The Doomsday Decree

by Peter MacAlan

  Magda abruptly brought up the subject of their visit. ‘I’ve told Rolf and Erika that we wondered if Erwin’s old car was still available.’

  Paul smiled at Erika. ‘Yes. You see, I need a vehicle. For my duties as a doctor, you understand. It is just impossible these days to get a vehicle.’

  Magda chipped in hurriedly: ‘I thought if Erwin’s car would still run and you had no use for it … ’

  ‘I don’t have much money, but if there was something I could offer you in exchange … ’ added Paul.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Rolf spoke sharply. ‘The car is here and if it can be made to run then you and Magda are welcome to it. Aren’t they, Erika?’ He turned to his wife with a meaningful smile. ‘After all, it will still be in the family.’

  Paul coloured a little and glanced at Magda but she was smiling at him.

  It was obvious that Erika was a little reluctant but at last she sighed softly. ‘It hasn’t been used for a year.’

  ‘More,’ Rolf said. ‘Not since I was shot down. I used to run it before … well, since then it’s been in the barn. I’ve kept the engine covered with sacks.’

  ‘Can we go and see it?’ Magda asked as soon as they had finished their meal.

  Erika looked surprised. ‘Now?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rolf said, getting to his feet. ‘What better time?’

  He turned and led the way from the farmhouse to the large barn. Inside was a small saloon car, a pre-war Porsche. The paintwork and chrome were well-polished and without a sign of rust.

  ‘Now and again I’ve come out and given her a polish, just to keep the bodywork in good condition,’ Rolf said. He opened the bonnet and Paul peered inside.

  ‘How about the engine?’ he asked.

  ‘Fairly good, but I don’t know about the battery.’

  Rolf slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. There was nothing more than a protesting whine. ‘Yes, the battery’s totally flat.’ In a moment he was out and disconnecting the leads. Paul watched him in surprise.

  ‘What can you do about a flat battery?’

  Rolf grinned at him. ‘In my squadron they didn’t call me “the fixer” for nothing. I was better at tinkering with aero-engines than most mechanics.’

  He asked Paul to give him a hand lifting out the heavy battery.’ You two girls can leave us for a while,’ he said to Erika and Magda. ‘Paul and I will sort this out.’

  He motioned for Paul to help him carry the battery to a workbench. Paul noticed that there was several radio batteries on the bench attached to some sort of machine.

  ‘I’ve built my own charger,’ Rolf said, with a hint of pride. ‘I’m working on a generator now. If all goes well, I can produce enough electricity to provide a lighting system for the house.’

  Rolf was soon bent over wires and accumulators. ‘Pity I didn’t think of this sooner. It will take a few hours before the battery has a strong enough charge. Then, if you take it for a long run, it should be self-charging.’

  Paul watched, feeling helpless as Rolf set up the battery charger. ‘Anything I can do?’ he volunteered.

  ‘You can check the petrol tank,’ replied Rolf promptly. ‘No use trying to get the car started if there’s no fuel. I seem to remember that there was some left in the tank. But you never know … it was a long time ago and evaporation … ’ He shrugged. ‘Know how to check? There’s a dipstick somewhere.’

  It took Paul a few moments to find it and ascertain that the tank was over half full. By the time he had finished he found Rolf already bending over the sparking plugs and checking them.

  ‘The battery should be ready in a couple of hours, so how about coming for a look around the farm?’

  It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon. For a short time Paul even managed to forget the war until, once again, there came the rumble of thunder low down on the western horizon. Rolf and Erika, with little Heinz and

  Magda and Paul, strolled around the fields on the farm, pausing in a small forested area by a gently winding stream.

  Rolf gestured to the west. ‘We are just on the edge of the Reichswald,’ he said, pointing to the dark stretch of forest to the west. The Reichswald covered mile after square mile of territory right up to the Maas and the Dutch border.

  ‘That’s where the British will have to come across the river, but I think that afterwards they might choose the easier highways that go around the forest. If they do, then they’ll by-pass the farm and we should be safe.’

  Paul pursed his lips. ‘What you will have to worry about more than the advancing Allies is the SS troops. I’ve heard that they have orders to follow a scorched-earth policy if they are forced to withdraw.’

  Rolf glanced toward Erika, who was chatting with Magda nearby, and dropped his voice.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that in front of Erika. But yes, I’ve heard the same thing. Otto Klunse, the local policeman … ’

  ‘I’ve met him.’

  ‘Well, he said that there have been whole lines of SS Panzers moving through Xanten. Otto hates the SS. He’ll keep us informed about them.’

  Suddenly the war had become real again. They walked back to the farmhouse and while Erika and Magda were preparing a snack, Rolf took Paul back to the barn to see if the battery was charged. Paul was surprised, however, when Rolf led him up into a loft and, from underneath some sacking, produced a radio.

  ‘It’s tuned in to the Allied broadcasts,’ he said, glancing sharply at Paul. ‘It’s better than listening to Berlin. At least the Allies tell you what’s really happening.’ He paused. ‘Erika doesn’t know about the radio.’

  ‘I won’t say anything.’

  Rolf glanced at his watch and turned on the set.

  An announcer started speaking. Paul registered that he spoke in the rolling accents of Austria.

  ‘This morning units of the United States Third Army have crossed the Rhine in several places. Already the First and Second Armies have penetrated the Siegfried Line defences and are moving into the Rhineland. In the East, the Soviet Army of Marshall Zhukov, which has already consolidated its positions along the River Oder, now straddles the Breslau-Berlin Autobahn.’

  Rolf sighed. ‘It can’t last long now.’

  ‘No.’ But Paul was thinking of Gottfried and Anna Klaus and the fanaticism of people like Victor Schoerner. There would be many more tragedies like that of the Klaus family before the war was truly over. Rolf was right, though; it couldn’t last much longer.

  The rest of the news was simply further details of the Allied advances towards the frontiers of the Reich. Finally Rolf switched off the radio and put it back under its coverings. He made no further comment, but descended into the barn and began to unhook the battery from the charger. The two men placed it back in the car. A few moments later the Porsche’s engine burst into life with a roar. Rolf ran it for some time while he checked out the engine tuning and fuel feed.

  ‘There you are, Paul,’ he said with an expression of satisfaction. ‘That’s what a good mechanic can do for you.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to bring all of my mechanical troubles to you,’ Paul said, grinning. He was about to say ‘after the war’ but he clipped the sentence short.

  ‘The real problem these days will be getting a supply of petrol,’ Rolf said as he wiped his hands on a rag.

  ‘I think I’ll be able to get a supply as a doctor.’

  ‘Well, she’s all yours. Run her easy.’

  Paul and Magda had their evening meal with Rolf and Erika. Rolf surprised everyone by ducking down into the cellar and returning with a dusty bottle of a Deidesheimer Linsenbusch which had been laid down in 1937. Erika took some glasses from the dresser while Rolf asked Paul to uncork the bottle.

  ‘Wine,’ muttered Magda incredulously. ‘I haven’t seen a good German wine in years.’

  Paul thought about Victor Schoerner’s party and his inexhaustible wine supply and felt a twinge of anger.

  Rolf called a toast. �
�The end of the war! Here’s to peace!’

  On the road through Wesel, with the Porsche behaving incredibly well, Paul suddenly said: ‘I like your sister and brother-in-law very much.’

  Magda, seated beside him, smiled. ‘They seem to like you, too.’

  ‘They’re good people.’

  ‘They are all I have now.’

  Paul glanced at her and suddenly felt a strong glow of warmth and closeness. The next minute he found himself telling her about the Widerstand and his own active opposition to the National Socialist regime. She sat in silence, digesting what he was telling her. Then she laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘I’m glad you told me this, Paul,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad there are people like you fighting to save Germany’s honour. After this stupid, futile war, it will be men like you that Germany will look to. It will be men like you who give us back our pride in our country.’

  They fell silent as Paul pushed the Porsche to a higher speed along the surprisingly deserted highway toward Münster. It took only three and a half hours to get back to the city from Xanten, with just a couple of security checks before they were passing through the southern suburbs.

  Paul drove directly to Magda’s room off the Adolf Hitler Strasse. They had agreed that it was best for him to keep the car in one of the deserted garages next door to the tenement block in which he lived. In that way, no questions would be asked about the sudden appearance of the vehicle. It would give him four days to find a supply of petrol.

  Magda insisted on accompanying Paul to Dortmund on the Friday morning to wait for the convoy of trucks to arrive. In spite of Paul’s protests the girl was adamant.

  ‘I just want to play my part, too, Paul,’ she said. She went on to argue that it would give them a suitable cover story if they were questioned, that of being a doctor and nurse on a special assignment. Paul had to admit that it was a good idea. He had actually seen some travel passes in Rausser’s office for doctors and nurses on call. Rausser, the hospital director, was not too thorough in matters of security so Paul was confident that sometime during the week he could appropriate a pass.

  Magda stepped out of the car outside her apartment, turning and holding out a hand to Paul. He took it and squeezed gently.

  ‘Thanks, Magda. I don’t know what I’d do without … ’

  The girl dismissed his thanks with a smile. ‘For the first time I feel that I’m doing something useful, Paul,’ she said quietly. There was no bombast in her voice, just a simple sincerity.

  He watched her go inside the building. Once again he felt that strange feeling of warmth, of attraction. She was so unlike the almost unemotional Ilse. Magda was warm, homely in the nicest sense, and he had observed her irrepressible humour bubbling below the surface.

  He suddenly found himself comparing her with Ilse. True, Ilse was his ‘dream woman’, but there was a certain amount of coldness about her, a calculated attitude that often left him unhappy about their relationship. She was too self-centred, very much a hedonist who did not appear to be bothered about anything which was not directly concerned with her immediate well-being. Certainly the idea of engaging in anything political outside the confines of Party doctrine would be abhorrent to her. She still had that naive, ‘little girl’ belief in the Party and the Führer. For the first time Paul began to realize that his relationship with her was one of convenience. He could not see himself living into his old age with her.

  He gave a harsh bark of laughter and threw the car into gear, accelerating down the road. Old age? Who was he kidding? There was no such life expectancy for anyone in Germany these days. And yet … yet there was something within him which refused to accept such a totally nihilistic attitude. He had lived with Ilse for several months now, had shared the attitude of live for today and tomorrow be damned. But was that really his attitude? What was he doing in the Widerstand if it was? Indeed, why be a doctor if that was what he really thought? He found himself thinking again about Magda as he turned into his street. He tried to thrust the disconcerting thoughts from his mind.

  He found the deserted garages, opened the doors to one and drove in. The house to which it had belonged, indeed a whole row of houses opposite his apartment block, had been destroyed in a bombing raid, leaving only a few garages untouched. The owners had long since departed from the bombed-out shells of their homes. He parked the car and locked it, then closed the garage doors behind him. He could not lock them but he did not think anyone would bother to look inside. After all, the garages had been empty for over a year.

  Ilse was already asleep when he entered the apartment. It was just after midnight. He splashed himself with cold Water and undressed. Then he slipped into the bed beside her. She moaned protestingly in her sleep as he slipped an arm around her. He began to gently caress her, and after a few minutes her eyelids fluttered but did not open. She moaned again, this time with arousal, turning towards him and responding. A few moments later they were making love, shuddering and grunting with pleasure. And when they finished, Ilse teased, ‘Bastard! That’s a nice way to wake a person up.’

  Paul grinned in the darkness. ‘There are worse ways.’

  She dug her fingernails sharply into him then turned over with her back to him. A few moments later her regular breathing announced that she was asleep again.

  Paul lay on his back watching the shadows on the ceiling. He felt strangely dissatisfied. He kept seeing the face of Magda Kelter forming in the shadows.

  Chapter Ten

  Paul and Magda had been waiting for well over an hour, parked in a side street from where they could observe the entrance to the railway marshalling yards at Dortmund, just behind the main station. It was cold in the car but they could not get out to stretch their numbed limbs for fear of drawing attention to themselves.

  The week had passed slowly. Paul had had no difficulties in secreting one of the passes from Director Rausser’s office. He had waited until Rausser was at lunch, slipped in and, to his delight, found several passes on the director’s desk, each one signed and waiting for details to be filled in. He had lied to Ilse about the petrol. He had told her that he had obtained the car for their personal use, which had appealed to her hedonistic and mercenary sensibilities. She had no problems persuading her boss, Victor Schoerner, to sign a petrol allowance coupon in Paul’s name. So, by Friday morning, Paul had the Porsche ready to drive to Dortmund. He had, of course, not told Ilse that he was going.

  He and Magda talked to pass the time as they sat waiting for the appearance of the trucks with the markings which would identify them as being from the 65th Corps. They spoke mainly of the events of the week. The news was bad from both fronts. On Monday the Allies had launched an offensive through the Reichswald area, just north of Xanten, and managed to reach the west bank of the Rhine at the Dutch village of Millingen. By Thursday they were in the town of Cleves. Magda was worried about Erika and Rolf, for by now it seemed that the Allies were just a few miles from their farm. In the east the Soviets had overrun most of East Prussia, and further south they were outside Breslau, poised to strike. That morning the newspapers were announcing that even women were now being called up for service in the home defence army known as the Volkssturm.

  As they sat talking it seemed to Paul that he had known this girl for years rather than days. Indeed, Magda and he had found within each other a special compatibility, some inner spark which brought down the barriers of reserve that most people erect when communicating with each other. Even though he had lived with Ilse for some months, he found that there was always a distance between them. Perhaps there always would be. That was not so with Magda.

  They were very cold now. It was not a bright morning. Clouds scudded low overhead, filled with a threat of snow. Paul was about to suggest that they must exercise to restore their circulation, whether they were noticed or not, when Magda bent forward to the windscreen. A series of trucks were turning into the marshalling yards; petrol trucks by the look of them.

&n
bsp; ‘SS trucks!’ she exclaimed. ‘They have the right markings, Paul.’

  Above the blue and white triangles on the front of the trucks, Paul saw the figure ‘65’.

  ‘That’s them,’ he muttered.

  There were six trucks in all. They drove into the marshalling yards and disappeared.

  ‘What now?’ Magda asked.

  Paul frowned uncertainly. ‘They are supposed to be met and escorted to the site of Project Wotan,’ he said. ‘We’d better take turns to walk past the gates and make sure they are still in the yard. I don’t think there is any other exit.’

  He let Magda go first. When she returned she reported that the trucks were simply lined up and their drivers grouped near them, apparently waiting. Paul took his turn for a stroll by the gates after twenty minutes. He saw that a small military car had halted near the trucks and an officer, with a check board, was speaking to the drivers. Paul watched until the officer climbed back into his car and it drove off. The drivers continued to wait.

  It took yet another hour of waiting in the unbearable cold before a Mercedes-Benz with SS markings drove into the marshalling yards. Within minutes it was turning out of the gates with the six trucks strung out behind it.

  ‘This is it!’ cried Paul, starting the Porsche. He waited until the convoy had proceeded some distance up the road before he eased the car forward. The difficulty was to hang back in order to be inconspicuous without looking suspicious. The convoy took a route along the railway lines and then turned away through a series of small side roads heading north from Dortmund. Once outside the city boundaries, the convoy picked up speed through Kamen, then Hamm, crossing the broad sweep of the waters of the Lippe.