Himmler's War-ARC (46 page)

They were reaching the end of what food had been stored up for winter and there were serious questions regarding planting crops in the spring. Simply put, would the war let them? The specter of starvation was beginning to haunt them. Her aunt and uncle scoffed at her doubts. The Reich would be victorious well before food became an issue. Neither Margarete nor her mother felt that confident and she suspected that her aunt and uncle had unspoken doubts of their own. Meal portions had been reduced, and would shrink again. Still, one must eat. Food could not be wasted. What little they now had was much more than the people in the cities had.

The stress of waiting for the inevitable conflagration to sweep over them was sapping everyone’s emotional strength. The weather was definitely warming up and each day brought them that much closer to “Armageddon on the Rhine” as Margarete liked to call it. Her uncle referred to it as the final German victory. Margarete was too polite to laugh at him and, besides, she really did like the pompous old man. If he didn’t love the memory of Hitler so much, he would be quite charming.

Uncle Eric spoke softly. A new problem had arisen and the police had sent a notice. “Once upon a time I liked to go for walks in the woods. The forest was and is still thick and, when spring comes, it will be lovely again. However, it is now a place of death. The police fear that a number of bandits, deserters, refugees, and escaped workers are hiding in its depths and, when the snow is gone, we will be sweeping the place to get them out before they can emerge and attack us.”

“Who is we?” Margarete asked.

“Every man who can walk and carry a gun,” Eric said. “It will be a motley army consisting of the very old and the very young, but we must get the criminals out of the woods.”

“Is it that bad?” Magda asked.

Eric nodded solemnly. “Just the other day a man’s body was found. It was badly decomposed and eaten by animals, but bodies should not be found in the forest, and not our forest. Once upon a time it was such a friendly place.”

Bertha sniffed. “And we should not talk of dead bodies at dinnertime.”

“And why the devil not?” Eric said. “All we’ve had for all these years is war and death. Hitler’s dead. The Allies should negotiate an end to this.”

Margarete agreed that the war should end, but she doubted that the Allies would ever deal with Himmler. Still, the idea of the forest being so hostile was depressing. She remembered wonderfully scary tales of monsters and witches and goblins in the depths of the woods, and the tale of Hansel and Gretel always gave her chills as a child. But these were not imaginary trolls or bogeymen, these were people who would kill. No, she would not go anywhere near the woods.

Nor did it surprise her that people were hiding in them. On those occasions that she had to go near the tree line a mile or so from her uncle’s property, she’d had the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were on her.

On a happier note, she’d gotten a letter from Hans Hart, the young pilot she idealistically thought of as her beloved. His attempt to transfer to jet fighters had been, as he wrote tongue in cheek, shot down. He’d been informed that there were far more experienced pilots than there were jet planes. If he wished to transfer to the Luftwaffe and fly and ME109 or some other, older plane, he was more than welcome.

Hans wrote that he was willing to fight for the Reich, but not commit suicide. He was, after all, German and not Japanese. Realistically, other than the ME262, all the other German planes were either second rate, or outnumbered a hundred to one, or both.

As a courtesy to her father, General Galland had spoken to Hans and told him to stick with ferrying officers in his Storch. The Luftwaffe was kaput. Stay alive, Galland had said and Margarete wiped away a tear as she thought of the Luftwaffe general’s courtesy.

* * *

“We will have to move,” Alfie said and his two companions nodded agreement. Most of the snow had melted and tender green shoots were poking up from the wet ground. For a long time they’d been aware that they weren’t alone. As they patrolled their area, they’d seen footprints and, on one occasion, watched in hiding as a handful of wretched men in German army uniforms tried to eke out an existence in the woods.

The three men made no attempt to make contact with any of the others. Desperation could drive refugees to do terrible things. They did not go out without weapons and, since few Germans and even fewer foreign refugees had guns, they assumed that anyone who’d seen them would think twice before attacking. They assumed the German soldiers they’d seen were deserters, which meant they were criminals in the eyes of German law and would do anything to keep themselves alive.

As far as they knew, the cottage had gone unnoticed. No footprints had been seen anywhere near it, but perhaps others had hidden their tracks just as they had swept away their own.

“And where shall we go?” asked Rosenfeld. He had taught them what tender young roots were edible. Alfie thought he was crazy, but damned if they didn’t satisfy a craving and actually tasted good if you were hungry enough.

“Alfie’s right,” said Blum. “We can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, someone’s going to stumble on this place just like we did. I wouldn’t be surprised if the police don’t send patrols into the forest to look for people like those deserters we saw, and if they find us they’ll kill us. You heard the Ami planes last night, didn’t you? Well, the Nazis will doubtless feel that someone is tipping off the Americans and we’ll be likely candidates.”

“But how would we ever do that without a radio? Smoke signals?”

“They won’t care,” said Blum. “If they catch us we’re guilty and the local Nazis would have done their job.”

“Jesus,” Alfie said. Last night, several American fighters had flown tantalizingly low over the forest before bombing and strafing a nearby target that had exploded with a tremendous roar. They’d argued whether it had been gasoline or ammunition.

But Blum was right. They would not be treated as prisoners. For one thing, Alfie had already escaped once and, for another, Blum and Rosenfeld were clearly Jews. The crudely drawn tattoos on their arms so testified.

“If the Americans make it,” Rosenfeld said, “we stand a chance. If not we’ll have to do something desperate.”

Alfie laughed. “As if this isn’t desperate enough? Whatever the hell do you mean?”

“We should consider either heading east in the general direction of Berlin to where the situation might not be so violent,” Rosenfeld said, “or, God help me, we should be trying to cross the Rhine.”

Blum snorted. “And how the hell do we do that? Should we disguise ourselves as logs and try to drift across? And your idea of heading towards Berlin is sheer insanity.”

Rosenfeld shrugged. “Then somebody come up with a better idea.”

No one did.

* * *

Jessica did as Jeb directed and found the small hotel in Rheinbach. He said it belonged to someone he knew and Jessica met Hilda almost immediately.

“You are probably wondering if your cousin and I are lovers instead of just sleeping together and the answer is yes.”

Jessica forced a smile. “I would have been surprised if you weren’t.”

Hilda laughed. “I suppose you are right. The next question you’d like to ask is whether I or my family were Nazis and the answer is also yes, and at one time I was proud of that fact. Before you judge too harshly, recall that Hitler was chancellor since I was nine and before that there was chaos, hunger, and civil war in Germany and abject poverty here in the Rhineland. Please recall it was administered by the French who despised us and abused us because we were German and had killed so many of their soldiers in the first war. Hitler brought order out of chaos and returned the Rhineland to Germany.”

“Wonderful, but he also brought a second world war and death to millions of innocents.”

“Which no one suspected would happen and which no one will believe now. And yes, we initially supported the takeover of Austria and Czechoslovakia and the recovery of the Rhineland to return us to our place in the world. Contrary to what some believe, however, there was not cheering all over Germany when we invaded Poland and wound up at war again with France and England. For so many, it was as if a nightmare had returned.”

Jessica had heard the same from others, that many Germans had been shocked, appalled when the 1939 attack occurred, evoking memories of the horrors of the First World War. However, she wondered just what was reality and what was self-serving fabrication.

“Yes,” Hilda continued, “we did support expelling the Jews, but not their murder. But we laid down with the devil, didn’t we? And now my family is trying to repair its fortunes by dealing with the American army and whatever government is installed in the Rhineland.”

“And that includes sleeping with Jeb?”

Hilda actually giggled. “No, that is pleasure, not business.”

The two women went to the third floor of the hotel. There were only a dozen rooms, but all were clean and neat, although impersonal, typically German. Jess was pleased to note that no pictures of Hitler or Himmler adorned the walls, but there were a couple of spots where a frame had been removed.

The room given to Jess had a double bed and its own bathroom with tub and shower and a nice view of the street below. She could see no damage from bombing or fighting. Hilda made a point of mentioning that it was the only such room in the building and Jessica was properly grateful. Even if Jack couldn’t make it, a weekend with her own private bath and bed would be heavenly.

She put her toiletries in the bathroom and a change of clothing in the dresser. She had a civilian dress, but had worn her Red Cross uniform with slacks instead of a dress. Turnbull had told her that a young woman in civilian clothes apparently waiting for someone could easily be mistaken for a prostitute and harassed by the MP’s.

She went downstairs and outside. The sky was clouding over and a hint of rain was in the air. More important, there was no sign of Jack. The few German civilians walking about ignored her while the GI’s gave her the once-over and walked on. She heard one of them say “officers only.”

“Hello there, Red Cross lady.” It was Levin. Could Jack be far behind? He answered for her. “Your friend is looking for the address. These street names and numbers are a mess. Don’t worry, he’s just going around the block, and I was trying to find the place, too.”

“Wonderful. And what are you doing here?”

Levin’s expression became grim. “I’ve gotten permission from Colonel Stoddard to interview some of the Jewish refugees at the camp you inspected. I don’t suppose you had a chance to talk to any of them?”

“Nope. Never went inside the compound,” she said and told him about the fight over the chicken.

“No surprise,” Levin said, “but I want to talk to people who actually survived the death camps. I want to know what really went on in them and whether it was as awful as I’m hearing before I make a decision regarding the rest of my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Palestine. We Jews are going to need a place to have as a homeland. We can’t trust any other country except, possibly, the United States, and even there I’m not so certain. Therefore, having Jews migrate to Palestine and set up their own government is the only alternative. I’ve spent too much time not quite denying my Jewishness, but not living it either, so Palestine it is.”

She had just finished wishing him well when Jack spotted them and ran up. He kissed Jessica, who quickly responded. Levin laughed, took the Jeep, and drove off.

Jack laughed. “Hey, he took my chariot.”

“You don’t need one, dear Jack, you’re not going anywhere.”

She didn’t mention that her Red Cross car was behind the hotel. She took him by the hand and led him across the hotel’s small lobby and up the stairs to her third-floor room.

“Here we have everything we need,” she said. “There’s food, wine, and each other.”

“Are you sure?”

Jessica smiled and began to undress. “Don’t just stand there, help me.”

In a moment they were naked and in each other’s arms. Another and they were on the bed, caressing and enjoying each other. She gasped when he entered her and then, as he filled her, grasped him more tightly, pulling him deeper inside her. He climaxed first and, to her astonishment, she did too, just a couple of seconds later.

After they’d made love a second time, they rested and drank some very decent Rhine wine. Jessica felt she was a little drunk in more ways than one.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” she said, giggling.

“I wanted to in Paris, but I was afraid you’d slap me silly.”

She sighed. “I probably would have.”

“Jess, I’ve been thinking a lot about you and us. Where do you see us in the future?”

“Hopefully in a better hotel,” she said as she poured some more wine.

“No, do you see us together a year from now?”

“God I hope so.”

Jack smiled and began again caressing her, marveling at the beauty of her body. Her breasts were small but full and firm, and her belly was flat. Her legs were slender and surprisingly muscular. She’d told him she liked hiking and it showed. He loved it all. He kissed every inch of her body and she groaned with pleasure, quickly returning his intimate kisses.

Later, she smiled impishly. “Did you learn that at Catholic school?” she asked and he laughed. They made love again and slept.

The next morning, they heard the sound of thunder. The sky, however, was clear. “It’s starting, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

“Yep. We got a briefing a couple of days ago. What you’re hearing is bombing. It’s going to be a couple of weeks, though, before much else happens.”

They got dressed and picked up her car. They drove an hour to a hill from which they could barely see the Rhine and the enemy hills behind. Bombs were falling and flashes were visible seconds before the sound washed over them. Jessica was starkly aware that she was seeing war, although from a safe distance, and it was nothing like the buzz-bombs in London or the riots in Paris. What she was watching was man-made hell.