Himmler's War

CHAPTER 18

A day in the sky was a welcome elixir for Morgan. on the ground, the world was snow-covered and cold, brilliant white except where it was bloodied and black-scarred from the intermittent fighting. Near blizzard conditions had prevailed in much of the area, blanketing the world in snow depths that made walking difficult and driving nearly impossible. Even tanks had a hard time plowing through the accumulated piles of snow and slush.

Finally, the army had begun to get winter uniforms, including boots, liners for field jackets, gloves, and hats with ear pieces. The result was a welcome reduction in incidents of frostbite.

At least as important were white coverings for the uniforms that helped the GI’s blend into the ground and avoid drawing attention from the Germans across the river. It was a source of aggravation that the Germans had their snow coverings long before the Americans. Tanks and other vehicles had been hastily white-washed. Tankers groused that when the thaw came, it would mean the tanks would have to be scrubbed clean. They were reminded that war was hell.

Morgan turned back to his copilot. “Snyder, what do you want for Christmas besides an honorable discharge?”

“That about covers it, sir.”

“Sorry I can’t get that for you. If I could, I’d get one for myself first.”

“Then maybe getting laid would be nice, too, if they’d ever drop that damn rule.”

“No comment, Snyder.” The unrepentant Feeney was now the butt of many jokes. Non-Catholics who had no idea what a rosary was, actually stopped and watched him pray, which thoroughly annoyed Feeney.

Below them, the Rhine was still snow-choked. On a different day, it might have been scenic. Now they looked below for a military advantage. Had anything changed since the last time they’d flown over? If so, what was it and why? They would both take notes while Snyder took pictures.

As always, their orders were to stay on the American side of the Rhine. Across the river on the German side, a German Storch flew on an almost parallel course. Jack fought the insane urge to fly over and see who the pilot was and ask him what he thought of the war. There was an informal truce between the two sides regarding the small observation planes-don’t shoot at me and I won’t shoot at you. Also, don’t cross the damn river.

Suddenly, the German banked sharply away. “What the hell,” Jack said. Fingers of tracer fire erupted from a dozen hidden sites and streaked skyward. They looked up and saw a plane much higher in the sky. “Somebody’s using a real plane and taking real pictures now that the weather’s cleared.”

For the past week, reconnaissance flying had been nearly impossible as the snow had socked in everything. Now that the weather was beginning to get better, everyone wanted to see what had happened while they were grounded.

“Y’know sir, I don’t think it was a smart idea for the Germans to shoot at that recon plane.”

Morgan concurred. Never give away your hiding place unless there was a really good reason. To prove the point, a flight of six American P47 Thunderbolt fighter bombers swooped low and dropped their loads. Clouds of flame erupted where they landed, exploding in a horrible beauty.

“Napalm,” Jack said, recalling the destruction of the SS position in the forest. Death by burning was a horrible fate, even for a Nazi, but if it ended the war or even got them across the Rhine by turning German forts into charnel houses, then napalm was a godsend. Nobody on the U.S. side could imagine a weapon they wouldn’t use against the Germans, with the possible exception of poison gas. It was common knowledge that the krauts had stockpiles of gas and everybody wondered if the Germans would use it when the crossing came.

A dark shadow sped by and one of the Thunderbolts exploded, while the others scattered like sparrows attacked by a hawk. One of the American planes flew low overhead and was quickly followed by a shape that screamed by at incredible speed.

“Jesus, Captain, did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered. He was a little stunned by the savage turn of events. One minute they were enjoying the view and the next people were burning to death on the ground and being shot out of the sky.

“That was a jet, wasn’t it, sir?”

“Snyder, I’ve never seen one, but I’ll bet that’s exactly what it was. I think we’ve had enough excitement for today. Let’s head for home.”

Home, he thought. What the hell was home? He’d just been served napalm and a jet fighter for Christmas.

“Who in God’s name gave you permission to piss on the floor of my shiny new bunker?” Schurmer raged at the hapless young officer standing and shaking before him.

Volkssturm Lieutenant Volkmar Detloff stood at attention and took the scolding. His lips were trembling but he swore he would not cry. Colonel Schurmer’s face was livid. “Answer me, you little turd, why? And did you shit yourself as well as pissing on the floor and why did you find it necessary to perform such acts in front of your entire platoon?”

Volkmar flinched. He had shit and pissed himself, but not that much. He had never been so afraid in his young life and had completely lost control.

“Detloff, I hope you recall that, in your cowardly haste to leave the bunker, you trampled over two men who were seriously wounded and a lot braver than you.”

“I’m sorry,” Detloff stammered.

“I should have you shot,” Schurmer snarled.

He wouldn’t, of course. Schurmer had made a quick call to Berlin and his friend, Ernst Varner, and confirmed that the odious little twit’s equally odious father was still a senior aide to Heinrich Himmler. This was why he, and not Detloff’s direct superior was handling the incident. Not only would the boy not be shot, but Schurmer had to figure a way to hide this incident.

Nor did he think young Detloff was all that much of a coward. From everything he’d found, the situation in the bunkers when the American planes had dropped napalm had been terrible.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me! Your disgusting pimples say you’re younger.”

The boy gulped. “Sixteen, sir.”

“Now tell me the truth. Wouldn’t you rather be at home waiting for the Christ child to deliver presents on Christmas Eve, or do you believe Santa Claus does it at night like the Americans do?”

Prudently, the boy didn’t answer. Schurmer thought it more likely he, like so many devout Nazis, didn’t believe in anything except Hitler’s dogmas. Perhaps the boy’s family would just sit around the lighted and decorated Christmas tree and exchange presents and lift a glass of schnapps to Himmler and the memory of Hitler.

Schurmer knew what had happened to the boy. When planes had dropped napalm on a bunker beside Detloff’s, the men inside had been incinerated. A cloud of flame had rushed over where Detloff and his men were justifiably cowering. Air had been sucked out of the bunker and men had collapsed, choking and gasping, but the napalm had been a near miss and blessed breathable air had returned quickly. Fingers of liquid fire leaking through embrasures were extinguished, but the air stank of scorched flesh and burned meat. In terror, a slightly singed Detloff had led a stampede out of the bunker. On their way, they passed a number of cremated German soldiers and it was then that young Detloff had lost what remained of his courage.

Detloff was almost in tears. “I was more afraid then I ever thought possible. I have never seen such horror in all my life, not even during the bombings in Berlin.”

Schurmer had no sympathy. “Then you have never truly seen war.” But why should a sixteen-year-old boy have to see war in the first place? Have we sunk that far?

“It wasn’t only the fire, Colonel, it was the fact that the walls were closing in on me and I thought I would either suffocate or be crushed.”

Wonderful, Schurmer thought. How many other claustrophobic soldiers were down in the bunkers and what would make them also break when the real attack came? Fire, not claustrophobia, was the true Achilles heel of the fortresses of the Rhine Wall. They were almost impervious to shelling and bombing, but nothing could stand up to fire, and the liquid napalm used by the Americans could possibly unravel all his work.

“I even hurt my leg again.”

Schurmer wondered if the wretch hadn’t reinjured his knee on purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought a self-inflicted wound would get him out of the military. Well, if that had been Detloff’s plan, he was wrong.

“Please don’t tell my father.”

The look of terror on Volkmar’s face said it all. His father was a petty tyrant who probably beat his children for the slightest transgression. Schurmer wondered if the elder Detloff had killed or beaten any helpless Jews. Schurmer had no love for Jews, but felt contempt for those who took advantage of the helpless.

“I will not tell your father about your cowardice, nor will I have you shot, or even court-martialed. However, you cannot go back to your unit. They had little confidence in you before and none now. You will keep your rank for your father’s sake, but you will command no one. You will be assigned to a new unit being formed to counterattack the Americans if they do succeed in crossing the river.”

Detloff brightened. “Werewolves?”

Schurmer sighed. “There is no such thing as werewolves, Detloff. They are figments of the imagination just like bogeymen and witches. No, you will be part of General Dietrich’s staff. Do you understand English?”

“A little. I learned it in school.”

“Which means you don’t understand a damn thing. However, you may still be useful.”

Detloff snapped back to attention. “I will not fail.”

Schurmer sighed. Better the little fool did fail. At least he would stand a chance of living.

“I will not fail,” Detloff said again. A broken record, Schurmer thought.

Detloff saluted and left. Alone, Schurmer poured himself a couple of shots of good Scotch. Not much more of that left, he thought, but there was no reason to save it. Germany had reached the point where they were sending old men and totally ignorant boys like Detloff out to fight the overwhelming might of the Americans. A Jew at Auschwitz had a better chance of surviving until summer than sixteen-year-old Volkmar Detloff. He took a swallow. Merry Christmas, Germany.

“So what was in your package?” Carter yelled.

“Some socks and some stale cookies,” Jack answered. “Along with some paperback books that look interesting. I don’t think my family knows just what to send.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Levin said with mock piety. “What did you send them, snow from Germany?”

“What a great thought.” Jack laughed. He decided not to tell them he’d sent Jessica a vial of water from the Rhine.

He smiled at the thought of his parents trying to figure out what to send to a son who either has all he needs or nothing at all. They knew that there was no room at the front for luxuries. They also knew that really valuable stuff, like liquor and cigars, might not make it to him. The vast majority of personnel handling mail were honest, but it took only a few creeps to ruin things.

Jack was most pleased by a letter from Jessica and the fact that it began “Dearest Jack.” Dearest? Wow, had he come up in the world. She also said that she missed him and hoped he would get some leave time. Leave time was another rumor. If the war really was on a winter hiatus, would the powers that be grant leave? Whiteside and Stoddard thought it was a good possibility. Maybe the regiment would be rotated out for a while, or maybe just individuals or units could go. It didn’t matter. That Jessica wanted to see him was the important thing.

However, he’d been told that Paris was off limits, and not just because of the near civil war now engulfing France. Apparently the city was becoming a Mecca for deserters. It didn’t matter. He’d find a place for them to be together.

Jack laughed softly. He was in love with a young lady he’d only seen once although, again, he felt their letters had brought them very close together. Hell, they hadn’t even made out. He wondered what would happen if they did get time together. He started to visualize her naked and caressing each other and it began to get warm in the tent. He decided it was best not to dwell on those possibilities.

Life where they were bivouacked wasn’t intolerable. The army had done its damndest to do what it could for the GI’s. Since it was fairly obvious that they weren’t going to move for a while, tents had been set up and wooden floors laid down. Mess halls actually served hot food, and there were showers and laundries working. Colonel Stoddard’s headquarters buildings were solidly fortified and with good reason. There were reports that German infiltrators would try to attack vulnerable spots, so the men were constantly reminded that they were in hostile territory and should carry their weapons at all times.

Other rumors said that the nonfraternization rule would be relaxed to permit “essential” transactions. Levin wondered if that would permit Feeney to go back to the fraulein who’d serviced him. Probably not, was the consensus.

The penance given Feeney by Father Serra had been delicious. Not only did he have to say a rosary each day, but he had to serve as an altar boy whenever needed. Feeney still insisted it was worth it, and that people were jealous.

In the back of everyone’s mind was the ugly reality that spring would inevitably come and with it the titanic battles that would claim so many of them. Jack couldn’t help but look at his comrades and wonder who among them would be alive the next Christmas, and who would be maimed. He knew they were looking at him and wondering the same thing.

If it hadn’t been for the war, he would have finished college and been well on his way with a good job and a career. Maybe he’d even be married and planning a family with a wife who, in his imagination, looked surprisingly like Jessica Granville.

Now he had no idea when any of this would occur, or even if it would occur.

Carter slapped him on the shoulder and passed him a bottle of Rhine wine. “Ain’t it crazy? Christmas is supposed to be joyous but we can’t shake the sadness. Bittersweet, isn’t it?”

Jack took a drink. The wine was pretty decent for once. “Sure is. So what do we do about it?”

“You know as well as I do, my friend,” Carter said. “All we can do is live for today, this moment, and ignore anything beyond that, which is why you should take advantage of every moment you can find to be with my lovely and virginal cousin. Hey, she is still a virgin, isn’t she?”

Jack laughed. “If she isn’t, I had nothing to do with it.”

Levin sat down and smiled widely. He was drunk. “And to all a Merry Hannukah.”

Across the Rhine, Ernst Varner had managed to get leave to spend Christmas with his family. Von Rundstedt had laughingly said that since Varner had traveled all over Germany for him, he should take a few days off and visit those who really counted. Varner declined to remind the von Rundstedt that he’d already had one trip home in the last few months. The field marshal was giving these little bonuses to those on his staff who had served him well.

Varner had found it disconcerting to see his beautiful wife and only child carrying guns. He knew the reason, of course. The reports of attacks on refugee columns had been a topic of conversation at the OKW. If Germany could not protect its own civilians, just how could they resist the Americans?

Despite the presence of the war hanging over them, they did manage a festive Christmas Eve. Only a few presents were handed out and they were mainly symbolic, like cookies or sweets.

This time his young pilot, Lieutenant Hans Hart, sat with them at the main table. Everyone said that no one should be alone on Christmas. Both Ernst and Magda thought the way he stared at Margarete was hilarious, especially after she gave him a Christmas cookie as a present. Not quite as funny were the looks she returned. The young couple was growing up far too quickly.

“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” he whispered to Magda.

“No you’re not,” she replied sweetly.

Before they retired to bed, Varner stepped outside in his full uniform with his MP38 machine pistol slung over his shoulder and conspicuously visible as well as the Luger in its holster. The attacks on civilians had diminished. In part, he thought, because the Rhine bridges were down, which meant no more refugees were coming from the Rhineland, which was now occupied by the Americans. That didn’t mean that the human vultures weren’t out there. He’d read the reports and understood that while many of the attacks were by Germans, a number had been by foreigners. German criminals were bad enough, but the Reich had brought countless numbers of foreign workers, slaves, to work in factories and farms, and many of these had been uprooted by the bombings and were hiding wherever they could. Escaped POWs were another possibility. In particular, freed Russian prisoners wanted to wreak a terrible vengeance on their captors.

He stepped into the barn. The three foreign workers had finished their Christmas dinner and Bertha had given them a couple of bottles of the bad wine she made. Varner had mixed thoughts about giving them alcohol, but concluded that there wasn’t enough to get them drunk and dangerous.

The three men shuffled to their feet, but did not look him in the face. Were they among the ones who’d attacked refugees? The two Latvians looked harmless enough-large, but harmless. However, the Czech or Frenchman or whatever he was, Mastny, looked positively feral. Varner wondered what he’d find if he searched the many recesses of the barn? Money? Jewelry? Nothing?

He stared at them, again making sure they saw his weapons. His look told them he could and would cut them down in an instant. The Latvians looked frightened, but Mastny didn’t. He understood the game Varner was playing.

Varner wished them a good Christmas and a peaceful future and left them. He would tell Magda to keep a watch on Mastny and to push Bertha to send him back to the prison if he gave even a hint of trouble. He would give Margarete the same message.

He saw shadows on the porch. He almost stopped but smiled and kept on walking as if he had not seen his daughter and his pilot standing so close together.

It was after midnight when Margarete padded softly down the stairs. The wooden floor was cold on her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. She thought she looked like an old lady. Her flannel nightgown was full and came down to her ankles. She thought she also resembled a very lovely ghost in the dim light. She found the door to the spare bedroom that had once housed a servant. Heart pounding, she opened it and slipped in.

Hans was awake in an instant. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

“I had to wait until it was safe.” He started to get up from the bed, but she pushed him back. She could see that he was wearing his underwear and thought it made him look cute. She pulled back the blanket and slid in beside him. His arms went around her and their bodies strained against each other as they kissed with an intensity that surprised them both.

Margarete felt his erection against her, gasped, and pushed her belly against it. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Hans asked.

She giggled and licked his ear. “I am a silly little virgin, but not a stupid one. And be still, we only have a minute before my mother realizes I didn’t go to the kitchen for a cookie.”

He laughed and they kissed again, their tongues eagerly exploring. “We will not go all the way, Hansi, but I won’t fall to pieces if you touch me.”

Hans began to stroke her, feeling her body under the cloth. “This way,” she said and shifted so her nightgown was above her bottom. His hands on her bare flesh excited her. He pushed the nightgown up to her shoulders. She sucked in her breath as he gently caressed her breasts and her nipples. He shifted so his lips were on her nipples and his hand was down her panties and between her thighs, which were suddenly moist and seemingly moving of their own volition. Margarete had never known such sensations and wanted them to continue forever. It was nothing like that idiot Detloff’s pawing of her. This was the way it should be.

However, a rational corner of her mind said it had to stop and, with great regrets, she pushed him away.

Hans lay back gasping. “You are so beautiful.”

“So are you, Hansi.”

“Nobody’s ever called me Hansi. I don’t know if I like it. But if you say it, it must be all right.”

She gazed at his erection stretching the fabric of his shorts and felt bolder than she’d ever been in her life. “This is to make sure you do come back,” she said as she slid his shorts down. He sighed as she took his manhood in her hands and stroked it. She’d never done it before, but she’d talked with friends who had. Shortly, he gasped and climaxed.

Margarete stood and smiled down at the stunned young pilot. “Good night, Hansi dearest, and if I don’t have a chance to talk to you in the morning, I very much want you to come back safely.”

Hans smiled and said he would. When she was gone he thought how nice it was for her to want him to come back safely. What the devil was safe to a pilot in a war where the enemy ruled the skies? Even a man who flew something as innocuous as a Storch was at risk and, besides, he was sick of not pulling his weight in the war. He decided it was not the time to tell her he’d applied for a transfer to train as a jet fighter pilot.

Magda was waiting for her daughter at the top of the stairs. “Well? I gave you ten minutes with him and you took twelve,” she said with a knowing smile.

“I lost track of time, but don’t worry, my precious virtue is safe.”

Magda gave her daughter a hug. “I never doubted for a minute. Now go to bed, and this time I mean yours.”

Margarete walked towards her bedroom, turned and grinned wickedly. “I’m still a virgin, Mama, just a much more knowledgeable one.”

Himmler paced his office. Never the most secure of persons, his doubts were getting the best of him and the presence of the stern field marshal commanding his armies was not comforting.

“I never should have agreed to let you pull our armies behind the Rhine.”

Rundstedt almost yawned. They had basically the same discussion every time they met. “You didn’t have a choice, Herr Himmler. If you had ordered the army to fight on the west bank it would have been defeated and destroyed, and the Rhine Wall would now be empty of troops. Then, regardless of the weather, the Allies would have poured across, and all of us would be in hiding or running for our lives.”

Himmler waved him off. “I know, I know. But I am being criticized for the loss of the lands and the cities. Think of it, Aachen, Cologne, Koblenz, and so many other places that have been German forever are gone.”

“Once more, Reichsfuhrer, the lands were lost for nearly two decades after the Treaty of Versailles and were subsequently recovered. If we stick to our plan, they will be German again in a much shorter period of time. As to the plan, it is going well. Our armies are intact and safely on the east of the Rhine where they are continually building their strength.”

This latter statement was a sop to the paranoid Himmler. There were serious problems in the military. Thanks to the moves he’d made, the army had large numbers of men, but many of them were either very young or very old, and so many were poorly trained. Also, the loss of the Rhineland had devastated the morale of the troops, many of whom had homes now occupied by the Yanks. Worse, many of the soldiers defending the Reich weren’t even German, but conscripts from other conquered nations, and whose reliability was doubted.

In most cases, the German army had superior weapons compared with the Americans, but not enough of them. The infusion of two thousand Soviet tanks would help, but German armor would still be horribly outnumbered. Worse, the Americans had found one tank park and largely obliterated it. How many more tanks would be destroyed before they even got to the front?

It was much the same with the Luftwaffe. The ME262 jet was a marvelous machine, but would they have more than a few hundred of them when the decisive battles came? There were enough experienced and elite pilots to man the jets, but what about the rest of the Luftwaffe? Galland was distraught at the fact that so many pilots were getting little training because there just wasn’t enough fuel, or air space in which to train as the Reich contracted. American pilots jumped on the trainees like vultures whenever they took off. As a result, the dispirited army suffered from almost daily bombings the Luftwaffe was powerless to prevent.

The German navy, the Kriegsmarine, was a fading memory. Only a handful of U-boats still operated and the surface fleet was being dismantled and the personnel transferred to duties on land and supporting the army.

Qualitatively, American artillery was at least on a par with Germany’s and vastly outnumbered what Rundstedt could bring to battle. He foresaw his defenses being pounded by both bombs and guns and being essentially powerless to do anything about it. The field marshal was acutely aware that he would have only one chance to stop the Americans and it would not be at the Rhine. With seven hundred miles of river to defend, he could not stretch his forces too thin.

“Tell me truthfully, Field Marshal, can the Americans defeat us? Can they cross the Rhine after all we’ve done?”

“Yes,” Rundstedt answered bluntly. He almost enjoyed the look of dismay on Himmler’s face. “However, it will require them to pay a great blood price, and they may not wish to do that.”

“What if that is wishful thinking?”

“Then we will emulate Churchill and fight them on the landing beaches, the hills, and everywhere else. We will counterattack them savagely with the armor we’ve stored for such a purpose.”

Himmler took a deep breath and appeared to relax. “Ah yes, the reserve army. And who will you place in command? Rommel?”

Rundstedt shook his head. “Although Rommel’s health has largely returned, there are questions regarding his, say, reliability and temperament following the injury. It’s been decided that Dietrich will command the army while Rommel continues to mend.”

Himmler nodded thoughtfully. There had been suspicions about Rommel’s loyalty to Hitler and the Reich, and Rundstedt seemed to be taking them into consideration with the appointment of the fifty-three-year-old Lieutenant General Sepp Dietrich, a long-time and loyal member of the SS. The decision pleased him. The SS was finally getting its due as a military organization alongside and equivalent to the regular army.

Rundstedt smiled and continued. “There is also the fact that Rommel and I disagreed on how to defend against the Allies when they invaded at Normandy. In my opinion, the arguments confused the issue and delayed our response. This time we shall speak with one voice, mine, and we will react appropriately, and not in a piecemeal and confused manner.”

Himmler winced. It was yet another criticism of the late Fuhrer. Someday, von Rundstedt and the rest of his arrogant coterie would be brought to justice for their actions and statements, but not this day. His and the skills of the others were needed.

“Reichsfuhrer, you must understand that we will get only one chance to make the Americans wish to stop. We have no margin for error and, therefore, cannot afford to make any mistakes.”

“I do understand, Field Marshal,” Himmler said.

“Now, I have a question for you, Reichsfuhrer. What the devil is the situation in America regarding Roosevelt?”

Himmler laughed. “As usual, the intelligence service under Admiral Canaris is awful. We are in large part relegated to reading two-week old American newspapers delivered via diplomatic pouch from the Swedish and Spanish embassies, or to listening to equally heavily censored broadcasts on American radio. The only thing that is certain is that the Jew Roosevelt is ill, perhaps deathly ill. Our Swedish, Swiss, and Spanish diplomatic contacts in Washington insist that America is concerned that FDR might be dying, or even dead. We may know for certain when their inauguration takes place on January 20. Idiotically, the Americans say they cannot postpone it.”

Rundstedt actually smiled. “What if they give an inauguration and nobody shows up?”

Moments after Rundstedt left Himmler’s office, Otto Skorzeny stalked in. As usual, he looked like a feral animal and Himmler suppressed a shudder.

“What is the latest on Heisenberg’s bomb?”

Skorzeny smiled ghoulishly. “Apparently it is going surprisingly well and should be ready in a couple of months, which is good since it will have to be delivered by truck and the roads to Russia won’t be passable until then.”

“Excellent.”

Russia was currently out of the war but could come back in at any time that Stalin decided was to Russia’s advantage. Russia had to be permanently out of the war and soon.

“Reichsfuhrer, I understand you’ve been informed about the lingering effects of radiation. Does that change anything?”

Himmler shook his head vigorously. “Of course not. In fact, it makes things better. The more people who die and the longer and more agonizingly it takes for death to happen, they better off we are. No, lingering radiation is a wonderful secondary effect of the bomb.”

Skorzeny was not surprised. Himmler had so much blood on his hands, that a new way of killing would be a good idea to him. Of course, he thought, his own hands weren’t clean either.

“Skorzeny, I’m puzzled. You say you are going to deliver the bomb by truck? What will the Russians do about that?”

Skorzeny grinned wolfishly. “Why, they will bend over backwards to help me.”

There were times when Alfie and the two Jews thought they were going to die and other times when they were certain of it. They had found a small cave and lined it with brush and anything they thought would keep out the cold. They blocked the entrance and hunkered down to wait out the winter in a tiny underground room that afforded them no privacy and, as it turned out, damned little warmth. As the snows piled up and the temperature dropped, they knew they had to do something else.

Alfie had solved one problem-he had managed to find some abandoned suitcases filled with clothing that had been discarded by refugees. Why they dropped the suitcases he didn’t know and didn’t care. The warm clothing was priceless and they wore it in bulky layers. Perhaps equally important, it enabled the Jews to discard their prison rags and Alfie to change out of a British Army uniform. The Jews gleefully abandoned their rags, but Alfie kept his uniform after hiding it. He hoped that someday he would be able to put it back on and wear it with pride. He did make sure that each man had at least one weapon. The Jews each got a Luger while Alfie kept the rifle.

Even more important than fighting the cold was finding food. Food would provide some of the energy needed to combat the brutal weather. Rosenberg and Blum had proven surprisingly resourceful when it came to catching small game, but how far could a rabbit stretch? And cooking it on a small fire outdoors took forever. They couldn’t start a large fire for fear it would attract notice and usually wound up regularly eating nearly raw rabbit meat.

The two former concentration camp inmates were weakened already and required more food to regain their health. They didn’t complain. Being free still made them euphoric and they worked harder than Alfie thought possible. They spent time teaching German to Alfie while improving their own English. Still, it wouldn’t be long before they weakened and death overtook them.

Finally, good fortune found them. Deep in the woods they found a small wooden cabin piled with snow. It was in a gully and they almost missed it. Even though there was no sign of life, they approached it with their weapons at the ready.

They could not see through the windows which, while filthy, were intact. There was no fire and no sign of life. They tried the door and pushed it opened. Inside, they found a two-room cabin. The part they entered was a combination kitchen and living room while the second was a bedroom. They entered the bedroom and gasped. A mummified body lay on the floor by the bed.

“Jesus,” said Alfie. “I wonder what the hell happened to him.”

They took a close look at the corpse. The parchmentlike skin stretched over bones, and wisps of white hair showed through the scalp, indicating that the body was that of an older man. Incongruously, the remains of a Hitler style mustache remained on his lip.

Rosenberg smiled. “Probably a heart attack and that’s good for us. Notice that he’s wearing a nightshirt and he’s alone. Also note that he’s been lying there a very long time in order to turn into a mummy, which means that nobody comes here to check on him. He’s probably a hermit or woodsman or a recluse that nobody misses, if they even knew he was here in the first place.”

Alfie grinned. “And that means we can move in here without having to worry about nosy neighbors.”

Blum found some newspapers that were more than two years old, which reinforced the idea that no one was likely to come to the cabin. It was well hidden and sheer chance, or divine intervention as Blum said, had led them to find it.

Blum started checking the closet and a pair of chests. They were filled with clothing. The dead man seemed about normal size and neither of the three was exceptional, so they cheerfully added more layers to their clothing. Even though there was no fire in the cabin, they already felt warmer then they’d been in weeks. The cabin was sturdily built and kept out the wind. Rosenberg thought the snow piled up outside acted as insulation.

They also found a pair of shotguns and a couple of boxes of shells to add to their arsenal.

Shelves in the kitchen were stacked with canned food. Rosenberg almost broke down. “If we’re careful, we can live for weeks on this, and I don’t care if it isn’t Kosher.”

“Just so it isn’t rotten,” Alfie said.

“Who cares if it’s rotten?” Blum laughed. “We’ve eaten worse, or have you forgotten?”

Alfie gestured towards the corpse. “What do we do with Adolf here?”

Blum frowned. “The ground’s frozen, so a decent burial is out of the question. Too bad. Even if he is a Nazi, he deserves it for possibly saving our lives.”

Rosenberg shook his head. “What we should do is dress him in his own clothing and drag his corpse several miles from here. When the spring thaw comes, someone may find him and bury him.”

“So why the hell dress him up?” Alfie asked.

Rosenberg smiled. “If he’s found in his nightshirt, people might get suspicious as to why he was wandering around the woods dressed like that. Clothed, they’ll think he had an accident and then bury what’s left after the animals are through with him.”

Alfie shuddered at the thought of woodland creatures nibbling on his body. On the other hand, their chances of surviving the winter had just taken a big jump upwards. However, they knew that surviving the coming spring might be even more difficult than making it through the winter.

“Comes the thaw,” Alfie said, “we are likely to be in the middle of the biggest fucking battle in the history of mankind.”

“I won’t mind,” said Rosenberg and Blum nodded. “Just so long as we’re on the right side and maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a chance to do something about it.”

Alfie looked over at the wide bed. “Three of us gonna sleep in that?”

Blum chuckled. “I hope so. Of course, you realize that if you sleep with us for more than a week, you’ll become Jewish.”

Alfie looked up, shocked. “You’re joking.”

Blum roared with laughter. It felt good. “Yes, Alfie, I am.”