Any Survivors (2008) (15 page)

It was the evening of my first day, whilst I was not yet allowed any visitors, when together with my evening soup I received a letter delivered by the orderly with a grin. It bore a Danish stamp and was written in the handwriting of a 9-to 11-year-old. I spooned my bean soup but was quickly bored by its blandness and focused my attention on the cryptic letter:

Dear kind Uncle Gotthold,

How is the kind old man … have you sent me anything unfortunately not received? Dead perhaps? Sincerely I do truly hope now that he is alive. Did my uncle not die? I confess that I don't know or expect to receive another letter.

From your loyal nephew, Leo.

My initial reaction was what a stupid letter! I don't even have a nephew, at least not according to the diaries I had studied. Then I thought – could this be from the Leo I had met in London? The one who put me on this mission? It was a bit strange that I had not heard anything recently. I remembered the code he had given me: the first word of a sentence was of meaning, then the following two had to be ignored to pick up the next relevant one, and so on.

Dear Gotthold,

The man sent, unfortunately dead. I hope he did not confess. Don't expect another, your Leo.
¹

Of course, it all made sense now and explained why the letter sounded so childish. I also now understood why the
Geheime Macht
had given up on me. They really believed that the anonymous fellow with the will to change the world was dead, and the slimy Griesemann lived on. Fair enough, there would be no replacement. I didn't think I could stomach another change of identity; one was enough for me.

After the terrible tiredness had abated, I tried to make sense of what it meant for me to be invited to meet the Führer. I really should have felt honoured but I didn't feel any reason to celebrate. People in Germany had nothing decent to eat and their money wasn't worth anything. All they had was their Führer. Keeping watch on this prized asset were tens of thousands of young men. These capable young men had no other task than to protect and to shield him. I'm sure they wouldn't let anyone suspicious close to him, especially not if the contact was close and without supervision. I had put myself under suspicion, not because they knew who I really was but because of the nature of the person they thought I was. This was not helped by getting into trouble all the time, and now being penalised for it, and for having a beautiful and unscrupulous person who has never failed a mission lying in wait.

I sighed and wondered where she was. The baths had the same entrance as the laundry rooms, leading off the ground floor of the courtyard just opposite my window. Had I been accidentally peering out the window while she was on the lookout for me? No, I couldn't have. I had been in bed all day. And, I further calculated, the baths were only open until eleven o’clock. If she had to meet with the Gestapo at noon, then she would never be able to make it here before tomorrow, even if everything was arranged in time. I had to be on my guard tomorrow: the girl was not to be underestimated and was by far my superior in terms of wit and craftiness.

The grinning orderly returned to take my tray. His grin seemed even more malicious as he picked up the bowl with the untouched cold bean soup. I now recognised him as the same person I had spoken to on my first outing in uniform, carried on shoulders by the youngsters gleefully predicting that I would be dunked. Surely I was his superior? Didn't I have the right to shout at him and make him stand to attention? The next time I would be sure to study all the relevant rule and guide books before commencing such an adventure; then I would only have myself to blame. Who knew the rules for the navy? What rights did I have now that I was the imprisoned and he was my custodian? Could he answer by taunting me that I was no longer his superior as long as I was a prisoner? I decided not to try my luck and let it be. The man was still standing there with his dirty thumb resting in the cold soup. He had something else to say.

‘What do you want?’ I asked a little rudely.

‘The captain wants me to let you know that if you have any specific requirements or wishes, whether for your breakfast or any other occasion, then you should let me know and he will see what he can do.’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Please convey my thanks to him. If at all possible I would like some porridge and a whole coconut. You may want to write that down otherwise your tiny brain may not cope. Anything else?’

He sneered even more. ‘Yes, Herr Maat. Someone spoke to the captain about the baths. I am supposed to tell you that you have permission to use the baths every morning and the officer on duty will accompany you there and back.’

‘Thank you but I decline the kind offer. I have no intention of having a bath or shower. By the way, can you swim?’ He looked at me stupidly and nodded.

‘Thank goodness. At least that means there is no danger of you drowning in my bean soup.’ His entire hand was immersed in the bowl but he showed no understanding of my joke. Only when I hissed, ‘Get out!’ did he understand and leave the room.

I was a sergeant and member of the navy in combat, decorated and imprisoned for the mishap of being slovenly and not reporting for duty. I didn't think this gave them the right to force me into a shower like a political refugee. I was also sure they wouldn't allow me female visitors. That was not the done thing. Even in ancient Rome or the Middle Ages there were certain rules and regulations when it came to prisoners, even under the darkest regime. I didn't think she would be able to follow me to Berchtesgaden, before which I was unlikely to leave my prison. After that we would probably re-embark, and that made it a little more difficult for her. I lay down in bed and fell asleep to these reassuring thoughts.

The next morning I was brought a bowl of porridge and the requested coconut. I was sure they were not easy to get hold of and not cheap. In a few months’ time they would be even scarcer. It must have been knocking around Europe for some time with hardly any coconut milk left inside but I was not that bothered. I removed the bast fibre and made thin strips which I dunked into the porridge and formed a set of sideburns, long thick eyebrows shaped into a mono-brow and some longer bits at the back of my neck that now fell messily on to the sailor's collar. Then I stuck the headrest under my shirt. It looked like a real hunchback but gave me the appearance of being more narrow-shouldered than I was. Thus disguised I approached the window, taking care to be only partially visible and in profile.

I was right. Christine was in the courtyard in a fetching white apron, with a bonnet covering her blonde curls. It was still early and a chilly morning at that. Not a single sailor had felt the urge to visit the shower rooms yet. This meant she could focus all her energy on spying on my window. Luckily I had the Griesemann squint down to perfection, enabling me to show only my face in profile, at the same time keeping a watch on her and her surveillance tactics.

Of course, she was immediately aware of my presence and began to display the full catalogue of her charms. As if entranced by the fresh morning air, she spread her arms towards the heavens above and burst out a cheer of exultation. I was not sure who this was meant to impress: the two hungry seagulls encircling the courtyard or the white tailcoat shirt hanging on the line, billowing in the morning wind between two chimneys? Her apron straps slipped a little and her top tightened around her upper body. Then she bent down to pull up her stockings, silk and of the finest quality, surely by now unavailable to normal girls. They must have come via the Gestapo arsenal. Bare legs on someone with skin like Christine's would have been beguiling enough, but without stockings there would have been no reason to show her legs in such a way. I had to stand back from my vantage point because all the windows were filling with spectators. The heads of tousle-haired sailors appeared everywhere. They were only just awake but in good spirits, hardly believing their eyes. My disguise was only for Christine's benefit and not meant to be made public. As I was expecting visitors shortly, I had to quickly remove the telltale signs.

***

Sailors on leave do not tend to play charades or other games where you need to guess what the other is thinking. That is something I learned over the last few days. However, should there have been such a game, such as ‘Guess what I am thinking about now’, then it would not be difficult to guess what the obvious thing on everyone's mind was: the new fräulein who worked in the baths and her fine bosom. Nobody talked of anything else. Even those mates I only knew vaguely were coming to see me, saying: ‘Hey you, she's been asking after you’ or ‘Listen, Griesemann, the pretty new girl is wondering why you don't come down to the shower rooms, you know the captain has allowed it!’ The entire torpedo crew was being used to achieve her goals.

The Baron was particularly fiery and sang her praise: ‘Oh pray, remove this fair bosom – I will not be willing to go out and die a hero's death if she remains here to tempt us. Gotthold, you’re an idiot. I hear you sit there and crack coconuts while the fairest woman in the world is crying her eyes out for you. Should I put a word in with the captain? I know he thinks highly of me. It seems to me unjust to imprison someone while the Iron Cross is still warm on his breast. Gotthold, you are missing the opportunity of your lifetime!’

‘Thank you, Oswald!’ I responded haughtily. ‘But I’ll not beg for mercy and won't send others out to defend my cause. This bosom you are all raving about, and the fair lady attached to it, does nothing for me. You can stop trying to whet my appetite. I have seen her from behind and she possesses the broad hips and gait of a common working-class broad. I no longer have a taste for such womenfolk. With my distinction I now belong to the elite of the nation and I deserve better. If you know of a captain's or privy councillor's daughter, then you can count on my interest, insofar as the lady has sufficient beauty and intelligence. Stop looking at me like that. I'm serious. My newly discovered sense of class forbids any such dalliances as you propose.’

My lack of interest and dismissive manner was, of course, feigned. In reality I was quite flattered to be pursued by such a proud beauty, even if her interest was purely professional and her soul not in it. With all the visitors and unsolicited advice I was receiving, I was still feeling a little lonely and isolated. I can honestly say my exclamation of pleasure was unfeigned when at last my old friend the Student entered the room in the evening, limping of course. We threw everyone out of the room. He sat on my bed and stretched out his injured leg. As both of us wanted to tell our side of the story first, we had to toss a coin. Because neither of us had any money on us, we had to find an alternative. The Student tore a button off his trousers, from where the lack of a button would not cause any problems. He started to philosophise: ‘How slowly are we gaining a new principle of power – or how long do trouser buttons last?’

Mendl & Rabinowitz was imprinted around the edge of one side only, surely not an Aryan company, and these were of military stock! He tossed, he won, pocketed the button and began his tale:

‘Stretcher number two won the battle. They pushed me into an ambulance, which was waiting for me with its engine running. From the harbour we sped off in the pitch-black night towards the hospital as if I was fighting for my life. The driver, a member of the voluntary Automobile Corps, must have been hoping for some kind of special mention in the news by being the first person to bring a wounded person to the hospital. They had telephoned ahead, which was fortuitous, as the ambulance was going so fast the sirens may have broken the sound barrier and gone silent. They were prepared to operate straight away. The head physician was waiting for me, a well-known
Ober-Nazi
. He had gathered all his staff and was wearing his surgeon's uniform of coat, mask and rubber gloves. Two strong helpers held me down while they unstrapped me. My first instinct was to run for my life but sadly that wasn't possible. They put me on a trolley and took me to the top floor. The glass roof of the operating theatre was covered with a black curtain, giving it an eerie effect, like a chapel ready for the body of a general to be laid out. I was feeling more and more uncomfortable with all of this. Thank goodness they didn't put me under general anaesthetic and start cutting into me straight away. The head physician was on the phone waiting to be connected. My thought was that he may have been struggling due to the fact that all the telephone operators were in the air-raid shelter. He was not holding the telephone himself because he had already washed his hands; one of the nurses was holding it for him. Apart from these two there was also an assistant, an anaesthetist and two attendants. They removed all my clothes and covered me with an ice-cold linen sheet, from head to toe like a dead body. I was glad that it was taking so long to get a telephone connection. I think this may well have saved my life. Now he was in the room next to me and I could hear every single word.

‘“Is this the office of the
Kieler Morgenpost
? This is head physician Gründemeier from the
Kriegsreservespital
, the wartime reserve hospital. Yes, of course. I am speaking personally. What! It is not possible to send a reporter to this location? Don't you understand this hospital is one of the most prominent buildings in the city and is sure to be the main target of our enemies? Perhaps I should add, if you are not already aware, that the operating theatre is on the top floor under a glass roof, G-L-A-S-S, I said, that's correct. And in this most dangerous position I am about to operate with an unfaltering hand on a poor wounded individual, a sailor if you must know. I see we have different views when it comes to how much publicity this feat deserves. Should I add that I am a member of the party, the head of the surgeons, perhaps my opinion does count after all, especially when it comes to appointing the chief of the local division of a German national paper. Fine, Fine. I am not threatening you, but if you are sorry, maybe it would be best to send someone you can spare. Tell them to bring a camera; no lights are necessary, we have the strong operating lights. I will not start before they get here.”