Himmler's War-ARC (35 page)

“They can’t all be real,” Jack said. “But it’ll be hell figuring out which ones are and which aren’t.”

A gust of snow swirled and momentarily hid their view. Floes of soft ice bobbed northward towards the English Channel. It was a further reminder that the water was dangerously cold and that winter was just beginning.

“Think it could freeze solid?” Jack asked.

“I read that it has in the past,” Levin said. “When it did, Germanic barbarians in Roman times were able to cross, but maybe it was just a bunch of krauts all liquored up so they didn’t notice they were getting wet. But who the hell knows? All I do know is that I don’t want to go swimming in that mess. I just can’t see us trying anything until the weather is a lot warmer.”

“I suppose that’s good news,” Jack said, “but all it really does is extend the war by however many months while we just sit here. Of course, just sitting here might extend our lives.”

Artillery boomed behind them and shells exploded near the tunnel entrance. “Oh, that’ll do a lot of good,” Jack said. “I got a nickel says the krauts don’t even respond.”

Levin laughed. “Sucker bet. The Nazis won’t expose their batteries for no good reason. All that shelling is doing is chewing up useless ground. God, I hope it isn’t our guys wasting our ammunition getting their rocks off by shooting into Germany.”

The bombardment stopped as quickly as it began, like somebody had told the gunners to stop. “Christmas is just a little ways off,” Jack said. “Maybe we’ll get some leave if things stay quiet. Of course, it won’t involve you since you’re Jewish.”

“Screw you, Morgan. I’m entitled to free time, too. Besides, Hanukkah starts December 11, so I’ll be celebrating just like you.”

* * *

Sergeant Tyree Wall quickly came to the conclusion that First Lieutenant Stanley Bakowski was all right for a white guy. For one thing, he came from up north, Chicago, which meant he wasn’t an ignorant redneck cracker, and second, he too wanted revenge on the French communists who had kept up their attacks on American truck convoys. More important, the stocky and blond-haired Bakowski seemed to treat Wall and the other Negroes with respect. Maybe he was lying about it, but he lied well. Regardless, it was appreciated.

The lieutenant wore a cloth badge that said he was a Ranger. Tyree was less than thrilled about being a human target, but if it helped get the French communists off his back and maybe save the lives of his men, so be it.

Thirty trucks made up the convoy of human decoys. Each driver rode alone as per usual. Bakowski tried to get the colored drivers to at least wear helmets but they said it made driving difficult, especially at night, and the Ranger lieutenant reluctantly concurred. “Keep them by you so you can put them on real fast,” he’d said.

Instead of supplies, each truck’s cargo consisted of four heavily armed men. Slits had been cut in the canvas to facilitate shooting, and the men were prepared to jump down quickly. They too wore Ranger insignia.

Tyree and Bakowski had gone over photos and maps of the route and decided there were only a couple good spots for an ambush. If there was no ambush tonight, they’d try again in a day or so. Bakowski didn’t think the commies could resist the sweet fat target the column presented. Tyree said he half hoped the lieutenant was wrong.

“You boys are professional soldiers, Lieutenant. We’re just truck drivers some fool gave guns to.”

Bakowski laughed. “Bullshit. You gave a good account of yourselves that time.”

Tyree felt strange. When was the last time a white man paid him a compliment? He decided to take a chance with the lieutenant. “I hear you Rangers eat human flesh for breakfast, sir,” he teased.

“Lunch,” Bakowski said and the men in the back of the truck roared. Damn, but Tyree thought it felt good. He had heard the word camaraderie and understood how it applied to his men, but to a bunch of white Rangers? My, my.

They were coming up on the first likely ambush site. They had to slow to make a turn and the woods were within a few yards of the road. Suddenly, men surged from the trees and began firing at them. Tyree’s instructions were to hit the brakes hard and he did so with a vengeance. The truck lurched to a halt and he rolled to his right, grabbed his helmet and his carbine and slid to the ground.

The Rangers in the trucks had already commenced firing on their attackers. For a few seconds it seemed like an even fight, but the firepower, numbers, and discipline of Bakowski’s Rangers began to push the communists back. Tyree and the other drivers fired as well and soon there were a number of French bodies on the ground.

The lieutenant shouted commands and his men moved out to the left and right. Tyree wondered what the hell they were up to and then realized. They were going to flank the bastards and scoop them up.

The shooting petered out and stopped. At least a dozen French were dead in front of Tyree and at least that many wounded lay writhing on the ground or trying to crawl away. A couple of stunned Frenchies stood with their hands up. After a while, the Rangers herded another fifty out of the woods. Some of them were walking wounded and they all looked shocked. Tyree was surprised to see a couple of scruffy looking women in the group. These French people were all crazy, he thought.

Bakowski took a tally. His Rangers had suffered four wounded, and only one seriously. One driver was dead. He’d taken a shot in the skull when the attack first began. Tyree shuddered. That could have been him. Two others were wounded.

Bakowski walked over and slapped Tyree on the shoulder. “Damn fine work, Sergeant. You and your men did yourselves proud. And if you’re ever in Chicago, look me up and I’ll buy you dinner, all of you.”

Tyree said thanks and looked at his men who looked rightfully pleased. And maybe not all white men were assholes after all.

CHAPTER 17

THE POLICE OFFICER came from the town of Hachenberg, just a few miles away from the Mullers’ farm. The Mullers knew him and he was normally a very jovial man even though he had only one arm. He’d left the other one at Verdun a generation before, and had been living in a state of semi-retirement until so many young men had been drafted that he had been asked to take on some police duties.

“I have come to issue a warning,” Officer Klaus Oberg stated grimly. “There have been a number of very brutal assaults on refugees passing through the area.”

Bertha gasped. “How horrible.”

“Indeed,” Oberg continued. “There have been robberies, sexual assaults, and at least one murder. We believe the perpetrators are not German. Instead, we believe they are foreigners uprooted by the war and who are preying on good Germans to either gain revenge, or simply because they are criminals. Survivors have commented on what sounded like foreign accents.”

“What can we do?” said Uncle Eric.

The others nodded in dismay. This could not be happening in Germany. The older ones recalled the chaos and near civil war of the twenties, but had assumed that to all be in the past. Anarchy was one problem Hitler had seemingly solved.

Margarete looked away. She had her own problems. She had just started her period and was suffering from cramps and bleeding. Her mother thought her slightly late start was due to the near malnutrition conditions in Berlin before they came to the farm, and that she was now catching up to life. Margarete didn’t care for the interpretation. She was in pain and she wanted it to go away. The thought that this was going to happen every month was appalling.

Oberg continued. “May I assume you have weapons here?”

“Indeed,” Bertha answered proudly. “We have several shotguns, two rifles, and a couple of pistols, souvenirs of the Great War.”

“And ammunition,” added Eric. “With all of it safely locked away.”

“You might wish to unlock it,” Officer Oberg said somberly. “If bandits do come, you will want the guns at hand and not in a vault. I suggest you carry a gun with you at all times, especially when outside this house. It will make work inconvenient, but much, much safer.”

“Has it come to that?” asked Magda.

“I believe so,” said Oberg. “While it is not yet happening here, there are rumors of troops from both sides perpetrating atrocities on each other and the civilian population. Some are even calling it revenge. I cannot believe that German soldiers would have done anything that would call for revenge.”

Margarete and Magda looked at each other. They both thought of the death train and Magda recalled stories Ernst had told her about campaigning in Russia. He’d been insistent that he’d never done anything criminal, but that others had. In particular, the SS units had been terribly savage and sadistic, so much so that the details had shocked Magda. Margarete was told only what they felt she needed to know.

Oberg continued. “There are those who feel the predators might be foreign workers. I understand you have three of them. May I assume that they are kept secured?”

“Indeed you may,” Uncle Eric pronounced. “They are watched when in the field and they are locked up at night.”

Magda and Margarete looked quickly at each other. Dear Uncle Eric was lying through his teeth. The workers were not locked up, although she assumed they would be from now on. Good, Margarete thought. It would keep that Victor person from wandering around and possibly spying on her. When she’d mentioned her concerns to Eric and Bertha, they’d laughed at her. Her mother had been more sympathetic.

Margarete glanced at the policeman and caught a hint of humor in his eyes. He seemed to understand that her aunt and uncle were pompous fools who would now scramble to keep themselves out of hot water regarding their workers. He had come to deliver a warning and it had been done.

With that, the policeman left. Eric unlocked the weapons cabinet. He gave the two adult women a shotgun each and kept an old Mauser rifle for himself. He looked sadly at Margarete.

“I do not like giving guns to children.”

“I appreciate the thought, Uncle, but I am no longer a child. Even though I’m only fourteen, I’ve seen death and violence in so many forms. Do you really think there are any true children left in Germany?”

Bertha gasped at her effrontery. Eric was startled for a moment but regained his composure and smiled tightly. “You are right, young lady. There are no more children in Germany. They’ve all gone and the world is worse for it. This is not the way it was supposed to end.”

He handed Margarete a 9mm Luger and two clips of ammunition. She examined it and put it in the waistband of her slacks, but did not load it. She would go out and let Victor see it. She had thought briefly of informing the policeman of her concerns and suspicions, but had dismissed it. She had no proof of any wrongdoing on Victor’s part and if he was innocent, her claims might send him back to a concentration camp and probable death. She kept seeing the bodies by the train. She would never be a party to that.

“If you’re curious as to where it came from,” Eric said to Margarete, “it’s a 1908 model from the previous war. My commanding officer, a good and decent man, carried it until he was killed in the last few weeks of the war. I kept it in memory of him. If you have any questions about how it works, I will show you tomorrow.”

Margarete thanked her uncle and said, yes, she would like some lessons. Impulsively, she hugged him. He might be a pompous fool, but he loved her.

Aunt Bertha began to sob loudly. “This sort of thing never would have happened if Hitler was still alive.”

* * *

Colonel Ernst Varner recoiled in horror at the sight of the skeletal creatures on the hospital beds. There were five of them and they were all naked except for small white cloths that covered their genitals, and were hooked up to machines and tubes. Their skins were blotched and covered with raw wounds. They were almost totally bald.

Varner was wearing a hospital gown and a mask. He had gloves on and had been told to touch nothing. He had no intention of coming in contact with anything in this chamber of horrors.

“These are the dead,” Heisenberg said. “Even though they still breathe and can sometimes speak, they are as dead as if they had been buried a month ago. In a short while, days or weeks, they will stop breathing and be buried in very deep graves by people who, just like you, will be afraid to touch them. They were good men and women.”

“Women?” Varner was momentarily incredulous. There was nothing that would indicate that any of the patients ever had a gender.

“Yes, women. Some of our best scientists are women.”

“What happened?” Varner asked.

Heisenberg laughed bitterly. “Herr Himmler wants haste and this is the price we pay for it. These were not the first, nor will they be the last. We are now discovering the lingering effects of radiation. As discussed earlier, there was some hope that radiation burns could be treated just like any other burns, but we’ve found to our horror that radiation is terribly different. It is a sickness that eats at the body like a cancer or leprosy. Sometimes, the body is strong enough and the infection weak enough that a patient will live. However, the survivor will carry scars for the rest of his life, even though the scars might be invisible.”

“What a terrible way to die,” Varner said after they’d left the sealed-off clinic.

“Is there a good way?”

“And this is from careless handling of radioactive material?”

Heisenberg glared at him. “Colonel, I resent the use of the word careless. The Reichsfuhrer required haste above all and that meant the relaxing of safety standards that should have been kept because we were, and still are, ignorant of what we are dealing with. At least we are no longer in Berlin where these horrors might be unleashed on the city.”

As a result of the possibility of a premature explosion, the scientific facilities had been moved well to the east and were now in the outskirts of Breslau, near the Polish border. Himmler felt that an accidental explosion destroying Breslau could be blamed on the Russians. Varner had been appalled by the callous attitude, but grudgingly agreed that Himmler was right. However, this situation with radiation put Heisenberg’s bomb in a whole new perspective. Even though he was not a scientist, Varner could visualize a bomb exploding in a city and thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of civilians, condemned to a horrible lingering death like the five living corpses before him.