by Paula Wynne
His whole body ached when he thought of her.
With an abrupt spasm, he leapt up.
He had to put her out of his mind. He had a job to do. An important job.
The trip up the Tote Mountains, from Salzburg in central Austria had taken him through dense forests. Tall trees grew everywhere, even on the steep cliffs wherever they could find a space to take root. Looking at the angle of their growth, he realised the lake’s floor was probably covered in forest debris, stacked many metres high. Broken branches, pine needles and even dead trunks had nowhere else to go except down, to the bottom of the lake.
When he had first enquired about fishing up here, the local people had laughed, quick to assure him that if he intended to camp he couldn’t live off the lake.
There were few fish because they only survived in the top layer, the water below twenty metres depth of Toplitzsee having no oxygen. It was dead down there.
Another plus.
The Americans wouldn’t search this place. So remote, so cold, so dark, and so deep.
His chest expanded, filling itself with the deliciously crisp air. Even in summer the lake was chilly. The quiet, with only the sounds of the breeze creeping through the pines and the occasional piercing cry of an eagle, filled him with peace and tranquillity. A far cry from the chaos in his homeland.
Hidden between two peaks, the mountains rose high on both sides, capturing the water in between.
This was the best job in the SS. He didn’t often wear a uniform because he travelled Europe in plain clothes to spy. Not on humans, but on secret locations, mostly remote mountains, caves and natural tunnels in the earth.
Next on his list were the Alps, then he was off to scout Hungary and Poland before heading to the Pyrenees.
Der Reichsführer Himmler’s people had fabricated stories of where he was based, but the war had taken its toll on the Sommers and having very few family members still alive helped him disappear into a special ops force to which men were recruited thanks to very specific skills. His multiple languages and uncanny ability to mingle with different cultures, without attracting suspicion of what he was really doing there, had meant that Wilhelm actually received praise from on high for having pulled strings to get him into the unit.
Pulling his boots back over his dry socks, Steffan prepared for the long road back, only accessible by foot.
As he dressed he thought back to the hiking expeditions and outdoor camping they had been so fond of in the Hitler Youth. Of course it was one of those expeditions that had propelled him and his cousin Wilhelm, along with Willy’s friend Friedrich Wollner, to considerable fame in Nazi circles as ideal representations of the bravery and ingenuity of German youth. Yet all three had taken very different paths from that same launch point.
From the night they had captured the English spy, and Friedrich had interrogated and then killed him, Friedrich’s bravery had turned to cruelty and violence. The details were vague, but Steffan knew this just from the look in his cousin Sonnet’s eyes when she talked about the man she had married. And his other cousin? In a warped way, Willy’s leadership had turned to arrogance and a superiority complex.
Steffan, on the other hand, had found himself gradually doubting, in the hours of solitude his role allowed him and in the privacy of his own mind, all that Nazi Germany stood for. The uncomfortable truth was that he found himself increasingly sickened by Nazism.
Suddenly the dark clouds overhead ripped open, the deluge quickly soaking the dry clothes Steffan had just donned.
He grabbed his backpack and scurried for the dry sanctuary of the trees. Leaning against one, he stared at the sky, marvelling at how quickly the storm had broken. At how it had seemed to read this intruder’s mind and react to what it saw in there. Now, it pummelled him with hailstones.
Steffan chuckled to himself and the mirth within him grew until he bellowed out loud, listening to his laughter being swallowed by the tall trees. He dropped his backpack and spun around, arms raised in the air, defying the lightning to strike him. Instead it lit the sky over a small flat plateau on the verge of where the ground dropped steeply away to the water’s edge.
He raced up the hill, grabbing onto trees to keep his boots from sliding on the wet ground. Gaining the ridge, he glanced down at the lake. Then his gaze lifted to take in the Tote Mountains with their endless sea of trees reaching up to the sky. Below him the lake glistened, reflecting the sharp bolts of lightning as they split the sky.
It stretched out in front of him. Only a mile wide but many miles deep, it might seem most suited for a watery grave, but this body of water that the mountains held in their steep and jealous grasp was also ideal for a bunker.
It would take hundreds of men armed with explosives and digging equipment to get up there, but Himmler wouldn’t bat an eyelid at that.
No enemy would ever find this place. Nor predict what was going to happen here.
And even if they did, well, that layer of sunken forest debris would make searching impossible. The trees looked like they grew out of the lake. Their bodies had fallen here since time immemorial, and would continue to do so as the snows wreaked their havoc each winter. Although the green water shone like a mirror, some parts were thick with moss and algae. If you didn’t know exactly where to look, you would find nothing down there.
He smiled again, unable to keep it contained, as an inner warmth from Rita’s memory radiated through him. The worst of the storm had passed now, and still wet, yet rejuvenated by adrenaline from visualising Rita and his strange conversation with this place, he started the long hike back.
As he trudged, the cold getting into him now, he realised that he really, really didn’t want to go back to Der Reichsführer, or any Nazi officer for that matter. Not even his cousin Willy. Even he would not see the funny side: that the Salzkammergut lake district lay within the Totes Gebirge, the dead mountains.
But if he didn’t go, they would find him. Worse still, they might hunt down Rita and harm her. Although he suddenly found he had no desire at all to go back to Berlin, he must get there as fast as possible. And, when there, he would have to betray this place to them.
For Rita’s safety.
For a few minutes he drank deeply from his water canteen, his gaze panning over the incredible view.
In his travels, under secret orders – remote places, no people - from Himmler himself, he had found various candidate places for The Third Reich to hide their treasures. Perhaps none as good as this, though.
As always, he made himself remain emotionless about what was going on around him. He tried anyway, even though, more and more now, he found himself contemplating going missing in one of the European countries he was forced to secretly infiltrate. But he had Rita to consider. Knowing she was safe, and that one day they would reunite, would help him survive the war.
He lived for the day they would be together again.
27
April 1945, Lake Toplitz, Austria
The truck rumbled towards Steffan. He stepped out from behind the trees and raised his hand. As arranged, it pulled over. He leapt up and climbed over the tailgate.
In the back, Steffan settled down between two soldiers. He was making his way north to Berlin to report his latest findings. He had followed the advancing troops of the German push into the so called free zone in the south of France in 1942, searching the Pyrenees and eventually being sent yet further on into Spain.
His notes and drawings would show Himmler that he’d found the right place to hide vast amounts of treasures. And a perfect place for a safe haven for the Third Reich command centre. Far from prying eyes.
And yet he no longer wanted to hand anything over to them. The Reich was ending and Steffan neither wanted to see another one rise from its ashes nor help its leaders stash away hordes of stolen art and plunder that would keep them safe when they decided to flee. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he knew Himmler and, like most, feared him. Der Reichsführer had taken all thre
e of them, Willy, Wolf and him, under his wing after their capture of the English spy. They were all suitably Aryan looking, and with the glamour and prestige of their exploits they’d been ideal poster boys for a new generation of Third Reich leaders in the making. Thankfully, due to his skill in languages, Steffan had escaped that path. Yet if did not eventually appear with solid research his history would count for nothing: Himmler would seek him out and have him shot.
These days he cared little about that. He would have cared nothing had it not been for the prospect of one day being reunited with Rita.
Knowing the Americans and English were closing in, Steffan had travelled across the south of France to the north of Italy and skirted the Swiss border to meet this troop in Austria before heading back into southern Germany.
From opposite sides of the truck, the tired voices of the SS troops were muttering quietly about the coming end to the war, and Steffan listened, filling in gaps in his knowledge.
The English and Americans had invaded Normandy the previous year. In December, the Führer had launched a final counter offensive to re-conquer Belgium and split the Allied forces along the German border, but by the first of January this year, their troops had started retreating.
Also in January, the Soviets had launched a new offensive, taking Warsaw and Krakow. In February, after a two-month siege, they had captured Budapest. Early April had seen the surrender of Slovakia with the capture of Bratislava and finally the seizure of Vienna.
He listened in silence, shocked to hear the news. Being on his own travelling, he didn’t want to enquire about the war while in small villages in case of arousing any suspicion, so he kept to himself. Also he was mostly in places that were far removed from the cities and the modern world, and so he often became very out of touch.
A new dilemma had arisen. He knew Germany was losing, his country, but that happening meant a greater chance for him to be reunited with his wife in England.
Was it all worth it? Would the German race really have been superior, brought order and virtue to a chaotic world as they had so often claimed?
Steffan shook his head, slumped back and sank into his own thoughts.
As so often, Rita flew into his mind like the graceful bird that she was. He wasn’t one to believe in God, but Rita was a blessing. All too quickly, the image of her gliding gracefully on her beautiful wings became smaller on the horizon before she disappeared from sight.
The first time she had flown away from him, he had mourned her, ached for her, but when she returned he had understood she would always come flying in when he needed her the most.
Like now.
Should he take his information to Berlin, or jump ship and follow Rita to England? To be among people who did not believe in a Master Race, nor want one.
The officers seated near him were talking about the Russians bombarding north Germany. Steffan thought of Sonnet’s husband, Friedrich Wollner, and wondered if he had fled or died fighting. He imagined it to be the latter, as the man was not one to give up.
The driver up front, called out over the roar of the engine, ‘We have one stop to make.’
Steffan was about to ask where, but just nodded.
The driver answered for him, ‘That place you found at the beginning of the war, you remember Lake Toplitz?’
Steffan frowned and then remembered that Himmler had built a web of underground tunnels on the hillside beside the lake. He quickly nodded so the Kommodant didn’t start explaining.
Through filtered information from his sources out in the field, he had heard that throughout 1943 and 1944 the shores of Lake Toplitz had served as a Nazi naval testing station.
Scientists had experimented with different explosives, detonating charges at various depths and firing torpedoes from a launching pad in the lake into the Tote Mountains. It was the perfect cover for making vast holes in the canyon walls. They’d blasted their way into the mountains, and then they’d built strongholds and bunkers.
‘These men are experts. They are going to set intruder fuses before we return to headquarters.’
An hour later they picked up another passenger. Steffan had been dozing and was surprised to see Wilhelm.
After throwing their arms around each other and patting shoulders, they sat in a quiet corner of the truck.
‘Is it true,’ asked Steffan, ‘what they’re talking about?’
‘Yes, cousin, I am on the run even now. It’s handy you were due here, because it gave me an excuse to come too. It’s a good head start out of the Reich! We’re saving whatever we can in all the places you found. And in more that you know nothing about.’
‘Then…should I get my report back―’
‘Forget it! Find the quickest way out of Germany. Somewhere you can hide.’
Steffan gulped and just bobbed his head.
‘The English and Americans are hunting down high-ranking officers. That is why I am running now.’
Steffan flinched. ‘Where are you going?’
‘As far away as possible. You must do the same. And wait it out. Someday, when you least expect it, you will be called back to the Reich. I have always believed in it. I led you and Friedrich in the Hitler Youth, got my golden badge and then a high rank. I am not going to give up on the Reich now.’ He raised his voice and trumpeted, ‘Someday we will find someone to replace Hitler and we shall emerge!’
Steffan tried to hide a grimace of disgust.
Wilhelm, his gaze far away, continued, ‘In the meantime, lie low. Change your name if you have to do such a thing…above all, keep under the radar. If the British or Americans catch you, you will be tortured until you pee and shit yourself and give up all the Reich’s secrets.’
Steffan’s eyes widened and he could actually feel them bulging. He dropped his head backward and it banged against the metal side of the truck.
Scheiße!
He never ever expected this to happen. Even though he hated the man, he had always feared that Hitler was just too strong, too powerful to be beaten. But he had been wrong.
And now the rest of the world was coming after the Nazi officers. And he was one of them.
His mind worked overtime, trying to figure out what he should do when this troop dropped him in Germany.
He would not be welcome in his own country any longer. Not under the command of the Russians or the Americans.
The truck rattled its way through the woods and eventually parked. A few years ago it had taken him two hours to climb but now with a new road, the trucks clattered into the eerie forest set high above the glassy lake.
Steffan remembered how he had found Lake Toplitz a few years back. The tranquillity had attracted him. But now, in the giant scar of the testing station on the other side of the water, it buzzed with men and machines. Drilling and banging. Shouts and curses. They echoed through the steep valley with no means of escape.
This place had seemed isolated forever from the hubbub of humans and machines, but they had arrived and had transformed it. On the one hand, he was in awe of the power that could do this, but on the other, it saddened him.
On the side where he was, everything had been done quietly and with the utmost discretion, although the construction was, if anything, more amazing than its vulgar sibling across the lake.
The naval testing station across the water had been a clever idea. It provided a ready explanation for anyone who might wonder at the new road, the machines and the men coming to this secluded part of the world. Even the blasting of the rock to hollow out the hidden vault that he now stood above would have sounded like nothing more than the underwater missile tests the station carried out. Spying eyes in the forest would have been so busy looking that way that they would never have noticed the quiet team of experts who still had to trek through the steep, forested slopes to get to where the vault, the true purpose of Lake Toplitz, was being built.
Steffan sat on the ground near the vault entrance, watching the SS team. They poked their heads in and out
of the few, well-hidden air vents that already had moss and weeds growing over them. If he hadn’t seen the men’s hands tossing things out, he’d never have known they were there. Himmler had really built this place to be secret.
The men emerged from the tunnel and made a pile to take back to the truck, ropes and toolboxes with peculiar electrical objects and cables sticking out.
Wilhelm passed him a few times as he inspected something important down below. One time, as he went by, Steffan pulled him over and whispered, ‘What about the lake?’ His eyes indicated its depths.
‘Ah, yes, Himmler liked your suggestion. Our men have hidden hundreds of thousands of waterproof crates of fake British and American money down there. Ha! I say fake, but only a handful of experts worldwide could tell the difference, such is the ingenuity of German scientists. No one will ever find it, and then one day when the new Reich needs funds they will know where to look.’
Someone called Wilhelm and he hurried back into the vault.
A soldier shouted out from below. His words became a hollow echo as his voice droned to the surface, ‘Okay, in a few minutes Bletch is going to test the circuits. Everyone clear of the vault.’
Before they left, Steffan wanted to take a look, and lowered himself into one of the vents without anyone noticing him.
The SS soldiers were busy clearing away their equipment and paid him no attention as he ambled around the bunker. Ventilation shafts led outwards like veins from an artery.
The very centre of the vault was hidden behind a thick concrete wall. The door looked identical to one of the massive concrete panels that formed the walls, and one of the soldiers had mortar ready to fill the gap when it was closed, so that if anyone ever found their way in, they’d never know the chamber had a hidden heart. Curious to see the final destiny of the locations he found, Steffan climbed down the ladder inside the central shaft and glanced around.
