On Desperate Ground (14 page)

“Now,
Hauptmann
,” Egger concluded, “if you will accompany me to see Harder and show him your, I mean,
our
orders.”

“
Herr Hauptmann
,” Hans broke in, much more formally than he ever spoke to Dieter, regardless of their difference in rank. “Do you not have a copy of your orders? Perhaps it would be best to give those to the
Hauptsturmführer
for him to have in case of any question.”

“Yes, excellent idea.” The orders had been so valuable that Dieter had kept a copy in a waterproof wrapping inside his pack. Withdrawing the orders, he wrote on them, indicating that they now included Egger and his men. He had no authority to do so, but he thought it might help.

“Here you go, Egger. It is probably best for you to deal with the SS commander yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Egger said. Slightly bewildered, but now committed, he and his escort got into the car and drove off.

“What was that all about, Hans?”

“Two things. First, my new friend told me that Egger had lost all his men to Harder, and only got these twelve back by delivering a platoon of Luftwaffe ground crew to him. They had orders to report to a new airfield, but Egger struck a deal with Harder and destroyed their papers. He might have turned you over, since you two probably cooked up something illegal in his office.”

Dieter nodded his head. “Smart thinking. Thanks. What’s the other reason?”

“Do you know what is on this train?”

“No. Products from that labor camp.”

Hans looked around to see where the other guards were. “Come with me.”
 

He guided Dieter up into one of the passenger cars, where there was a small desk and file cabinet. Next to the desk hung a clipboard with sheets of paper, each headed “Manifest”. There was one for each car, numbered one through ten. Dieter looked at the first sheet.

“Oh my God.”

Car Number One contained 3,000 men’s suits and 8,000 women’s dresses, bundled and tied in lots of ten, by size.

Car Number Two contained fifty crates of men’s eyeglasses and seventy of women’s.

Car Number Three contained three tons of human hair.

Dieter stopped at the third sheet, unable, unwilling to know any more horrible details. His hands were shaking. He could barely put the clipboard back on its hook.
 

“These are his ‘products’, the industrial output of Auschwitz. Mostly Jews, some Russians, Gypsies and assorted political types. Egger’s clerk was very detailed.”

Dieter had not moved since he replaced the clipboard. He stared at the first sheet.
 

“Hans,” he finally spoke.

“Yes?”

“Is old Hermann Lenz still with us?”
 

Hans could not fathom what Dieter meant. “Yes, he’s one of the original bunch from the Regiment. I saw him today at the end of the line. Why?”

“And the Lange brothers?”

“Yes, both of them are fine.”
 

Then Hans understood. Lenz had been the locomotive driver on their mission into Holland, so many years ago. The Lange brothers both had worked as boiler tenders on a steamship in the North Sea. Between them, they could operate the locomotive. Without Egger and his men.

“I’ll get them.” With a glance, understanding flowed between the two men. Hans ran out of the car, and Dieter followed, heading to the remaining six SS men.

“Say, boys,” he said, approaching them in a comradely fashion. “You must have your gear somewhere. Why don’t you fetch your stuff and be back here in an hour? We’ll start the unloading and you can help when you get back. The
Hauptsturmführer
said he wouldn’t return before nightfall.”

Dieter watched as they glanced at each other. He knew what they were thinking –
this officer must be an idiot. We could have our kit together in five minutes, but we’ll stretch that out until all the work is done!
Which is exactly what he wanted them to think. They thanked him and promised to be back quickly. As they headed out of the yard, Dieter swung into action, directing men to unload the freight cars, and the wounded to be put aboard the passenger cars.

Walking to the head of the train, he passed piles of bundles, crates and bales stacked up on the siding. One man lost his grip and a large crate slipped to the ground and split open. Hundreds of dentures spilled out onto the ground. The men stopped their unloading and stared.
 

“What the hell?” one of them said.

Dieter spun on his heel and screamed at them. “Get back to work, damn you! Get that thing unloaded now or I’ll leave the lot of you here!”
 

Fury rose in his throat. His hand was on his holster, and he wanted to shoot somebody. The problem was, he did not know whom. The men resumed the unloading quickly, watching their commander carefully. One of them thought he heard him whisper,
Oh my God, Oh my God
again and again as he left.
 

In the locomotive cab, the two brothers were starting the coal fire in the tender and Lenz was going over the controls. Dieter climbed abroad and saw Hans helping to shovel the coal.

“Well, Hermann?”
 

“No problem,
Herr Hauptmann
. It is an old Polish model, but the basics are quite the same. Once we get a head of steam up, we’ll be ready to roll. We have plenty of water and coal.”

“Good, Hermann, very good. I’m going to go back to the last passenger car and see what we have for rail line maps. We have to figure out our route to Berlin.”

Before the hour was out, the train pulled slowly out of the yard, all nine hundred men aboard. The last train from Breslau chugged past the stacked piles of so many lost lives like a thief in the night, quiet and guilty, the promise of life ahead and a crime left behind, unloaded like excess baggage, but still heavy in Dieter’s heart.

* * *

I am lucky to be here,
Dieter told himself as he opened his eyes and took in Elsa’s bedroom, the vivid memories beginning to fade.
I could be fighting Russians in Breslau right now. Instead, Egger certainly is.
He searched himself for any remorse at leaving that man and his troops behind, and found none.
 

About time they got into a fight with someone who shoots back.
He got up from bed and looked out the window at the gray Berlin street below.
What now?

* * *

Elsewhere in Berlin at that moment, another face stared out of a different window, at Number 8
Prinz Albrecht Strasse
, Gestapo headquarters. The face was that of Heinrich Himmler. With a sigh, he turned and spoke.

“As you know, your area of responsibility in
Amt
IV, the Polish General-Government, is no longer in our control,
Sturmbannführer
Hettstedt.”

“Yes,
Reichsführer
,” Otto Hettstedt replied, carefully listening for any comment or tone of voice that would indicate censure.

“At this date, with our areas of investigation limited to within the borders of the Reich, we find ourselves overstaffed in several offices. We also have been quite successful in eliminating many religious opponents. Therefore,
Sturmbannführer
, I am re-assigning you to a single, critically important operation.”

Relief flooded through Hettstedt, quickly followed by fear. He had been hoping for a new assignment that would send him west, away from the approaching Russians. He had no desire to be captured by the Russians in his SS uniform. After his activities in occupied Poland, he was frantic to find a way to surrender to the British or Americans, or to simply disappear in the confusion when the end came. Now he was standing in front of one of the most powerful men in the Reich, awaiting a special assignment. This did not bode well for his plan to quietly disappear. Hettstedt steeled himself and hoped for the best.

“I am at your command,
Reichsführer
.”

“Good,” Himmler said, smiling slightly. “Very good.” He picked up a folder and handed it to Hettstedt.
 

“You will serve as my personal liaison with a special OKH operation. Colonel Johann Faust of the OKH staff is in charge of a, shall we say, contingency plan if all else fails in defense of the Reich.”

“Is this the Alpine Redoubt?” Hettstedt asked, referring to the rumors of a fortress retreat in the Alps.

“Nothing so fanciful, Hettstedt, although you may be surprised at the concept of this operation. We are obligated to provide certain SS resources in support of this task. Contact Colonel Faust and determine what his needs are. Report to me directly on a regular basis.”

As Hettstedt saluted and left with the file, Himmler walked to a door leading to an inner office. He opened it and General Fegelin entered.

“I think he will do quite nicely, my dear Fegelin.”

“I agree,
Reichsführer
. A mediocre individual, but dutiful.”

“Precisely why I chose him. This operation was an SS idea, until that upstart Faust stole it from us. Now we will show General Guderian a thing or two!”
 

It was evident to Fegelin that Himmler still smarted from Guderian’s comments about his performance as commander of Army Group Vistula. Seeing Himmler’s temper was up, Fegelin wisely decided not to point out that the idea had actually been his.
 

“We will watch this Operation Gambit very carefully. If nothing comes of it, or if it is a disaster, then all we have lost is a single
Sturmbannführer
, and we have plenty of those. If it goes well, then we will step in and take command.”

“
Reichsführer
, if this operation is necessary, it will mean the Reich is cut in half.” Fegelin let the words out without thinking. He did not want to be thought of as defeatist, but he also did not wish Himmler to see how astounded he was at the thought of inter-service bickering when the Allies were about to join forces.

“Yes, of course,” Himmler said simply. “That is quite the point. Keep me apprised of what the
Führer
is told about the operation. That is all.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, as a cold rain swept through Berlin, motorcycle couriers sped through the streets, bearing orders for a number of officers and men on leave. One courier pulled up in front of Elsa’s apartment house, the address Dieter left when he took his leave. He tramped up the stairs, rainwater dripping from his slicker, and knocked on the apartment door.

“
Herr Hauptmann
? Orders from Zossen. You are to report for detached duty with OKH immediately. I am to wait for you to gather your belongings and transport you there.”

Dieter was stunned. He was to have had a week’s leave, but he had spent only one night with Elsa.
 

“What? How?” he stammered.

“I have a sidecar,
Herr Hauptmann
,” the courier said, with an apologetic smile. “It is nasty out, but those are my orders.”

“Damn! Who issued these orders anyway?” Dieter snapped as he opened the sheet and scanned the papers. His heart sunk when he saw the name. Johann Faust.

Not only do I lose my leave and Elsa, I have to ride in a sidecar in the freezing rain because Faust wants me. How much worse can it get?
Not wanting to think about the answer to that, he gathered his few things, wrote a note to Elsa, and wearily followed the courier out into the soaking rain, wondering what Colonel Faust wanted with him now.

CHAPTER TEN

4 March 1945

Ramersbach, Germany

Behind German Lines

“Captain Mackenzie…!” The whisper was insistent in Mack’s ear. Frosted breath rose from the man tugging on his sleeve and steamed the lenses of the binoculars Mack had been looking through.

“Captain, when can we get the hell outta here?”

“Shut up, Kowalski.” Mack whispered back. He desperately wanted to hightail it himself, but had kept his desire to run in check. He wiped the binoculars and ignored Kowalski.
 

The two men had crawled forward to a small ridge, ahead of the rest of the ten-man patrol. For the last hour Mack had scanned the valley in front of them while Kowalski covered him with his Thompson submachine gun. An hour ago Kowalski had been alert and vigilant. Now he was huddled up against the cold, hugging his Thompson to his chest as if it could warm him.

Mack had taken the patrol out through the American lines after midnight. The men were from the Reconnaissance Platoon attached to First Army HQ, and this was not the first night patrol they had gone on with the new captain. Since Mack had arrived over a month ago, he had alternated between long stretches in the field and days at headquarters, analyzing intelligence data and writing his own reports to Colonel Prescott in London. As soon as the First Army G2 chief had understood that Mack was not under his direct command, and seemingly not a hindrance to his own activities, he had assigned him a small cramped office and reluctantly allowed him use of the Recce Platoon as long as it did not
interfere with the defense of Headquarters
, as if it were his personal bodyguard.