Authors: Robert Conroy
“You mean you’re okay with my getting intense with your cousin?”
“My cousin’s free, white, and over twenty-one. She can do whatever she wants with whoever she wishes, and yes, I do wish she’d had an affair with me, but that didn’t happen and it ain’t gonna happen since she’s met you and is settling for less than she should. Look, we’re in a period of what was once called ‘sitzkrieg’ or phony war, but we all know it’s not going to last forever. When the weather turns nice all goddamn hell is going to break loose and a lot of us won’t be around for next Christmas. For God’s sake, take life when and how you can.”
Hilda sat back down on the cot and pulled Jeb’s hand down to her breast. “Don’t forget, you have me.”
“Right,” Jeb said, calming down. “Hilda will make the arrangements and, if nothing happens, so be it. If it does work out then you’ll have a night or two to remember for the rest of your lives. And, with the invasion coming on, that might not be all that long. Live while you can, Jacko.”
Still naked, Hilda walked with Jeb and Jack to the tent flap. “He is joking with you. I’m twenty-one and not sixteen. My family has decided that it will be a long time before Germany again controls the Rhineland, so we are cooperating to the fullest.”
“And they are indeed,” Jeb said happily. Hilda said goodbye and led an unprotesting Jeb back to the cot. Elated, Jack walked back to his own quarters.
* * *
The trip across Poland was about as Skorzeny had expected—appalling and miserable.
Eleven vehicles made up the column. In addition to the warm and fairly comfortable staff car he shared with Heisenberg, there were nine trucks of varying sizes and makes. Although a couple were the crude but robust Russian made Zis three-ton vehicles with their absurd wooden cabs, the majority were General Motors two-and-a-half-ton trucks sent to Russia via lend-lease and captured by the Germans. A bus carrying extra men and scientists completed the motorized menagerie.
All the vehicles were painted with the dread red shield insignia of the NKVD and their crews were, with the exception of the handful of scientists accompanying them, all Russians who hated the Soviets because they either lost everything in the Revolution, or had been part of Vlasov’s anti-Soviet army and wanted revenge for his capture. Skorzeny declined to tell any of them that it’d been he who had turned Vlasov and the others over to the Reds to be butchered. Let them believe the fairy tale that a Soviet raid had captured Vlasov.
Skorzeny’s second in command was a young major named Ivan Davidov. He hated Stalin with a white-hot fury because his parents and brother had disappeared into the Siberian gulags for the crime of being intellectuals who asked questions. He didn’t give a crap what had happened to Vlasov whom he considered a turncoat who couldn’t be trusted. Davidov considered himself to be a true patriot.
None of this was a great concern to Skorzeny. He had his orders from Himmler and would carry them out. Of course, Himmler had tried to pin him down as to how long it would take to get to Moscow and detonate the bomb. Skorzeny first had to remind the Reichsfuhrer that no one knew for certain if the damn thing would explode or not, which obviously frustrated Himmler.
Nor was Himmler happy when Skorzeny said they’d arrive when they got there, that he had no idea what the conditions were in Poland and western Russia, and what kind of delays would ensue.
Now he knew. Poland was a study in desolation. It had been fought over and savaged several times by both Russia and Germany since 1939 and in wars prior to that. Few buildings were intact. Decomposing and dismembered corpses, animal and human, lay everywhere. Mounds of rubble gave off intolerable stenches because thousands of bodies were buried underneath, the result of more recent battles.
Few people were seen. Either they were all dead, or had fled somewhere, or were living like rats in the rubble. Skorzeny didn’t blame them for hiding. Both the Germans and the Russians despised the Poles. Men had been massacred while women and children were raped by both sides. Poland was well on its way to becoming a ghost land.
Before the war, Poland had not been noted for its efficient road system and now the situation was worse. Craters forced detours and many bridges were down. Spring was coming and creeks were becoming rivers. Several times the convoy had to wait for the floods to go down or Soviet engineers to repair bridges.
While the NKVD insignia gave them priority, it was often an empty honor. Nothing could solve the problem of a downed bridge or a blasted road except patience. Still, slowly and gradually, they made their way across Poland and to the Russian border, where they found things only marginally different. At least there were people, even though they were gaunt and in filthy rags, and there were few children or old ones. When they noticed the hated and feared NKVD symbol they scurried away and hid as quickly as they could.
Nor did they push their luck when it came to taking priority against westward traveling columns of trucks and tanks. It was not lost on Skorzeny that the Soviet Army was again building up against the Reich. Himmler had told them that the Americans would attack as soon as the Rhine was clear and that the Reds were rebuilding. Therefore, the bomb had to be detonated as soon as possible.
All of this forced Skorzeny’s group to have more contact with local military and police units than he wished and to either buy or confiscate food for his people. This was Davidov’s job. He relished taking food and supplies from hungry Russians in the name of Beria’s dreaded secret police.
“We did this, didn’t we?” asked Heisenberg. “I once read something about making a wasteland and calling it peace.”
Skorzeny laughed harshly. Heisenberg had never seen the realities of the world outside his laboratory. “Of course we did this. It’s called war and as some American once said, war is hell. Don’t fret, there are many more parts of Europe that are just as bad, if not worse. Germany will look like Poland unless we stop the Russians.”
“This is terrible. Something must be done.”
“Then think about this, Doctor! If your bomb does what we wish, Russia will be eliminated as an enemy for the foreseeable future. This means we can concentrate on the Americans and possibly drive them to discussing an armistice that will actually result in a long-lasting peace.”
“I will pray for that,” Heisenberg said.
Fool, Skorzeny thought. If the bomb works, Himmler will want more and more of them and will unleash them against the United States and England, creating additional peaceful wastelands. Heisenberg was a genial little simpleton, just like so many of his scientific brethren, with not a rational cell in their brains.
Skorzeny slowed the car. “What?” asked Heisenberg.
“Take a look,” Skorzeny said.
“I don’t see a thing except dirty Russian buildings. We’ve been driving so long I’m not certain where we are.”
“See those spires in the distance?”
“Yes.” A sense of awe entered Heisenberg’s voice.
“That’s the Kremlin, you ass. We’ve done it.”
CHAPTER 22
THE REFUGEE CAMP outside Rheinbach wasn’t that big but it made up for its small footprint by being stuffed with large numbers of wretched humanity.
The camp commander, an American army major named Diggs, greeted them at the main gate of the barb wire enclosed facility. In addition to Jessica and Florence Turnbull, Jessica’s Uncle Tom Granville was representing SHAEF.
“Please tell me you’re here to relieve me,” Diggs said with a wan smile as they took seats in his office by the heavily guarded main gate of the camp.
Florence Turnbull took the lead. “Is it that bad?”
“Worse. And with all respects to you and the others in the Red Cross, the United Nations, and SHAEF, I’m getting next to nothing in the way of help or supplies.”
“Are people actually starving?” Jessica asked. She’d seen the camp’s wasted inhabitants through the barb wire that kept them in. It angered her. Refugees from Nazi Germany should not be prisoners.
“Close enough,” Diggs said with a sigh. “Not only am I not getting enough food, but there aren’t enough tents or blankets, and there’s damn little in the way of medicine. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the refugees are in rags and it’s still cold, so, to answer your next question, yeah, a lot of people are still dying. Oh yes, I don’t have enough men to administer this place. I’ve got two hundred American soldiers and most of them are castoffs, the petty criminals, dregs and dunces nobody else wants.”
“So you’re using Germans to help out? Nazis?” Turnbull snapped.
“Yes, another hundred or so, but only former local cops and no SS or Gestapo.”
“Are you sure?” asked Tom.
Diggs shrugged. “Not really, Colonel, but they are all I have. We checked them all out and nobody’s got an SS tattoo. Get me some more people and I’ll get rid of them. Otherwise, I’m not ashamed to use them and I feel they are necessary to maintain order.”
“I’m confused,” said Jessica. “If these people are refugees why are you treating them like prisoners?”
Diggs laughed mirthlessly. “Because, if I let them loose, they and the local Germans would be at each other’s throats in a heartbeat. All the German refugees have been moved to local households and the French ones have been shipped back to France. The ones in this camp are the Czechs, the Poles, and God knows what else. They hate the Germans because they were kept as slaves and now a lot of them want revenge. A number of Germans have been murdered and the women raped by rampaging gangs of refugees and I can’t let that happen.”
“And you can’t send them home until their homelands have been liberated,” Jessica said, understanding. “How many are Jews?”
“Out of the twenty-five thousand in this camp, maybe three thousand, and most of them want to go to Palestine. Of course, the Brits don’t want them going there and upsetting things in that mess of a country, so we can’t move them anywhere for the time being. I understand this new United Nations is trying to set up better camps in France, but I haven’t gotten any direction regarding sending anybody anywhere.”
“Nor will you anytime soon,” said Tom. “The French are overwhelmed with problems themselves.”
Tell me about it, Jessica thought, thinking of the chaos and fighting she’d seen. “In the meantime, can we get them more food and other supplies?” she asked of her uncle.
“Jessica, I will try, but you have to understand that our fighting men have absolute priority, and that includes those men in hospitals and the thousands of American prisoners who are being liberated as we advance. Like it or not, the refugees come last.”
“It’s my understanding, Colonel, that supplies for civilians and refugees are coming into Europe,” said Turnbull.
“They are,” answered Jessica’s uncle. “However, much of it is being diverted by the French, Dutch, and Belgian governments to feed their own people who are starving as well. And that doesn’t take into account what is being stolen by criminals and making its way into the black market.”
Jessica winced at that comment. It reminded her too much of Monique and her sergeant. Monique was recovering from her wounds and would be tried in a French court. If found guilty, which was extremely likely, she would be lucky if she wasn’t hanged.
Jessica shook her head. “The American public won’t like it when they find out that refugees are starving.”
Tom glared her down. “They’d like it less if they knew our boys lacked food and ammunition for the coming battle.”
“You’re right, of course,” Jessica admitted. “But can we buy food and other supplies from the locals now that the rules have been eased?”
Major Diggs shook his head. “We could, but the local Germans don’t have much food or supplies to share, and, assuming we could buy supplies, how would we pay for them? The Nazi Deutschmark is can’t be used, and Germans aren’t allowed to have American money.”
“Then how is any commerce being done?” Jessica asked.
“With illegal money exchanges or, at the very local level, with cigarettes,” her uncle explained.
“And women are selling their bodies for food, aren’t they Major Diggs?” Jessica asked, wondering if the camp commandant was one of those in the trade.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” he said, unfazed. “But don’t paint everybody that dark. Our own men eat in the mess hall and have more than enough to eat, and some of the good guys are giving leftovers to kids and the sick, but there’s just not enough of it to make a difference.”
Outside, screaming was heard. Diggs swore and ran outside and into the camp. Several dozen people were fighting over the shredded and bloody pieces of what might have been a chicken. Camp guards, American and German, waded into the throng with cudgels and clubs and quickly broke up the fight. A few refugees had bloody heads, but no wounds seemed serious. A woman sat on the ground and wailed in emotional pain. She’d been the first to grab the chicken and considered it hers. Now all she had left was feathers.
“Someone threw it over the fence,” said a grim Diggs, “and not out of charity. Some of the locals think its great fun to start a riot.”
They left Diggs with a promise to do what they could to ease the situation. Diggs thanked them but said he wouldn’t hold his breath. “No disrespect, but it’ll be a long time before we get this under control and a lot more people are going to die. Oh yeah.” He laughed harshly. “If you think this is bad, check out the German prisoners of war. They get what food the refugees don’t want.”
They left Diggs with the understanding that there was no solution to his problem. Jessica was angry, perplexed and frustrated, but understood the helplessness of those like Diggs who were trying their best.
“Going back to Aachen?” her uncle asked. “I can give you a lift.”
“No, but you can take Florence. I plan on staying here a few days and surveying the situation.”
“Surveying?” he laughed. “Is that what you call it? I ain’t stupid, Jess, I know where the 74th is stationed.”
“Then wish me good luck.”
Her uncle kissed her on the cheek. “Make your own damn luck, Jessica.”
* * *
Margarete listlessly poked at the food on her plate. It was no longer as inviting as it had been, although she would ultimately eat it. She would need it to keep up her strength for whatever ordeals were coming.