Authors: Alan Bricklin
"Understood."
"Good. Now, let us enjoy lunch. My personal chef
prepared this. The railroad was kind enough to allow him some space in their
kitchen." Money talks; power even more loudly.
Business concluded for the day, Gottier became a congenial
host. They exchanged pleasantries for the remainder of the trip, with coffee
and cognac topping off an excellent meal. In subdued intimate tones he talked
about his youth and his rise to preeminence in the world of commerce, seemingly
as he would to a long time friend and confidant. Julian, however, realized he
was presenting only a sanitized version of his personal history based on
material that was public knowledge or easily obtained, leaving out the events
that hovered on the edge of legality or represented flagrant transgressions of
the border between ethical and unethical. Gottier was, of course, aware that
his guest knew all this, but continued the charade nonetheless. After all,
business was business and appearances must be maintained.
They parted company at the Altstatten station, Gottier
disappearing into a waiting Rolls Royce, and Templeton making a brief phone
call before emerging from the station. At the curbside he entered a nondescript
sedan, driven by a nondescript United States government employee, a scene that
was an affirmation for him of the decision he had made not to live his life so
far down on the food chain. They pulled away from the curb and drove at a
modest speed through the small town and onto the road that led to the
technically illegal base that the OSS maintained on Swiss soil.
* *
Eva's grin morphed into a sneer, then she laughed out loud, a dry,
cold, bone chilling cackle. She said something to Gerhard, who nodded, motioned
her to stay by the car, then slowly walked forward, coming to a halt in front
of Larry and Maria. Maria averted her eyes, but Larry returned Waldman's stare,
looking directly in his eyes with neither belligerence nor supplication. One
soldier acknowledging to another that today the field was his.
The General spoke first. "I do not even know your name,
but I have been expecting you."
"Lorenz. My name is Lorenz."
"Ah, so Eva says. But we both know that is not your
name. No matter. 'Lorenz' it shall be."
"And your name, General?"
"Waldman. SS General Gerhard Waldman. There. You see, I
have been honest with you." Turning to Maria, he continued, "And this
must be Maria, the late general Schroeder's woman."
Maria's head shot up, her eyes fixed on Waldman. "What
do you mean, the 'late' general Schroeder?" Hysteria in her voice.
"I am sorry to inform you that the General has been
killed by partisans in northern Italy."
"No, that can't be. German generals don't get
killed." She started forward but was restrained by a nearby soldier.
"Tell me it's not true," she screamed.
"I am afraid it is true, Fraulein. I can attest to it
personally."
That bastard had him killed.
But Larry showed no
emotion and remained motionless. There was nothing he could do now. Maybe
later. Unlikely, but at least a remote possibility. Maria's sobs tore at his
gut, as she cried in great bursts for the man who had been her only support
through one of the darkest periods of her life. He wondered if she believed the
part about the Italian partisans, and, in one of those strange tangential
thoughts that come unbidden, he wondered if it would affect their relationship,
considering his Italian origin. Almost immediately he realized the irrelevancy
of his concerns, since it seemed probable that their relationship, as well as
their lives, would soon be terminated by a bullet in the head. For him it would
be an exit far better than he had imagined for himself, but for his beloved
Maria it would be a tragic end, although perhaps, even for her, it would be less
painful than a life without him and Heinrich.
For the moment, all eyes were focused on Maria, whose sobs
seemed to reverberate through the air, and Larry took the opportunity to survey
his captors. There were about a dozen men, mostly the old and the young, some
wearing only potions of a uniform, the rag tag remnants of the male population
of a country which had committed all its resources to a war whose front had
expanded far beyond the capacity of Germany to maintain. As it receded, the
tide of German expansion left behind its detritus, like the sea leaves behind
rows of debris on the shoreline. In the case of Germany, it was its fighting
elite that were left behind on foreign soil, dead or captured, while all that
remained in the fatherland were those who were not thrown into the tidal surge.
These stood before him now, old, grizzled, unseasoned, but each, nonetheless,
carrying a weapon that could snuff out a life with the mere contraction of a
finger on a trigger.
"Well, Lorenz, we have some business to conclude. You
are carrying something that I must have. Come, let us take a walk." He
spoke to the sergeant next to him who barked some orders, and several men
detached themselves from the squad and fell in beside Larry and Maria. Waldman
turned and signaled to Eva who joined him before he led the small group into
the adjacent woods. Larry noticed two of the soldiers carrying a large crate ——
for the plutonium, he surmised.
With gallows humor, he thought that their future was
"not promising" and apt to be rather short. Still, the future was an
unknown, and that which is not known offers a myriad of possibilities. So Larry
retained some small sliver of hope, although as they marched closer to
certainty, the number of options would rapidly shrink until they converged, at
the final moment, into a singularity from which there was no escape. The black
hole of destiny.
They moved noisily through the woods for about a half-mile,
heading East, then halted in a small clearing, the soldiers assuming positions
around the periphery. Several large boulders stood like silent sentinels,
embedded fragments of quartz reflecting light. Gerhard unsnapped the holster of
his PO8 Luger and removed the dark metal sidearm.
Eva put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, let me have
the pleasure of killing at least one of them. I think the woman, while he
watches, would be nice. What do you think?"
"Yes, of course, Liebchen," he said, emphasizing
"Liebchen." It seemed that Eva was about to say something.
Maria ran to Larry, entwined her arms tightly in his and
held on as if he was her only anchor in the roughest of seas. The crack of a
gun discharging at close range shook her body with an involuntary spasm and her
grasp momentarily tightened even further.
Eva opened her mouth, as if to continue the thought she had
been about to vocalize, but no words followed, only the forced expiration of
air. With a surprised and then questioning look on her face, she sank to the
ground, the still smoking muzzle inches from her abdomen, the gun clenched in
Gerhard's hand, his head angling down to follow her slump to the forest floor.
"I do not like to share, Liebchen," he said, then
pivoted around to face Larry again. "And now, Lorenz, it is time."
What happened next was a rapid succession of individual actions, some occurring
simultaneously, but all happening with such speed that the overall effect was
that of a great upheaval, multiple events that were discernible to the
contemporaneous mind only by virtue of their consequences after the fact.
Waldman's index finger tightened on the trigger and there
followed two shots, one immediately after the other, the sounds blending into
one. His cap was blown up and to the side by the round that tore into his right
temple, the slug exiting amid a shower of blood intermixed with fragments of
bone and brain. The force of the bullet sent his body reeling to the left,
toppling like a tree and landing across the prostrate body of Eva. As he was
thrown to the side, there was a spasmodic clenching of his hand and the Luger
discharged, sending a nine mm round into Maria, who let out a startled cry and,
with a low groan, settled to her knees, then fell over.
There followed several sharp reports and three of the
Germans collapsed on the spot. Two of the three that remained standing were
looking around, panicked, trying to figure out who was firing on them and from
where. One of them, spying Larry still on his feet, aimed his rifle at him,
considering him to be a reasonable target. The third German, whose rifle was
already in firing position, let loose two quick shots, dropping Larry's would
be assassin, and, swiveling slightly, fired off two additional rounds at the
last remaining soldier, a frightened youth not yet out of his teens.
For Larry, the situation had a surreal quality, a cacophony
of shouts and shots, a blur of movement, all over in a matter of seconds. He
was aware of essentially what had happened, bodies dropping, the General
killing the former "Maria," one German killing two other soldiers,
all of it playing out before him; but of its significance he knew nothing. It
wasn't until he turned to Maria, the last shots echoing through the forest,
that he saw her body crumpled next to him, an expanding stain of blood
spreading over her midsection. He dropped to his knees, horror on his face,
took her torso in his arms and gently raised it to his lap, cradling her head.
Three men emerged from the trees bordering the clearing,
speaking rapidly as they hastily checked the bodies of the fallen Germans, then
conferred with the one remaining "German soldier." In some recess of
his brain Larry was aware that they were speaking Italian.
When they came over to Larry, he was kneeling next to Maria,
tears falling and running down his face, washing a path in the dirt that caked
his face. One of the men squatted next to Larry and said in broken English,
"She is with you?"
Without thinking, Larry responded in Italian, causing raised
eyebrows in the men that stood around him. "Yes, we've got to save
her." That seemed to trigger something in Larry, to put him into another
state, the efficiency of the field operative coming to the fore, and he began
to do what he had been taught about first aid. First, stop the bleeding. He
reached into her pack and removed a scarf, folded it into a pad and, after
moving the remains of her blouse out of the way, applied it as a compress to
the wound.
The man next to him was silent for a moment, rubbing his
hand over the stubble on his face, then said, "We've been sent to get you
and that thing you carry across the border into Switzerland. My name is
Fabrizio, and we must hurry. My men will get your woman to safety. There is a
house not far from here that will be safe, but they must move quickly, before
the Germans come to investigate."
"I won't leave her. She has to come with us."
"She won't survive the journey, nor will any of us if
we have to take her."
Maria, whose breathing was becoming labored, slid her hand
to Larry, the cold fingers closing around his wrist. "He's right. Go with
him and complete the mission you came all this way for. It will be better for
me, for all of us, if you leave me in their hands."
"I can't. We have to be together for whatever time we
have."
"I don't want to die, and I surely will if you try to
take me with you now. Go. When I am well I will find you."
Fabrizio stood and put his hand on Larry's shoulder.
"Quickly, we must get started." He spoke urgently to his men, and one
of them scooped Maria up in his arms, Larry rising in unison. He kissed Maria
on her lips, and the chill he felt there sent a shiver through his body, her
icy flesh the medium of what he feared would be their final farewell.
Larry grabbed his pack, slung it over his shoulders and
followed the Italian partisan deeper into the woods, his eyes still wet with
tears.
* *
It took only a short time for Larry's head to clear sufficiently to
evaluate their situation. The first thing he realized was that they were moving
in an easterly direction, away from the German patrol but also away from the
Swiss border, which lay to the west. Not wanting to do or say anything that
would impede their progress at a time when the most important thing was to
distance themselves from the remainder of Gerhard's troops, he held his tongue
and channeled all his effort and attention into making headway and keeping a
lookout for danger.
After an hour Fabrizio paused and took a short drink of
water before passing the battered canteen to Larry who raised it to his lips
for an equally frugal drink. He screwed on the lid, then, as he returned it to
Fabrizio, said, "I'm sure you know that we're distancing ourselves from
the Swiss border as well as the Nazis. Could you share with me what you have in
mind?"
"If we were lucky, with no Germans around, we would
have entered the woods to the west, with nothing between us and the border, but
it was too much to ask for. I had hoped, even prayed, but God has not always
been gracious to me. A man like me, maybe I'm better off if He just doesn't
notice me. Sometimes I think, better off if we just stay out of each other's
way." He fell silent for a moment, then crossed himself, as if to add,
"But why take chances." He stuck the canteen back in his pack before
continuing. "Without that General to lead them, those old men and boys may
simply decide to go back to their farms and wait for the allies from behind a
plough rather than a machine gun. That's why he was the first one I shot. Cut
off the head of a snake and the body wriggles around for a while, but doesn't
really get anywhere. But if there's anyone left who can think, they'll expect
us to go north, where the Swiss border extends to the east and we would have a
shorter distance to travel."
"So we go south?"
"Yes. To near Klaus, or perhaps Sulz. There is a small
river there. Perhaps it will be of some use to us. But first we have to go up,
into the mountains, where we will be safer, before we can turn to the
south."