On Desperate Ground (32 page)

Faust took a sip and set his cup down on his desk. He removed a slip of paper from his tunic pocket and handed it to Hettstedt, a thin smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth.

“
Sturmbannführer,
I almost forgot. This message came for
Untersturmführer
Franz Wertholz just before you arrived. I’m sure it was meant for you as the senior officer in charge of this detail.”

Hettstedt had to hold his coffee cup in one hand to unfold the message. There was no table or other surface near the chair to set down his cup. Hearing the message was addressed to him, Wertholz stepped closer, reading over Hettstedt’s shoulder while sipping his coffee.

Outside, the twenty SS guards broke out cigarettes and began to smoke and talk among themselves. They kept a loose formation, in case their officers stepped outside and they needed to form up in a hurry. There was no sign of anyone else in the courtyard and they relaxed, glad to be out of the trucks after the long drive.

The low chatter of the men was interrupted by sudden movement everywhere. Soldiers in paratroop smocks ran at them from around the back of the three buildings. From the rooftops three stories above them, on each side, other paratroopers rose up and leveled their StuG 43 assault rifles at the crowded group of guards. They were caught milling about, lighting cigarettes and with their Schmeisser submachine guns slung carelessly over their shoulders.

“Hands up! Hands up!” Benedikt yelled. The SS men stood dumbly, not moving, not understanding what was happening. “Hands up, damn you!”
 

Finally one of the SS men reached for his Schmeisser and brought it up towards Benedikt. Before he could aim, a burst of fire from a trooper on the roof caught him full in the chest and drove him down. The other guards froze. The sight of one of their comrades in a shattered bloody heap on the ground was enough for them. These were not combat troops. They were used to beating down doors and hauling off defenseless enemies of the State. They looked at each other, then back at the hard, determined men surrounding them. They dropped their guns and held up their hands.
 

Faust glanced at Jost as Hettstedt and Wertholz read the message together. The look on Hettstedt’s face was blank, except for his gaping mouth. Wertholz was a few seconds behind him, and then he came to the order to arrest Hettstedt. He looked up at Faust and the orderly at the opposite end of the room. Realization dawned on him that he had been neatly separated from his troops. At that moment the sound of shouting and gunfire was heard from outside. Wertholz, grasping what was happening, threw his cup to the floor and reached for his holster, drawing out his Walther pistol.
 

Jost pulled the Russian Tokarev automatic from behind his back and in one fluid motion brought his arm around and fired a single shot. The sound was explosive in the small room. Wertholz’ head snapped back and exploded as the round went in between his eyes and burst out the back, splattering the wall with blood and brains. Wertholz slammed against the wall and slid to the floor, blood pooling around him.

The office door burst open and Dieter knelt in the doorway, pistol in hand, searching for a threat. He saw Jost with the smoking pistol and Wertholz on the floor. Hettstedt was half up from his chair, frozen in fear, his mouth trying to work, but no sound coming out. Benedikt ran in from the courtyard, von Schierke just behind him.

“Everything under control,” Benedikt said. “We had to shoot one of them, but the rest gave up easily. They’re being disarmed now.”

“Lock them in the basement cells,” Faust ordered. “Leave them food and water and tell them they’ll be released within a few days. Say their officer was a traitor and that they must remain here for questioning. That ought to keep them wondering.”
 

Before the war, these barracks were part of the
Wehrmacht
penal system, where soldiers under sentence performed heavy labor duties around the post and locked up when not working. Since the war, all penal sentences were served in special battalions on the eastern front, and the cells had not been used in years.
 

Jost quickly went to Hettstedt and removed his pistol from its holster. Hettstedt, looking terrified, could only shake his head as he gazed at Wertholz. He then went pale and vomited over the corpse.

Jost dragged the shocked Hettstedt out of the room, into the outer office. He shut the door behind him, closing off the room that now stank of blood, vomit and cordite. He shoved Hettstedt down into a chair and stood behind him as Faust and the others gathered in front of him.

“Well, Otto,” Faust began, “you certainly have gotten yourself in a lot of trouble. First you turn on us, then your SS bosses turn on you. Tell me why.”

“You shot him,” Hettstedt was finally able to utter. He could not believe what had happened. He almost succeeded, then that message and the terrible explosion. He looked back at Jost and said again in a quiet voice, “You shot him.”

Faust stepped forward and slapped Hettstedt savagely on the face, the sound like the snap of a whip. “Wake up, man. Tell me what Fegelin wants with you and what he’s going to do. Now!”

As Hettstedt looked at them, comprehension slowly dawned on him.
Gonsaldes.
He tried to form his thoughts and speak. He was alone now, these men were his only hope. They had killed Wertholz, but Wertholz would have followed his orders and brought him back as a prisoner.

“
Brigadeführer
Fegelin had me report to him on Operation Gambit. He and Himmler wanted it for the SS if it looked like it was going to work. They wanted me to find some pretext that would allow them to go to the
Führer
and get him to take control away from the
Wehrmacht
.”
 

“What exactly did you find out?” Benedikt asked, glancing up at Jost with a slight nod. Jost dug the barrel of his Tokarev into Hettstedt’s neck.

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! Please put the gun down. I found out about von Schierke changing his name. He was suspected of involvement in the 20 July plot, but the Gestapo had lost track of him. That was the first thing.”

“And?” Jost demanded with another shove.

“Then I found out
Hauptmann
Neukirk was engaged to Elsa Klein of St. Ludwig’s. I had met her once before, and had some suspicions about that hospital. I had nothing else to go on, so I began to investigate her.”

Jost, Hans and Dieter exchanged nervous glances. Hettstedt failed to notice Dieter gripping his pistol tighter, and continued, bragging about his investigation.

“I figured it out, you see. The papers, everything. St. Ludwig’s had the lowest return rate of identity papers—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Faust.

“Why Jews, Colonel, Jews. Hundreds of them. His girlfriend has hidden and smuggled hundreds of them out of the city. She gave them identity papers from people killed in the bombing raids.”

Dieter lunged forward, grabbing Hettstedt by the collar with one hand and shoving the barrel of his pistol into his throat with the other. Now there were two guns aimed at his neck.

 
“What did you do with her? If you’ve hurt her, I swear I’ll kill you,” Dieter growled. “Slowly.”

Faust stepped in calmly and pulled Dieter back. “Holster your weapon,
Hauptmann
, now is not the time.”
 

He looked down at Hettstedt, feeling revulsion at the sight of the soft, fleshy man in the black uniform with vomit drying on his chin and on the tips of his boots. He exuded fear and self-pity. This was the face of those who make war on helpless women, who hunt down the defenseless, and quiver at the thought of an honest fight. Memories and images began to stir within Faust, but he was well practiced at quieting them. He willed himself to go on, taking one deep breath as he listened to the buzzing still itself.

“Tell me everything, Otto. The whole truth, and then we’ll see if we can help you. You really have no one else, no one but us, and even we are all ready to put a bullet in you if you don’t tell us everything.”

He did tell them everything, how he found out about Gonsaldes and his attempt to arrest him, and the heart attack. About Fegelin’s refusal to give him written orders and his now transparent flattery. About the raid on the hospital. About the order to use Elsa to implicate others. Everything, except Sister Anneliese’s condition when he left her. When he was done, Faust was astounded at the extent of his vanity and stupidity.

“Fegelin played you for a fool. There are no direct orders connecting your actions to him. You alone are responsible for the death of a neutral diplomat. He even used you to come here, into our stronghold, to take Neukirk and von Schierke. If you succeeded, he would have them and you. Remember that you’re a part of Gambit also. He would show Himmler and Hitler that the whole Operation was rotten, even down to a renegade SS officer. Then he would have had the whole lot of you shot, unless there was a chance to get something further on me. He hates me. Either way, he would have ended up in command of Gambit.”

Everything made sense now to Hettstedt. “Yes, he wanted to use Neukirk and his girlfriend for that. Threaten each of them with the death of the other until he got what he wanted. I am a dead man.”

“Elsa is in
Prinz Albrecht Strasse
,” said Dieter. It was not a question, only a helpless, forlorn statement.
 

Faust saw the agony in his eyes. He recognized that look, the look of a man imagining the worst terrors inflicted upon the woman he loves. The look of a man who knows that the unimaginable has happened and that he is powerless to prevent it, then realizes he himself may have caused it. He had seen that face many times, in every reflection. As he looked at Hettstedt, he summoned up the rage he had felt against the Nazi leaders as they abandoned the ancient German lands of East Prussia to the Russians, leaving Anna and her family defenseless. He looked again at Dieter, wondering if right now Elsa Klein called her lover’s name out as they came for her. The Gestapo, the Communists, what was the difference anyway?

Faust walked away from Hettstedt and went to the nearest window, opening it and letting fresh cool evening air flow over him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The buzzing was silent, and he felt only guilt. Dieter’s situation was too close to his to deny. Duty and obedience had brought the promise of death to his loved one too. For the first time since Anna’s death, he felt something in his heart besides a desire to kill.
 

He had met Elsa briefly, and passed by her picture on Dieter’s desk many times. She was a pretty woman, not as beautiful or delicate as Anna with her long blonde hair, but stunning in her own plainer fashion. And brave, too. Anna had stayed to care for her parents when she could have run away. Elsa sounded like a woman who didn’t run either. Could he leave her to the likes of the Gestapo, just as Anna had been left for the Russians? Could he condemn Dieter, his loyal protégé, to a fate that had left him teetering on the edge of madness?
 

Was it possible there could be some kind of redemption? A calmness descended over him, and he felt as if Anna was nearby, almost touching him, trying to speak to him. What would she say if she were? So many times she had come to him, but when he needed her, there was only silence. Then, he heard the distant rustle of pine branches in the breeze.

It’s all right, Johann. I know you couldn’t save me, you were far, far away. But you can save her. Save her for Dieter. Save her for me. Save her for yourself, for your own soul.

He was used to the voices, but he was startled to feel his father’s hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, but he still felt the strong grip, still saw him, leaning and whispering in his ear.

Do the right thing, boy. Do you understand?

He did. He could not stand by in guilt and silence as this happened again. Tears rolled down his cheeks, the first tears of real sadness he had cried for all of them. Not the tears of fear or the sobs of a broken man, but a deep, inconsolable sadness. He felt his men’s eyes on his back as he struggled for control. When he was sure his voice wouldn’t break, he wiped the tears away and tried to sound confident and in command.

“Otto, you were actually very convincing when you arrived here. Have you really gotten so far without any written orders or authorization?”

Hettstedt looked up, surprised at the turn in the conversation.
 

“Well, yes. I really thought I had the backing of Fegelin. And Himmler did receive me once and encouraged me in my investigation.”

“So your own belief in your superiors, plus your rank and uniform, did the job for you.” Faust sounded like he was thinking something through. He straightened his shoulders and turned towards the group.
 

“
Sturmbannführer
Hettstedt, how would you like to end the war safely in an American POW camp, delivered to them in a Wehrmacht officer’s uniform, courtesy of the Brandenburgers?”

“Colonel,” Dieter said angrily, “I’m not—”

“Quiet down, boy,” Jost said as he gently laid a hand on Dieter’s shoulder. “I think the Colonel has a fine idea. Count me in.”
 

“Me too,” echoed Hans, looking at Faust.

Dieter and Benedikt asked at the same time, “What?”

“I cannot believe I have officers so thickheaded,” said Faust. “Now Otto, tell me. Long life or an SS piano wire noose?”