Germanica

CHAPTER 7

The rifle shot came from a clump of evergreens a hundred yards down the road. Tanner and Hill ducked while their driver swerved the jeep and tried to keep from crashing. Someone was screaming in pain. At least it isn’t me, Tanner thought. Hill and Tanner got the men out of their jeeps. The machine guns mounted on them opened fire and began to chew up the trees. Individual American soldiers began firing their M1s in the general direction of the forest.

Tanner clutched his helmet. “If the sniper has a brain, he’s far, far away by now.”

A second shot and a third followed. “He doesn’t have a brain,” said Hill. “But the son of a bitch is cunning. He waited for the lead elements to go by his position before shooting. We were a little complacent and now we’re paying for it.”

Two men had been shot and one looked very seriously wounded with a bullet in the abdomen. The second had a broken arm and medics were caring for both. Tanner shook his head. The one with the broken arm would be fine, but the other had his stomach ripped open. Medics were working on the gut wound, but the looks on their faces said that their efforts would be futile.

“I’m going to take a squad and go after him, or them,” Hill said. “We could call in air support but who knows how long that would take. I suggest you stay here, Captain. I don’t think you know all that much about infantry tactics.”

“No argument.”

A few minutes later, Tanner thought he heard gunfire, but the trees muffled sounds so thoroughly that he wasn’t certain. He hoped to hell that Hill knew what he was doing. Waiting for the air force to splatter the forest with napalm wasn’t all that bad an idea, he thought.

* * *

Sergeant Hill’s men spread out and, taking turns, moved towards, and then into, the woods. He took a chance and had a couple of his men race ahead to cut off what he felt were only one or two Germans. They quickly found where the sniper had been hiding and there was evidence that he’d had a companion, somebody else to spot for him. Now how fast were they moving?

For a second he was stunned as a bullet splintered the tree next to his head the same time he heard the gun fire. He dropped and swore. “Anybody see anything?”

“I did,” one of his men yelled and began firing into a group of trees. Others followed suit, chewing up the forest.

Hill was about to order them to stop wasting ammo when he heard a scream. Jesus, he thought, they’d actually hit someone.

He called for covering fire and the advance continued, although more carefully. They might have wounded, or even killed, one Nazi, but there was at least one more out there someplace.

The men laid down more covering fire and Hill was only a few yards from the trees. Suddenly, a bloodied German soldier with a hand grenade charged out, screaming “Heil Hitler!” at the top of his lungs. Hill and the others fired and bullets ripped through him. He limply threw the grenade, which went only a few feet before exploding, pulverizing the German’s body.

There was a crump sound from inside the trees. “I think the second guy shipped himself off to Valhalla,” Hill said. He signaled them forward. Inside the grove, the second German was just as dead as the first. He too had chosen suicide by hand grenade rather than be captured. What the hell kind of enemy is this? he wondered.

He looked at the bodies and felt ill. They were too young. “Private, get the captain.”

* * *

Tanner had been waiting, frustrated and angry. He should have gone with Hill. So what if he wasn’t an infantryman? He was in command wasn’t he? He should have pretended to lead and followed all of Hill’s suggestions. Damn.

Finally and after what seemed an eternity, a soldier emerged and beckoned. Tanner rose and followed the man into the woods. Hill appeared and led him the last few feet. Two bodies lay side by side on the ground. Both German soldiers had been shredded by their own grenades. They had been dragged there so they could be searched.

“I don’t think we need to call for a medic,” Hill said sarcastically.

“A mop might be more appropriate.” The corpses had been thoroughly riddled. Tanner looked closely at the bodies. “Wait, just how old are these guys?”

“Just out of diapers is my guess. I noticed that too. I got curious and pulled their ID. One is fifteen and the other is fourteen. Just like us, the Nazis have run out of manpower if this is what they’re throwing at us. These two Nazis should be in high school, not out here trying to kill us.”

Both young men were on their backs and staring at the sky, although one of them had only one eye remaining. “Congress is going crazy because we’re using eighteen-year-olds in combat. I think our Congress should come out here and see this. I guess eighteen is ancient to the German army.”

“Wait, look at this,” said Hill. Each young man had a strange patch on his shoulder. It was a stylized animal face with flaming red eyes. “All right, Captain, can you tell me what the hell this represents? Is this what I think it is, sir?”

“I sincerely hope I’m wrong, but it sure looks like a nightmare version of a werewolf.”

* * *

The rumble of approaching vehicles awakened the refugees. Lena and the others got only to their hands and knees. Even though it was night, standing up might make one a good target. Crouching made one smaller and it might make running a lot easier.

They looked at each other fearfully. Who was coming? Was it the Russians? She was thankful it was a cloudy night. The darkness might hide them. They could scatter and maybe live, at least for a while.

But if it was the Russians, they were now between them and any kind of safety the refugees might find with the Americans.

They held their breath as the sounds got closer. Now they could identify individual engines running, each with a chorus of others in the background. “It’s an army,” said Sister Columba, “But whose?”

They were a good two hundred yards from the road and now Lena could make out dark shapes as they rumbled closer and louder. A long shadowy column of vehicles was going to drive right past them.

The lead vehicles moved by at about fifteen miles an hour. They didn’t look like German vehicles she’d seen, but maybe these were a different style or maybe the Germans had captured them.

“Does anybody here speak Russian?” asked Columba. “If they are Reds, maybe we can reason with them.”

Lena nearly choked. “One does not reason with the Red Army. They are monsters.”

The column had halted. Men were getting out of their vehicles and stretching. The vehicles kept their engines running, so It looked like the pause was momentary. A number of soldiers appeared to be taking the opportunity to urinate, while a couple moved farther away where they dropped their pants and squatted. Under different circumstances it would have been hilarious.

“Watch out for me,” Lena said.

Using her dark habit to hide her, she crouched and crawled slowly and cautiously to where she could see the vehicles more clearly. She could hear the men talking but could not quite make out the words. It was maddening.

At first the insignia on the nearest truck was unreadable. Then the moon came out and she could see it. The same with the voices as the soldiers talked and laughed, unafraid of anything. Now she could understand them. These were the conquerors. They were not German.

She crawled back to where Columba and the others waited, their eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. Lena grabbed Columba and pulled herself up. She started to cry. “They’re Americans,” she sobbed.

* * *

This time there would be no meeting in a restaurant. By mutual agreement the discussions would take place in the dining room of a farm house outside of Arbon and disturbingly close to the German border. The Swiss family that owned the farm had taken some money and happily departed for a long afternoon’s shopping. A framed portrait of Swiss General Henri Guisan was on the wall. Ernie wondered if the homeowners were sending a message about Swiss strength and the nation’s ability to enforce its neutrality. Guisan was the head of the Swiss army.

The man they met was about sixty and looked fatigued. Even though he wore civilian clothes, it was obvious that this man either was or had been a soldier.

“It’s good to see you again, Allen. I had begun to despair that anything good was going to come of our discussions.”

“I had my doubts as well, Heinrich. One can only hope that it is not too late and that events have not gotten that far past us.”

“There is jubilation in Germanica that Roosevelt is dead,” the man said. “Goebbels and Schoerner are beside themselves with hope that the Allies will fall apart. Please tell me that will not happen.”

“I cannot speak for Harry Truman any more than you represent Josef Goebbels. However, I do not think that the Allies will collapse. France and Britain might reduce their commitments, and Russian advances will surely grind to a halt, but the United States has more than enough resources to deal with your Germanica by itself.”

“Of course, but does it have the will? How many more casualties are you willing to take?”

“That remains to be seen,” Dulles answered with a candor that surprised Ernie.

Ernie sat still like a statue. This Heinrich had also brought an aide and the two men looked at each other curiously. Apparently both Heinrich and Dulles wanted either a witness or protection. On being introduced to Ernie, Heinrich had stated that the conversations would be in English out of deference to both Dulles and Ernie’s lack of German language skills.

“Do your leaders know that you are here?” Dulles asked.

“Yes, but they will deny it if pressed. Even though you and I have met before, this conversation would never have happened, just like the others.”

Ernie sucked in his breath. Now he knew who this Heinrich was. He was General Heinrich von Vietinghoff, previously commander of all German forces in Italy. Now he commanded the southern flank of the Alpine Redoubt, or Germanica.

There had been rumors that the Germans had earlier been trying to negotiate the surrender of all forces in Italy and that a top general was leading the efforts.

Vietinghoff laughed at the surprise in Ernie’s face. “I see that Captain Janek has figured out who I am. Congratulations, Captain, but there are no state secrets here. The new Republic of Germanica merely wishes to establish unofficial and deniable contacts with the United States. Herr Goebbels feels that the Alliance against Germany is going to collapse. Therefore, we are here to try to stop the killing.”

Dulles saved Ernie from making a blunt comment and offending the German officer. “General, the killing will stop when your forces and your so-called government agree to an unconditional surrender.”

“That is what you say today. What will you say tomorrow when the United States is all alone? Already the American people are clamoring for an end to this tragedy if only so you can wreak justifiable vengeance on the Japanese.”

“I’ll admit that what you say has some merit, but not enough to deter us. Harry Truman is going to surprise a lot of people. He is going to be a very strong president. By the way, General, who the devil thought of the name Germanica?”

Vietinghoff laughed hugely. “That is the brainchild of our propaganda minister, Herr Goebbels himself. He felt that the name of Germany might be distasteful to some, while Germanica might not. Please don’t ask me if I think it makes any sense.”

The boundaries of the Alpine Redoubt, or Germanica, were firming up. They ran west from the Black Forest and through the Alps past Stuttgart. They continued for more than a hundred miles past the Brenner Pass and then south and across the Danube. From there the borders of Germanica ignored official national boundaries and took in parts of the Italian Alps. Vietinghoff commanded the southern or Italian front, as he had before the decision to activate the Redoubt.

“And what does Herr Goebbels want for his new bastard child, Germanica?”

“For one thing, he will renounce the Nazi Party and everything it stood for.”

Dulles almost laughed. “Everything? Will he renounce massacring millions of Jews and other innocent people? Will he renounce the invasions of Poland, Russia, France, and a host of other nations? And more importantly, will he and the others around him admit to their roles in the atrocities?”

“Goebbels will acknowledge that terrible mistakes were made, but claim that a new order has taken over. As to the others, I’m sure they will claim that they were merely following orders, just as I was.”

“And what does Goebbels want in what I presume would be recognition of this new state?”

“In return for recognition, the killing would stop and a true recovery could begin. Also, Goebbels and the others who now lead Germanica and who might be considered war criminals want amnesty for their alleged actions. Others on your list of war criminals will not be accepted into Germanica.”

Dulles bristled. “That can never happen. The world will want justice.”

“As well as being a very subjective term, justice is so elusive,” said Vietinghoff. “We will be publicizing our requests to the world. I rather think we will find sympathetic audiences from people in the United States and Great Britain. There are many soldiers who are sick of the war and whose mothers dread the arrival of a telegram that might say that their son or brother or husband has been killed in action. By forgiving a relative few, many lives can be saved. You may hate the thought, even consider it a pact with the devil. But, as the war drags on and the casualties continue to mount, you will find that a great number of people will support it.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Dulles. Ernie thought Dulles was shaken by the audacity of the proposal.

Vietinghoff continued. “In return for peace in Europe, you will be able to concentrate your considerable resources on those nasty Japs who so treacherously attacked Pearl Harbor.”

Jesus, thought Ernie. It sounded all so logical. He looked at his German counterpart and that man’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“Nor can you concentrate your forces against our ever strengthening citadel here in Germanica. We are ringed by mountains that only a few expert climbers can cross and are impossible, impassible, for an army. There are only a few ways to get at us and they will all be well fortified. Storming the heart of Germanica would require that you pay a terrible price. Worse, your air forces will find that there is nothing they can effectively bomb and that any of your secret wonder weapons won’t be used because they will upset the Swiss.”

Vietinghoff continued. “You should let it be known that we too have secret weapons and we will be prepared to use them. I know that some of them have had rather spotty records, but admit it: our jets and our rockets have done well. So let me suggest the existence of a bomb so powerful that it can destroy an entire city, yet is so small that it can be carried in one airplane.”

Ernie could not help himself. “That’s impossible,” he blurted out.

“Is it?” Vietinghoff answered and smiled coldly. “Look at the expression on your leader’s face. He has heard rumors of both German and American bombs and knows that both countries are working on them. I assure you that I know nothing about the science involved except that it has something to do with splitting atoms. I am confident that he will immediately communicate what I have just said to his leaders in Washington. Their reactions will be quite enlightening. In the meantime, do consider the sensitivities of the Swiss.”

Dulles’ face was turning red. “There are many in my government who say the hell with the Swiss. They say there are too many Swiss who are pro-Nazi.”

Vietinghoff shrugged. “I cannot argue with that assessment. Many people in many countries, including Switzerland, found a lot to admire in National Socialism. At least they did until we began to lose and the extent of the killing of the Jews became known. The death camps were a terrible mistake. However, soldiers like me were powerless to do anything about it. At least, Allen, I tried. We both tried to end the war in Italy where I had command. We talked to each other and we almost had an agreement whereby the German armies in Italy would surrender.

“In the meantime,” the German continued, “we will use the resources we’ve hoarded in the past several months. When our food supplies run low, we will buy them from the Swiss who will be afraid to deny us. That is if they even want to. They, of course, will buy food on the world’s markets and have them shipped to Switzerland and then to Germany, I mean Germanica. The Swiss will either extend us credit or they will take appropriate funds from the many accounts we now have in Swiss banks.”

“Much of that money was stolen from Jews,” Dulles said angrily.

“Yes, and sadly that is another thing over which we have no control. I deplore what was done but cannot change the past. You and I can only impact the future.”

Vietinghoff stood and they all shook hands. When the German aide was out of hearing, Vietinghoff turned to Dulles and spoke in a whisper. “Allen, kindly remember that I am the messenger, not the message. Do not forget that I worked for peace once and will continue to do so, despite what Herr Goebbels might want. If this bomb is used, it will unleash horror.”

The two Germans departed by car to the border. “Captain Janek, I trust that you found that educational?”

“I found it shocking and stunning.”

“Indeed, but I am no longer surprised by what the Nazis might think of in order to save their wretched skins. I do not totally trust Vietinghoff. He is significantly motivated by self-preservation. Nothing wrong with that, of course. In the meantime, Captain, you may do us both a favor.”

“Sir?”

“I think we need a drink, a strong one. Perhaps two.”

* * *

“Arbeit Macht Frei,” proclaimed the sign over the gate to the Dachau concentration camp. “Work will make you free.” It was a hideous play on words as so many of the inmates became free only in death and a terrible end to their lives. The camp in southern Bavaria had been liberated by units of the Seventh Army the day before. General Evans had taken the opportunity to see for himself whether the rumored horrors were true or not. He took Tanner, Cullen, and a squad of infantry for security. A young lieutenant from Patch’s Seventh Army staff tried to be their guide. It was apparent that he was emotionally overwhelmed by the scope of the evil they’d discovered.

The stench from the camp was noticeable well before they got to it. Cullen shook his head. “I’ve been told that the people living around here deny knowing anything about the camp. What the hell, what did they think they were smelling, burned pot roast?”

Their goal was to see and learn, not to help. The Red Cross was working hard to assist the several thousand inmates still in the camp who were alive and the U.S. Army was using former camp guards to bury the dead.

Even so, there had been little time for cleanup. Countless bodies lay about and many inmates looked at the Americans with both hope and fear. Many of the living were little more than skeletons who hadn’t yet died. Their guide said that liberated inmates continued to do so despite heroic attempts to help them.

“At least they died as free men and women, although I wonder if many of them knew it,” he said.

He went on to add that the largest segments of prisoners in the camp were Poles and Germans arrested as political criminals. There were Jews as well, just not the vast numbers that had been sent to death camps like Auschwitz. During the weeks before the camp’s liberation, large numbers of prisoners from camps in the east had been sent to Dachau to prevent the Russians from liberating them. These had arrived sick, starved, and riddled with typhus and many of them dying.

“We have no idea how many actually died here,” the lieutenant said, “Although we’ve got people trying to work that out. It’s got to be in the tens of thousands. It’s almost too many to comprehend.”

“I heard that some SS camp guards got shot by our guys,” Cullen said. “Too fucking bad if you ask me.”

Their guide grinned. “It’s true although nobody will say how many got shot. Also, the inmates killed a number of their former captors so we may never have an exact figure. I have heard that some do-gooders want some of our boys court-martialed for killing the guards. Good luck with that if you ask me.”

No argument, Tanner thought. They asked a few questions and found that large numbers of prisoners had been marched south to work on the Redoubt. Tanner wondered how many of them made it and were now working to kill Americans. If they were anything like the skeletal survivors still in the camp, they would not be much use.

Civilians from the town were being marched in. They had stoutly proclaimed their ignorance and now they would see the proof of the atrocities they’d denied. The German men and women would also help bury the dead. The civilians looked shocked and sickened. Maybe they had deluded themselves into actually believing that Dachau was merely a work camp. Tough shit, Tanner thought. Let them see and smell.

Evans shook his head. “We are totally useless here. I had hoped to be able to use what I found here to inspire the troops. But I can’t describe the indescribable. I can’t tell anyone about the look in prisoners’ eyes or describe the stench. Pictures won’t even begin to tell the story.”

One of the infantrymen they’d brought said he’d been a photographer as a civilian. He’d been given a camera and was trying to record what he was seeing. He said that his efforts would not suffice. The awfulness was too much. No camera had yet been made that could adequately document the horror.

“What’s worse,” said the lieutenant, “is that this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are satellite camps run by Dachau’s administration as well as hundreds of other camps. Most of the others are small, but then you have major ones like Buchenwald and Auschwitz. Of course it doesn’t matter a hell of a lot if you’ve been starved and brutalized to death in a small camp of a large one.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Evans said. He thanked the lieutenant and they drove back to the division.

“I want to take a half a dozen showers with a strong soap and burn my uniform. Maybe that will get the stench off,” Tanner said to Cullen.

“But it won’t get rid of the memories, will it?”

* * *

Being a nun, even a pretend one, had its advantages. The American liberators were courteous to the sisters, even giving them food and rides in the back of trucks. Apparently they were willing to give the sisters the benefit of the doubt as to whether or not they were Nazis. Or perhaps they were afraid. Lena overheard a couple of them talking about the nuns they’d had in school and what fearsome monsters they’d been.

They arrived at the city of Stuttgart in southern Germany. American and French forces had taken it on April 21. What the Allies got were massive piles of ruins. The city had been bombed numerous times and had been shelled by both the Americans and the French before capturing it. The city center area had been especially hard hit. Before the battles, Stuttgart had been one of Germany’s largest cities. Now it was a scorched and blackened shell. Lena realized that she had been sheltered while living with the Schneiders. A small blessing, she thought. The destruction around her was almost beyond comprehension. If somebody had attempted to describe it to her they would have failed utterly. Block after city block was totally destroyed. Bare walls jutted up like skeletal remains. People wandered through the ruins like ghosts. Some poked at a particular piece of debris. Perhaps, she thought, they were looking for something tangible that had been a piece of their previous lives.

Worse was the stench. Many bodies still remained rotting under the ruins. Lena and the nuns had seen and smelled death while walking along the roads, but the smell in Stuttgart was overpowering. On a couple of occasions, it had caused them to vomit. Even their American drivers seemed stunned by the devastation.

The people who had survived and who remained in the city appeared to be wandering aimlessly. Their thin pale faces showed shock. Not only had their homes been destroyed, but a foreign power had taken over what remained. Many civilians were dressed in rags. Large numbers were bandaged. They were the walking wounded. Some still wore their military uniforms and they were often in tatters. One of their drivers mentioned that the large hospitals for civilians and German military were totally overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of casualties. Nor was there enough medicine or beds to care for the multitudes.

The driver had shrugged. “It’s not like nobody cares. It’s just that our soldiers come first and that’s just too bad if you’re a German. I’m sure that the Red Cross will sort it out in the near future, but, in the meantime, the German hospitals are crap.”

Only a few people were working on clearing the massive piles of rubble and they were slowly and methodically moving only one brick at a time. At that rate it would take an eternity to clear debris from the city. But who cared? The only priority was to get the roads cleared for American vehicles. Almost all the workers were old men or women. That was not how she wanted to spend the next couple of years of her life, Lena thought.

American soldiers had set up checkpoints throughout the city. Sometimes they turned people away, and other times they let people through. The nuns were always waved through. Lena was curious. These were the first American soldiers she had seen and their appearance was impressive. Not only were they bigger than most Germans but they positively radiated health in comparison to Germans. Of course, they were getting regular meals while many Germans had been reduced to eating sawdust mixed with flour. Or something the government said was flour.

American uniforms were clean. Even those worn by soldiers who’d been in combat had been mended and patched and showed a degree of pride that German soldiers now lacked. Every so often, they would see German soldiers, prisoners, being paraded off to some camp. Lena was surprised to see how happy many of the Wehrmacht were to be prisoners of the Americans. Since the alternative was to be trucked off to Siberia, who could blame them?

Of course also, the Americans were the winners and winners were always cocky. The Americans exuded confidence. They laughed a lot. Even their current driver joked, though the nuns didn’t understand half of what he said. Lena did, and she told Sister Columba that most of what the driver thought was funny revolved around sex with German women.

“Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to them that they will have to storm those mountains to our south?” Sister Columba said.

“They are living for the moment, just like I did. For several years, I counted each moment, each hour, each day as a victory. I exulted when I heard of every Allied victory, quietly of course,” she added with a laugh. “I nearly cheered out loud when the Allies landed at Normandy. I only began to despair when I thought it was possible that there would be an armistice with all armies staying in place and with me on the wrong side of the Rhine. I saw my fate as being owned by the Russians or the Nazis, what a horrible choice.”

“Then you have no regrets about taking matters into your own hands and hurting the Schneider children.”

“No. Of course not-and I don’t consider them children. Even Anton was physically almost an adult. I hope I didn’t hurt either Anton or Astrid too badly, but if I did, they were just two more casualties in a war I didn’t start.”

“Do you hate them?”

“Not really. They-all of the Schneiders and people like them-were just pathetic little creatures pumped up to think they were important. I no longer hate anybody. I now believe I might have a chance at a life, which seemed impossible just a short while ago.”

“What about the people of Stuttgart? What do you think of when you see them?”

Lena smiled. “I see strange little animals running around furtively. They have been in the darkness so long they’ve forgotten what it was like to be in the light.”

Columba laughed. “Are you trying to be profound?”

“Actually, I’m a little hungry. I’d even eat some of those K-rations if you have any left.”

Columba did and they munched happily. That was another thing about Americans, Lena thought. They really did not know how well they had things.

The driver slammed on his brakes, throwing them forward, and quickly apologized. As the designated English-speaker, Lena asked what was happening. The driver leaned out his window and pointed at a loud and jubilant crowd of GIs.

“Hitler’s dead!” they yelled. “The fucking paperhanger is dead,” one of them added. “He shot himself, the Goddamned coward.”

German civilians had picked up on the announcement. “Hitler kaput,” they said. Some looked jubilant, while others were simply stunned. Hitler was their god, and gods don’t die, do they?

“Now I think I would like to be useful,” Lena said. “I would like to find an American unit and offer my services. I can be either a clerk or a translator. What do you think, Sister?”