On Desperate Ground (38 page)

“What if they shoot you as spies, for being in Russian uniforms?”

“We will keep our
Wehrmacht
tunics with us, and put them on before we reach their lines.”

“And where will I be? With you?”

“No, it will be too dangerous. Jost will look after you, and bring you across the lines with the rest of the men.”

“It sounds so simple.”

“I wish it were. Finding the right moment will not be easy. We have to worry about getting away from Faust and then getting through to the American lines. And I can’t leave my Hiwis behind. There has to be way out for them too. If the Russians catch them, they’ll kill them all.”

“What about the other group, the men in American uniforms?”

Dieter shook his head ruefully. “I think they’re on a fool’s errand. There are too few of them to make a difference, and half of those aren’t even ready. I think the Russians will roll right over them and not even notice the color of the uniforms.”

“Dieter?”

“Yes,
liebchen
?”

“Don’t leave me behind. No matter how dangerous it is, I want to be with you.”
 

There were no more words left to speak. They sat wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the sunlight play across their faces, dreaming dreams of peace and solitude.
 

Less than fifteen minutes later, Dieter heard someone coming up the trail. He turned to see Hans von Schierke, wiping sweat from his brow and walking towards them. He looked worried. Dieter jumped to his feet. “What is it?”

“Faust wants you. It’s started. The Russians are pouring across the Oder.”
 

* * *

Colonel Johann Faust watched von Schierke scramble up the hillside after Dieter. The man had been useless since they had brought Elsa back from Berlin. It was understandable, but it was also about to change. Faust paced the room, once a pleasant sitting room but now his headquarters office. Maps were pinned to the walls and rolled out on a large table. A radio was set up in the corner, but they did not broadcast, only listened for signs of the SS closing in on them. So far, nothing.

Faust stopped and picked up a delicate porcelain figure from a shelf. It was hand-painted and quite beautiful. He hated it. Its domesticity and femininity offended him, here in the midst of his plans to continue and enlarge the war. He wished he could have been within the castle walls where his headquarters were supposed to have been. There he would have walked on hard, cold stone floors among ancient arms and armor that had seen centuries of warfare. It would have sustained him, nurtured his hatred, kept him focused. Instead, here he had to bear with the comforts of a country home and a small but prosperous farm holding. Half of his men had been born on a farm, and many had taken to milking the cows and inspecting the barns, nodding their appreciation at a fine set of tools or a well-stocked hayloft. He had heard some of them talking about their own homes and families, and the work awaiting them there. It was not the kind of talk a combat commander wanted to hear from troops about to face almost certain death. Any sign of softness in his men had to be eliminated, just as he had to root out and crush any softness within himself.

Although,
he comforted himself,
many of these boys don’t even know if their families are even alive, especially if they’re from east of the Oder River. As am I. It’s all talk, pure fantasy.

Yet, the fantasy tugged at him, too. His hand curled around the figurine, wanting to crush it, smash it down to the floor and erase its image, eliminate this softness. He couldn’t. His hand shook as he carefully placed it back on the shelf.
 

Anna. She had loved such pretty, useless little things. Everything he saw or touched made him think of her. For the past year he had hardened himself, killed for the joy of killing and the momentary release it gave him from his anguish, guilt, loneliness, and longing. Now he had to watch another man walk hand in hand with his true love. It was pure agony, and unexpected. He had helped Dieter, sheltered Elsa here within his headquarters, drawn down the wrath of the SS, but it had opened a great wound in his heart. Even though he knew he had done the right thing, and that his father would have approved, it brought home to him all the more that he would never again have such joy, such love given to him. Succumbing to that softness, uniting the lovers, this had stripped him of the mantle of killing and death that had comforted him and contained his sorrows. Dieter and Elsa’s joy mocked him and all his plans. Softness. Softness crept up on him and would ruin the killing machine, as sure as rust ruined the best blade.
 

The buzzing began, like an electric charge in his brain. It summoned stores of anger, and rage surged within him like bitter bile as he turned, smashing his fist down on the shelf, the porcelain figurines dancing in air and cascading to the floor. They lay in a chipped and broken heap at his feet, taunting him no more with their beauty and perfection. He looked at them and willed himself to feel nothing.
 

Perfect
. He waited for the others to arrive. There was much to do.

* * *

Hauptmann
Herbert Benedikt leaned into the corner as he downshifted his BMW motorcycle, opening up the throttle as he sped down the back road leading out of Wittenberg. On the straight stretch of country road, he felt the exhilaration of speed as everything but the pavement in front of him became a green blur. Not quite like free falling from an airplane, he thought, but it would do. For a moment he let himself enjoy the feel of the wind whipping around him and the power of the machine, before he began to think about what he had just seen.
 

Earlier in the day he had set out to visit his men in the Wittenberg observation post. He had only been there for ten minutes when they saw a convoy coming in on the main road from Berlin. It looked like a full battalion. They had dismounted from the trucks some distance off, split into three groups, and surrounded the castle. Benedikt had seen they were not the sort of SS guard or security troops they had dealt with before. These were Waffen-SS, hardened combat troops from the eastern front. They had approached every castle entrance under cover, sealing it off before the first squads burst through the main entrance. These were not men to be easily ambushed. He watched them conduct a fruitless search, instructed his men to radio where the SS went next, then left to return to headquarters. Benedikt felt his blood up, ready for action, as it always was before a battle. He also felt a weariness he had never before experienced, and a growing concern about what he would soon call upon his men to do. He had brought them into battle before, and watched many of them die. The men who had been with him the longest were a tight-knit group, united by pure survival. Now they were battling the SS as well as the Allies, and trying to pull off the most amazing strategy he had ever heard of. Would they be heroes or villains if they pulled it off? Heroes in whose eyes? That, Benedikt decided, was the real question. Who would judge their actions, now and in the future? He had never been a religious man, but he did feel the weight of a difficult decision beginning to bear upon his shoulders.
 

Maybe I need to be the judge of what’s right and wrong.
 

For a soldier, especially a German soldier in the sixth year of this war, it was not a question with a simple answer. He had been taking orders all his life, and had sworn an oath to obey the
Führer
, and Hitler had ordered this operation. But didn’t the
Führer
owe his followers something, too? Didn’t any leader have a responsibility not to destroy his people and nation? With the war obviously lost, wasn’t it the responsibility of the government to end the suffering as soon as possible, not prolong it? Hadn’t they all killed enough?

Myself included.

With his veteran’s ability to deal with the immediate situation, Benedikt carefully put those thoughts away and slowed, making a left turn onto the dirt road that led to the farmhouse. He pulled over to the side of the road, stopped and stood with the BMW idling powerfully beneath him. He lifted up his goggles and shouted towards the trees.

“Christian, Erik!” Two camouflaged soldiers rose up from the treeline and waved back to him. “The SS were at the castle—about a battalion, Waffen-SS. Keep a good lookout!”

“We’ll radio in their strength if they come by.” Benedikt nodded and took off down the road, alerting the men stationed at each house and farm as he went.

Faust stood silently as his staff entered, with his hands behind his back, erect and formal. It was the first time they had seen him out of his dress uniform. He wore the gray-green
Wehrmacht
field uniform with a dappled camouflage
Panzergrenadier
tunic. His Iron Cross showed at the collar, and the brown and black DAK cuffband stood out over the camouflage pattern. Faust looked calm, professional, and dangerous. One by one they entered, Dieter first, then
Obersturmführer
Felix Strauch, in charge of the American-uniformed section.
Leutnant
Gustav Stieff and
Flugkapitän
Karl Wendel. Faust waited a moment, then asked, “Where is Benedikt?”

The roar of a motorcycle speeding down the road answered the question for him. They waited as Benedikt pulled up and scrambled up the steps into the farmhouse. Removing his goggles and helmet, he told them about the Waffen-SS in Wittenberg.
 

Strauch knew the least about what had gone on previously, and looked anxiously at the others. “What in God’s name is going on here?”

“What is going on here,
Obersturmführer
, is that you are following the orders given to you by your commanding officer, as authorized by the
Führer’s
special order. Do you understand that?” Faust questioned harshly.

“Yes, sir, but I—”

“There is no need to concern yourself, Strauch,” Faust cut in, speaking in more soothing tones. “I will tell you that the SS political leadership has attempted to take over this operation, now that it stands some chance of success. Are you familiar with Himmler’s record as commander of Army Group Vistula?”

Strauch knew that Himmler had failed miserably and had quietly been relieved of command by Hitler. He could not argue that Himmler should be given another chance as a military leader.
 

“I understand, sir.”

“You simply need to carry out your orders as given to you. I have been ordered by the
Führer
to carry out Operation Gambit, and I have ordered you to do your part. If you are not prepared to do so, tell me now!”

“I am yours to command, Colonel.” Strauch believed in Operation Gambit, and knew enough of SS political infighting to not trust command to them.
 

Satisfied, Faust spoke to them all.

“You all have overcome many obstacles in this war. This is yet another, perhaps the final obstacle. We all have our orders. Any unit which tries to stop you is in direct violation of the
Führer’s
decree. Do not forget that.” The men nodded their understanding. If they trembled at the thought of fighting the Russians, Americans, and the SS, they did not let their Colonel see it.
 

“Now, as to why I called you together. It has begun. Artillery bombardments opened up along the Oder and Neisse rivers last night and early this morning the Russians attacked along the entire front. They are hitting the Seelow Heights directly east of Berlin, and they crossed the Neisse just south of Forst.”

“That’s only 130 kilometers east of here!” said Stieff, looking at the map laid out on the table.

“Indeed,” said Faust casually. “And there is nothing between the Russians and us but a very worn-out Fourth Panzer Army. They are falling back to the Spree River now, but will not be able to hold it long.”

“Then it is a matter of days,” Dieter said.
 

“Yes,” Faust answered. “You must steel yourselves for what we must do. There can be no thoughts other than success, to continue the battle against the Bolsheviks with the Anglo-Americans. It is up to you men in this room, at this time, to save the Reich. No other thoughts,” he repeated, looking directly at Dieter.

“All units will leave tonight, starting at midnight,” Faust continued, shifting his eyes away from Dieter but leaving his meaning clear. “Strauch, you and your men leave first. Proceed to Dommitzsch, 30 kilometers southeast of here. It is one of two crossings over the Elbe between here and Torgau. Given the axis of the Russian attacks, I think this a likely crossing for them, and a good ambush point. Scout the area and prepare your ambush as instructed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Benedikt,” Faust said, “send two platoons with Strauch to cover his flanks. Once they engage the Russians, your men should withdraw from the area. Have the Heavy Panzers and the
Panzergrenadiers
move out to Pretzsch, here, on the Elbe.”

“Another crossing point,” said Benedikt, studying the map.

“Yes. They will either oppose the Russians there to force them down to Dommitzsch, or come to the aid of our forces if necessary. Pretzsch puts them between Strauch and Neukirk.”

“And the rest of my company?” Benedikt asked.

“You and the remainder of your men will provide flank protection to
Hauptmann
Neukirk and his Hiwis. They are the priority unit in this operation.”