft totally defenseless. Two fifty-caliber machine guns were mounted in the prow.

He had written his parents and girlfriend that he’d gotten his first independent command and implied that it was a major warship. He’d then intentionally spoiled the illusion by sending a photo of the squat and homely vessel. The crew had voted to name her Brunhilde.

Nor were they alone one their journey. On several occasions they’d had to pull off to the west bank of the Rhine and wait while American destroyers surged ahead, like slow traffic on a highway letting faster vehicles go by. Someone joked that the destroyers were going to take on the legendary Swiss navy. Most didn’t think it was funny. The presence of the destroyers simply emphasized the seriousness of their situation and reminded them that their respite was likely temporary.

Kubiak bit his lip at the thought of taking his men into combat. There was no doubt that the landing would be a difficult one. The Germans were dying and those who were left were the worst of the worst. And what the hell were the rumors about gas?

Still, they all consoled themselves that they weren’t fighting the crazy Japs. At least most of the Germans were willing to surrender, excepting of course the SS.

* * *

Allen Dulles was stern and unsmiling. “Of course we regret the tragedy, but it was an accident of war, nothing intentional. We have apologized and, when the fighting is over, we will make reparations.”

Swiss General Henri Guisan was equally stern. They were in the lightly damaged Arbon City Hall. Dulles’ nose was running, caused by the lingering scent of burned buildings and living flesh. He was fighting the nausea caused by the several comingled stenches.

Guisan declined to notice the other man’s discomfort. “More than a hundred Swiss civilians were killed and an equal number injured. Several city blocks have been flattened and burned. We want the guilty parties punished.”

“I would too, if there was a guilty party to blame. Unfortunately, the pilot and crew of the lead bomber were all killed. I consider it possible that key members of the crew were injured when the plane was hit and went off course as a result. That led other bombers to follow their leader. If you wish to go higher up the chain of command to try to find guilty parties you will get nowhere. Why don’t you pin the blame on the late Herr Hitler who, if memory serves me, started this whole mess? If you want guilt, I would suggest that you nominate yourself and others in the Swiss government.”

Guisan nearly jumped out of his chair but caught himself in time. “What! That’s preposterous.”

“Yes, General. If you had cooperated more fully with us and opened your border to German soldiers who wished to surrender instead of turning them back to the SS, it is entirely possible that the Nazi government would have collapsed. In fact, I urge you to do that now. Announce that you will give sanctuary to any German soldier who crosses over and perhaps there won’t be any German soldiers left when the real fighting begins. Wouldn’t you like to see Herr Goebbels walking around Bregenz alone and confused and the world at peace again?”

Guisan’s expression softened. “I’ll admit the vision has some merit. I will further admit that what happened was indeed an accident. I am, however, required to protest vehemently, but I know that you know that as well.”

“Then let me make another suggestion. At some point in the fighting, when the moment is appropriate, send the Swiss army across the border to attack the rear of the German forces. This could be done unilaterally by Switzerland without signing any formal alliance with the United States. This would preserve your position of neutrality. You could simply state that it was necessary to protect Swiss lives and property. It would also assure you of the good will of the United States by shortening the war and saving American lives. And perhaps it would save Swiss civilians from further accidents as the fighting gets closer.”

“You have incredible gall.”

Dulles checked his watch with dramatic flourish. “Time is short, General. Please think about it. You would not want to find out that your precious neutrality is a fiction.”

* * *

Cullen grabbed Tanner’s arm. “I think you should come outside with me.”

Tanner did as he was told. It was evening and the first thing he noticed was a distinct chill in the air. It was further evidence that the days of warm weather were drawing to a close. The mountaintops were often hidden by mists. They formed a cover that did not always disappear the next day. In only a few more weeks, serious snowfalls would begin, making campaigning in the Alps a virtual impossibility.

Cullen again grabbed Tanner. “Quit gawking at the scenery and come with me.”

“Yes, Mother.”

They came to the tent that housed Father Shanahan’s Catholic chapel. Cullen pushed Tanner inside and closed the flap, leaving him alone. It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw Lena standing by the makeshift altar. She was crying and had an envelope in her hand.

He ran to her and held her while Cullen tactfully disappeared. “Is something wrong?” he asked and realized it was a terribly dumb question to ask. Of course something was wrong. She handed him the envelope. “It’s a letter that Father Shanahan got. It’s from my father. He’s alive,” she laughed and added, “obviously.”

“That’s great. How is he?”

“He says he’s in good health and has been looking for me. Even more amazing, he’s in New York.”

Tanner laughed. “How on earth did he get there?”

“He says it’s a long story and he’ll tell me when we’re together. He’s working in a pharmacy and trying to get his doctor’s license back. He says that isn’t going to be difficult once his English improves. He wants me to come to New York as well.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Of course it is, Tanner thought. There would be nothing for her in Czechoslovakia.

“Yes, but I’m not going anywhere without you. The army will give me a glowing recommendation to expedite my status as an immigrant. But you have to come with me. You do love me, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much,” he said and they hugged again.

Lena stroked his cheek. “Once upon a time, you told me that you could get a medical discharge because of your problems with trench foot and pneumonia. Why don’t you do that, and we can get married and go to America.”

Tanner took a deep breath. “That sounds like the greatest idea I’ve heard in a long, long time. However, I don’t think we’re going anywhere until this war is over or at least this battle has ended. Not only would the army shoot down any request of mine right now, despite what Hagerman says, but I don’t think I could leave without doing my part.”

“I understand. However, that means you have to do one more thing for me. You have to promise me that you will do everything in your power to stay alive.”

Sure, he thought as he made the promise. Words are easy. But how would it be on a landing craft headed for the coast of Lake Constance and the German capital of Bregenz? Survival had always been his number one priority, and it was even more important now that he’d met Lena.

Rather than thinking dark thoughts, they both thought it was best if they spent these precious few minutes holding each other and wishing they had more than a few minutes.

* * *

Another betrayal, thought Josef Goebbels as he contemplated the message he’d just been handed. What remained of his intelligence service said that the Swiss were moving large numbers of troops towards the border. This was coming on the heels of their surprising announcement that any deserters from the German army would be welcomed with open arms by the Swiss government and not returned to Germany against their will. Obviously the Swiss had succumbed to pressure from the Americans. Air drops of leaflets proclaiming this had inundated the German lines. So far there had not been a mass exodus towards Switzerland, but he could only wonder when it would happen. More than ever he needed the strong and harsh efforts of his loyal SS.

That assumed, of course, that they remained loyal. How many would emulate Hahn and try to disappear? How many had false papers and money hidden away, waiting for just the right moment to disappear? Probably most of them, he thought wryly-after all, he did.

And now the Americans were also littering the place with pamphlets promising death and destruction on a level never seen before if the Wehrmacht did not surrender. The pamphlets hinted broadly at the expanded use of napalm, of an atomic bomb, and, perhaps most terribly, poison gas. Even the dumbest or most fanatic German soldier could tell that the Thousand Year Reich was in its death spasms. A thousand years? Goebbels laughed harshly. It had not lasted two decades. Hitler was dead and Germany was in ruins. Any idea Goebbels had of dying as a noble martyr had long since passed. When the time came, he would do as Hahn and so many others had done. He would cross the border and use the chain of safe houses that had been established for just such a contingency. He had the necessary false papers and the money to get away safely. It was a shame that he was so recognizable. He walked with a limp and his face and nose were not easily forgotten. Perhaps he could disguise himself as a woman, or have a doctor put a fake cast on his leg?

The sirens went off again. He swore. It was another damn raid by the Americans. What would it be this time, more pamphlets or napalm? He’d just gotten word that the Yanks had taken Lindau, only a few miles up the coast. The Yanks were exerting steady pressure against Vietinghoff’s units to the east. No major frontal attacks, just a constant nibbling from positions of power.

* * *

Napalm. The woods were burning. Hummel and Pfister could smell the stench of burning woodland as well as cooking flesh, much of it human.

Pfister was near his breaking point and wide-eyed with fear. “Do you think there will be a forest fire?” he asked. The thought of a wave of flames overcoming them and scorching them was terrifying.

“It’s too wet,” said Schubert and both Hummel and Pfister stared. Their shell-shocked companion had been responding to questions more and more lucidly. Maybe he really was on the road to recovery.

Schubert looked around him and continued. “Where the bomb lands it’ll burn, but there’s little wind and everything is wet. There will be no firestorm like the Americans want to let loose on us.”

“What should we do?” Hummel asked. Despite what Schubert had said, he’d begun shaking with fear.

“Stay here,” said Pfister. “But we keep an eye out for signs of a fire coming towards us. If that happens, we run like the devil.”

Hummel was about to say something when there was an intrusion. “What the hell is going on? What are you cowardly shits up to?”

It was an SS captain. They didn’t know his name, but they’d seen him before. Their assessment of him was that he was an arrogant prick. He was associated with the SS antiaircraft detachment that had moved in too close to them for comfort.

Pfister snapped to attention while Hummel and Schubert got to their feet. Hummel noticed that Schubert had gotten his hands on a pistol, which was tucked in his belt. Why hadn’t he noticed that before and where had Schubert found it?

Pfister answered. “Sir, we are trying to stay out of sight. We believe that your battery of eighty-eights will draw American fire from the lake, or even their planes. Therefore, we will stay hidden until the Americans actually move towards us from the lake. Then we will return to our positions and chop them to pieces.”

The captain sniffed and then sneered. “I doubt that you will chop anything to pieces. I think you are a pack of cowards. I think you are planning to skulk here until the Americans come close and then you will surrender. You will be of no use to me unless you move closer to where my guns are dug in and waiting to take on the Americans. Now get up and move back to your real positions.”

Hummel’s mind was racing. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Pfister, however, seemed reconciled to it. “As you wish, Captain,” he said.

The captain walked over to Schubert who now seemed very confused and shaken. “What is your problem, soldier?”

“I don’t want to die,” Schubert said and began to weep.

The SS captain was shocked. “Fucking coward,” he said and smacked Schubert across the face. “I’m going to take you back and see that you are hanged.”

“No!” howled Schubert. He pulled the pistol from his tunic pocket and fired point blank at the SS man, emptying the clip into his chest. The SS man fell backwards and immediately began vomiting copious amounts of blood. He tried to get up but couldn’t. He looked around at his killers and then lay back down.

Pfister checked his pulse. “Dead,” he said with a smile. “Good job, Schubert.”

“He wanted us to die. I don’t want to die. I just want to go home.”

“We all do,” said Hummel. He held out his hand and Schubert took it. Hummel spoke gently. “I think you should let me take care of that pistol while we get rid of this man’s body.” Schubert nodded and handed over the weapon. It was a Mauser C96, a weapon that had been issued to the Wehrmacht in the thirties, but was now considered obsolete. Again he wondered just how the devil Schubert had gotten it? Hummel asked and Schubert said he didn’t remember. He also didn’t have any more ammunition.

“Somebody’s likely to miss the swine sooner or later,” said Pfister as he jabbed the body with his foot. “Speaking for myself, I do not want to get in a gunfight with our own army. We will find someplace safer.”

“May I suggest we leave him here with his pistol in his hand?” Hummel said. “Perhaps someone will think the obnoxious bastard committed suicide?”

“Hummel, that is an absolutely evil solution. I like it. However, how would someone shoot himself eight or nine times? No, we will strip him, hide him in the woods and hope he’s an unidentifiable mess by the time he’s discovered. Maybe we can find a place where napalm has started a fire that is still burning, and leave him there?”