On Desperate Ground (18 page)

“If we have an hour then, let’s make the most of it.” She leaned close to whisper in his ear. “I have a little real coffee in my office, and sugar.” She winked at him, taking his hand and leading him down the hall.
 

They sat holding hands as the coffee brewed on a hotplate set up on a shelf under the wide window. Her office was small, barely enough room for two comfortable chairs by the window, with a view looking north over the city from the sixth floor.
 

“I’m sorry we don’t have time to go back to the apartment, Dieter.”

“Yes, me too,” Dieter said, smiling at the memory of his last night with her. “I shouldn’t even be here right now. Jost will be picking me up in less than an hour. We were supposed to go right back to Zossen with a report on our meetings here, but it ended early, so here I am.”

“Zossen! I had no idea you were so close! Can you get away again?”

“I don’t really know. No leave has been given to anyone. It’s a top secret project.”

“What are you doing, Dieter? Is it dangerous?”

“Elsa, being a civilian in Berlin is about the most dangerous job in Germany. Between the bombings now and the Russians later, anything could happen to you. Not to mention your other activities.”

The last sentence was spoken in a whisper. Dieter was proud of the work Elsa did in helping the hidden Jews of Berlin, but frightened out of his wits for her at the same time. He wanted her safe, and part of him was irritated that she put herself at such risk when the Allies in the air and on the ground seemed dangerous enough without throwing the Gestapo into the mix.

“Dieter,” she said. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me what you’re up to. If you don’t, I’ll get it out of Jost when he gets here.”

Dieter was bursting with desire to tell her about Operation Gambit. He knew he could trust her and wanted her to know that finally he was working on a project that would help her, save her, keep her from ruin here in Berlin. She trusted him with her secrets, after all. He leaned closer. “You mustn’t tell anyone about this—”

He told her the whole story, starting from the motorcycle courier right up to his latest round of briefings. He told her all about Faust and his vision for the operation, about the planning and the break-neck speed with which they were organizing all the resources at their command, about how he was beginning to see the outlines of what Faust had predicted and how it all might really come to pass as the Allies crossed into German territory.

He didn’t stop as she poured the coffee. He told her about the hopeless defenders of Breslau, the women and old men digging anti-tank ditches in the freezing cold. He told her about the train. He told her about the contents, about removing them to make room for his men, about pulling out of that station and seeing the debris of so many lives left behind.

“Elsa, we can’t let the Russians win. Do you know what that will mean after all we’ve done to them, to the Jews? I won’t let it happen! I can’t bear the thought of what might happen to you.”

He had begun with enthusiasm and now he felt drained. Even the sweetened coffee didn’t revive his spirits.

Elsa looked at him a long time, saying nothing, a blank look on her face. He watched her, waiting for a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“That is the most monstrous thing I’ve ever heard. You must stop it.”

“What? Elsa, it could save you from the worst.”

“Save us? For what? How many more years of Hitler will your Operation Gambit buy us, Dieter? How much time will you add to the Thousand-Year-Reich? How many more of the pitifully few Jews left in Berlin will they round up with the time you’ll buy them?”

 
Dieter stared at her, open-mouthed. He had thought he was bringing good news, and now it was thrown back in his face as worthless, an evil enterprise. “Think about what you’re saying, Elsa. If the Russians get here before the British or Americans, they’ll destroy everything.”

“Dieter, listen to me,” Elsa said, leaning forward to take his hands. “The Nazis have already destroyed everything. Before the first bomb fell on Berlin, everything was already rotten. They’ve not only destroyed lives, they’ve ruined the soul of this country. Too many people have let them have their way. There’s a reason why there will be retribution, Dieter. Don’t delay it. It will come sooner or later. Better that it come sooner, before every innocent person in Germany is killed.”

Dieter slumped back into his chair and stared down into the coffee grounds in his cup. He felt worn out, used up, exhausted. Only the thought that he was engaged in some good, instead of in endless fighting and withdrawals, had kept him going the past weeks. Only the thought of saving Elsa had sustained him. Now she rejected his salvation, and accused him of serving only to prolong the suffering. In a tiny place deep in his soul, he knew she was right, but the voice was too small, the denial too great, to say so. Instead, it came out as a powerless, complaining and petulant voice.

“But Elsa, even if I wanted to, how could I stop it? I’m only one man.”

Elsa stood and looked out the window. She pointed to a bombed-out building less than a block away from the hospital. “Dieter, stand up. Do you know what that building is?”
 

Dieter rose, and stood beside her. He stood slumped, defeated, while Elsa quivered with emotion, pointing to a standing, roofless wall amidst rubble.

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s the New Synagogue. Or was. It was built a hundred years ago and called the New Synagogue because it was the first synagogue that was allowed to be constructed facing the street.”

“Fascinating, Elsa, now what—”

“The Prussian government issued a proclamation granting the New Synagogue the right to exist, without harassment, forever.” Her words were sharp, and her eyes locked onto his.

“Forever?” Dieter grunted with a cynical laugh, avoiding her gaze and the sight of the ruined structure.

“Yes, forever. It became a symbol of what a cosmopolitan city Berlin was during the last century.”

“That’s an interesting story, but what does it have to do with me?”

“In 1938, during the Night of Broken Glass, you know how the Nazis destroyed synagogues and Jewish businesses all over Germany. Do you know they were about to do the same to the New Synagogue when a single policeman stopped them? He stood in front of that building, holding a copy of the Prussian proclamation, and refused to stand aside. One man, holding a piece of paper, stopped them. One honorable man stopped a crowd of Nazi thugs.”

She turned away from the window, unable to look at the bombed-out rubble any more. Her arm fell to her side, and she finished in a whisper. “The New Synagogue stood unharmed until 1943, when the
Amis
hit it in a bombing raid.”

Elsa felt totally drained. The stress and strain they were both under showed in the tension between them. At this moment, they didn’t have each other. Their own disappointments, hopes and fears for the future separated them. The room was silent. Dieter stared at the floor, until a single teardrop spattered on Elsa’s shoe. He looked up and saw her cheeks covered with tears. He stood, reached for her. They embraced in a silent, desperate hug. They encompassed each other, her moist cheek against his stiff collar. Time seemed to stand still, the quiet of the room enveloping them.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall, bringing the world and the war back to them. Jost Brunner stood in the hall, his large frame heaving and out of breath.

“
Hauptmann!
We have to get back to Zossen now. The Americans have crossed the Rhine!”

* * *

Elsa sat her desk, her bent head held in her hands, tears drying on her cheeks. Dieter was gone in a flurry, back to some emergency brought on by the American crossing of the Rhine. Elsa hoped and prayed that he could be dissuaded from this insane plan, this Operation Gambit. She just wanted the war to end. She couldn’t envision what it would be like, but she knew it couldn’t be worse than this daily walk of the tightrope, with lives in her care. She just wanted the bombing to end, the Gestapo to go away, and Dieter in her arms. What broke her heart was knowing it would not be that simple, and if any of those things ever came, it would be at a great cost.
 

There was a short knock on the door, and Sister Anneliese walked in with Senor Gonsaldes in tow. She stopped short as she saw the look on Elsa’s face.

“My child! What’s happened?”

“Dieter was here. He’s gone now.” Elsa looked to Sister Anneliese as she noticed the elderly distinguished man holding back behind her. Sister Anneliese gathered herself to the task at hand, meaning to return to Elsa’s evident sorrow later. She put her arm around Gonsaldes, pulling him into the room as she shut the door behind them.
 

“Elsa Klein, this is Senor Antonio Joaquim Gonsaldes, senior Consul of the Portuguese Embassy.” Gonsaldes bowed toward Elsa, a conspiratorial smile playing across his face.
 

“
Senorita
Klein, I have come here in regard to two Portuguese nationals in the employ of the hospital. It is time to evacuate them to Portugal before Berlin becomes surrounded. I will return tomorrow morning with the exit visas, and escort them personally to the airport.”

“Who?” Elsa was confused and surprised.
 

“Carlita and Consuela DiGama,” Sister Anneliese said proudly, “our Portuguese twins!”

“Leah and Sarah?” whispered Elsa. The two young girls had been hidden within St. Ludwig’s for weeks as Elsa searched for a way to get them out of Berlin. This was unbelievable luck. She rose from her desk and walked up to Gonsaldes.

“Senor Gonsaldes, I don’t know where you came from, but God bless you.”

Senor Gonsaldes smiled, and blushed. “God indeed has blessed me today, ladies. I shall return as soon as I have the documents prepared.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

17 March 1945

First Army Forward POW Camp

Mayen, Germany

Captain Mack Mackenzie walked along the barbed wire enclosure, mud sucking at his combat boots, Lieutenant Jeff Rose at his side. Trailing them was a wiry, dark-haired corporal cradling a shotgun in his arms. German POWs looked at them from behind the enclosure, a mixture of defeat and bravado showing on their faces. In most cases, especially with the younger ones, defeat tinged with fear won out. Except for the occasional tough veteran, they looked played out and forlorn in their uniforms stripped of belts, helmets, and weapons. Soldiers in captivity looked different, Mack thought. There was something pathetic about the clothing when you took away the equipment and hardware that hung off a combat soldier. All that was left, especially in winter, was a bundled scarecrow with wide, hollow eyes staring out from under a cap or rags wrapped around head and face.

Mack scanned the crowded enclosure, feeling pity for the enemy. He couldn’t imagine himself caged like that, cold, hungry, all hope and freedom lost. Rose looked indifferent, both toward the POWs and the biting cold wind that blew around them and was beginning to freeze the muddy track they walked on. Corporal Levi Mandelbaum looked out over the German prisoners with undisguised hatred and contempt. First Army division G-2 had informed Mack that a senior SS officer had been taken prisoner and was being forwarded to this main POW clearinghouse. He hoped that the man would have some new information about the existence of the elusive Alpine Redoubt SHAEF was still pestering him about.

“There’s that SS fucker,” Mandelbaum growled, pointing out an officer with the barrel of his Winchester Model 97 Trench Gun. The POWs nearest the fence dove for the ground as he did so, revealing the leather-coated form of an SS
Brigadeführer
. He stood out in sharp contrast to the gray-green and muddy uniforms around him. His black trench coat and uniform looked as if he were about to go on parade. Mandelbaum uttered a sharp laugh.

Mack signaled to one of the MPs at the main gate. The SS officer was released into his custody for interrogation. As he was brought out, Mack could see that his appearance was not as immaculate as it first appeared. He looked like he had lived in his uniform for several days and mud was splattered over his boots and the back of his coat. His eyes were nervous, darting about and wide with terror as the MP grabbed him by the collar and threw him towards Mack. He slipped and fell sideways in the mud, falling at their feet, his right arm nearly buried in thick cold mud. Corporal Mandelbaum stepped forward, and with a casual smile, lowered the barrel of the pump-action shotgun to the SS officer’s nose.
 

“Guten Tag, Schwienhund. Ich bin ein Jüde.”

Rose gave the officer a sharp kick in the side to get him up. With the shotgun prodding him in the back, the group led him away from the other POWs. Mack could see his face was white, and sweat ran down his temples even as his frosted breath played out in rapid, shallow breaths. He was now half covered in mud, any arrogance remaining after his capture gone and replaced by filth and primal fear.

Perfect,
thought Mack. Mack was a skilled interrogator, and he liked his subjects off-balance, their defenses down. They led the
Brigadeführer
away from the POW enclosure to a large stone and timber barn that currently served as Mack’s forward post and the billet for the First Army’s HQ Recce platoon. Jeeps with mounted .30 caliber machine guns and halftracks were pulled up in front of the barn. Several men were repairing the engine of one halftrack, and others were grouped around a small fire.