“I love you. Thank you so much.”
Chapter 7
Werner entered General Sokolov’s spacious office with the dark wooden panels on the walls and the prestigious white ceiling crisscrossed by wooden bars painted in gold. It must be an important occasion, because all Russians officers and German Muscovites were there.
“Comrades,” General Sokolov raised his voice, returning everyone’s attention to the meeting. “Reparations are too slow. The target is ten billion Reichsmark worth and the actual amount is far beneath what Moscow expects. You need to redouble your efforts and repatriate more valuables the Soviet Union.”
Uncomfortable mumbles spread through the room. There was a reason for the slowdown in sending reparations to Russia, but nobody dared to tell the general.
Finally, Captain Orlovski raised his voice, “Comrade General, we certainly agree with your assessment, but the Americans have tightened their stance and won’t allow us to take anything out of their sector. They even have seized our trucks at the sector limits and forced us to unload captured reparations.”
Sokolov’s fist slammed onto the table and his irate voice cut through the ensuing silence. “That’s illegal! An affront to our sovereignty! We have a right to these reparations. They were agreed in the Potsdam conference.”
Again, nobody dared to say a word.
“This is an incredibly vicious move by these imperialists to hurt our people.” General Sokolov raged on about the despicable Americans and how the peaceful world would be better off without their constant warmongering.
Werner had met several Americans over the course of the past weeks. Much to his surprise, all of them had been friendly laid-back fellows, open to reason. In this particular issue he even sided with their position. It was detrimental to Berlin’s reconstruction to dismantle everything without thought or reason – as had almost happened at the university. Naturally, he never uttered a single sound about that.
He might not agree with everything the Soviet Command decided, but certainly they must know best, because they had the full picture. It wasn’t his place as a lowly party official to question the decisions made higher up the hierarchy.
“When will the newspaper be up and running, Comrade Gentner?” General Sokolov asked. It was another directive shoved down on them that had to be enforced within days and Werner had been the unfortunate person chosen to scout for a place to host the editorial office.
“Comrade Böhm has identified a suitable location in our sector,” Gentner answered, cleverly pushing the responsibility away from himself.
Cold sweat trickled down Werner’s forehead. He’d wanted to search for another location, because he hadn’t had the heart to evict the current tenants.
“Great. When did you move in?” Sokolov asked and Norbert Gentner peered expectantly at Werner, motioning for him to answer.
“Not yet, General…there is a problem.” Werner could see the tick in Sokolov’s eye, a sure sign that he was annoyed. “It’s just, there’s a hospital in the building and I thought...”
“A hospital?”
“An unauthorized place to treat Germans set up by a German doctor,” Norbert offered.
Sokolov moved his hand as if shooing a fly. “Evict them. I expect the first issue of the Tägliche Rundschau to be published by the end of this week.”
“Yes, General, of course.” Werner acquiesced and took out a kerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. As much as he hated the idea of evicting bedridden patients for the benefit of an editorial office, there was no way to openly defy the general’s orders.
He consoled himself with the notion that it didn’t affect innocents. The Germans had started this war and deserved everything they were getting. Only after a thorough re-education in which he would play an important part, could they earn the trust and benevolence of the Soviet people.
Thankfully General Sokolov moved on to the next matter on the agenda and seemed to have forgotten about Werner’s shortcoming. But Norbert hadn’t.
As was customary, after all official agenda points had been worked on, the informal part of the gathering began, with vodka flowing generously to celebrate the victorious end of the war.
In twenty years of living in Moscow, Werner never understood what the Russians liked so much about this beverage, but he had learned to drink like a local. Still, he preferred wine or beer, but for obvious reasons would never say so. The party demanded absolute obedience and even something as innocuous as not liking vodka might be considered if not betrayal, then at least a suspicious act of defiance.
“Great stuff, directly imported from Moscow,” Captain Orlovski toasted with his full glass.
“Sure is,” Werner replied politely, raised his own glass and swallowed it in one big gulp. The soft burn ran down his throat and caused a warm feeling in his stomach.
“More?” another officer asked with the bottle in hand.
“Yes,” he said and downed the second glass as quickly as the first one. Thanks to years of training, he could easily drink half a bottle without feeling the effects.
Orlovski grinned with appreciation. “You might be a German, but you drink like a Russian.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Comrade.” Werner put the empty glass on the next available surface. “It comes in handy when mingling with the Western diplomats. Their tongue loosens latest after the second glass.”
Both Russian officers guffawed. Orlovski held his glass with the pinky finger stretched out and added in a mock French accent, “Especially the French, who only drink their sophisticated wine.” Roaring laughter followed, and Werner hurried to join his comrades in mocking not only the French, but all the mollycoddled Westerners who didn’t know how to drink hard liquor.
Getting them drunk was a preferred method to gather intelligence. Fill the foreigners up to the toby collar with vodka and listen to them spilling the beans. Approximately an hour later, Norbert approached him and led him into a quiet corner.
“What was all that about? You’re shedding a bad light on me with your reluctance to follow orders,” Gentner demanded to know.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” he probably shouldn’t voice his concerns, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue and decreased his mental alertness. “I’m worried about our image with the German populace. The horror inflicted by our troops does nothing to endear them to us, on the contrary, they are turning with open arms to the Americans, who are much softer in their treatment of civilians.”
Many officers had hinted, in private conversations, at their dislike for the behavior of the troops and Werner believed Norbert would agree with his assessment.
But Norbert said coldly, “This is not a problem you should concern yourself with. Moscow knows what is opportune to do or not to do. If they think the violence should stop, then they will stop it.” He looked at the younger man and added, “There aren’t enough women in the Red Army and our poor boys have fought so hard, they deserve the distraction of a warm body.”
“You know as well as I do that it’s not the combat troops showing the worst behavior, but fresh troops coming in from Mongolia who have done nothing for the liberation of Berlin.” The words stumbled out of Werner’s mouth before he could prevent it.
Gentner glowered at him. “You are wrong. And I advise you not to question the supreme wisdom of our party. Instead of feeling pity for the civilians, invest your energy in getting that radio station up and running. Leave the rest to the bureaucrats in Moscow.”
Werner swallowed down a sharp remark and said instead, “Yes, Comrade, first thing in the morning I’ll evict the hospital patients to make room for the new eeditorial offices.”
A stale taste remained. He loved Russia and communism, but Stalin’s interpretation of Leninism-Marxism was one of terror, torture and murder. Lenin would turn in his grave if he knew of the crimes committed in his name. No, that’s not fair. We’re still in the transition phase where some sacrifices must be made . Finding excuses for be
havior the party wouldn’t tolerate in any other country or person, had become so deeply ingrained in Werner’s personality that he didn’t even notice it anymore.
About an hour later, Werner made to leave the party. He knew the Russians would soon get completely sloshed and if he stayed one minute longer he’d have no choice but do the same. Then he’d sleep in with the rest of them, unable to get up before noon. And he wouldn’t be able to evict the hospital patients in time…
But just as he reached the exit door, the sentry asked him to follow him. Cold fear gripped his heart. Often people disappeared, never to be heard from again. Both his parents had suffered this fate after a social midnight call from the NKVD.
It was Werner’s luck that he’d been away on a field trip with his Komsomol unit or he might have joined his parents on their trip to an unknown future. Rumor had it, they’d been relocated to a beautiful rural village in Siberia. He’d clung to this story for as long as he could, but when he didn’t receive as much as a single letter in years, he’d finally accepted that their true fate must have been a very different one.
The guard led him to Sokolov’s private office and told him to sit down, before leaving the room. Werner was covered in cold sweat, his heart racing. He calculated his chances to make it out of the compound alive should he try for a run, and decided it was better to stay. The dreadful time of the purges was long over. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Had nothing to fear.
He sat motionless in his chair, trying to exude an air of confidence. Still, the minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow and he started to squirm in his seat. Would they punish him for his criticism? Send him back to Moscow? To Siberia? To a Gulag?
Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and he longed to swipe them away with his kerchief, but that would acknowledge his nerves and be seen as a sign of guilt. An innocent person didn’t have a reason to be nervous. Glancing at his wristwatch he noticed that one hour had passed, when finally, the door opened and Sokolov himself stepped inside.
Werner swallowed hard. The situation was graver than he thought.
“Werner Böhm?” Sokolov asked as if he didn’t know him.
“Yes, Comrade General, that’s me.”
“You have been a stellar member of your Komsomol and you have graduated with honors from Moscow University in philosophy, politics and foreign languages.”
“Yes, General. It was an exceptional honor to study at such a great institution and I’m beyond grateful for the opportunity.” Werner did what was expected of him, hoping for some lenience for his earlier out-of-line behavior.
“Well, it is a strange way to show your gratitude criticizing the very people who allowed you to study.” The general squinted his eyes, but couldn’t suppress the nervous tick.
Panic froze Werner’s blood and he almost wished for a lightning to strike him right there in the general’s office. Somehow he managed to keep his voice bland. “I am very sorry General, it was not my place to speak up. I got carried away by sympathy for the patients.”
Sokolov didn’t show any sign of emotion. “I am tired of your constant nagging. You seem to believe that you are smarter than the rest of us, but let me tell you: that’s wrong. You are nothing. Worse than nothing, because your parents were traitors. They came to the Soviet Union pretending to be communists while in fact they acted as spies for the fascist imperialists.”
Fear and anger snaked up Werner’s spine. His parents weren’t fascists and certainly not spies or traitors.
“It’s only thanks to Stalin’s kind indulgence that you were allowed to stay in Moscow, because he believed you to be a good student. Was Stalin wrong to put his trust in you?”
Werner blanched. There was only one way to answer this question. “Of course not, General, Stalin is never wrong. It is completely due to my own lack of farsightedness that led me to occupy my mind with questions that are far beyond the scope of my average brain.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say your brain is average. You are quite intelligent and it seems Comrade Gentner holds you in high esteem. And he is the only reason, why I will let you go with a warning this time. But rest assured, this is the only warning you will ever receive. From now on you will not question your orders, the party line, or any single word coming down the chain of command. You will completely and fully embrace our activities in Berlin, whether they are directed at the German population or our so-called allies. If I ever hear another complaint or suggestion coming from you, this will be the last thing the world has heard from you. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly clear, General. And thank you for the opportunity to show my dedication to the communist cause.” The self-humiliation and brown nosing came easily after decades of practice. Although a slight queasiness in his stomach remained. The liberation of Berlin had proved a stark disappointment and sowed a seed of discontent with the reigning doctrine.
For now, he’d cling to the hope that in due time, things would change and the Germans would embrace the advantages of the communist system. They would forget about the initial cruel treatment endured at the hands of the Red Army and would embrace their new friendship with Russia. After all, the Russians had come to Berlin with the best intentions. They were here to bring to Germany freedom, wealth, and democracy.
“Dismissed.” General Sokolov turned around and left the room, Werner followed several seconds later. While walking the short distance to the car waiting for him in the parking lot, he vowed to suppress from now on any and all individual thoughts and work strictly according to his orders.
He’d start with ruthlessly evicting the hospital patients in the morning.
Chapter 8
Finally, Marlene had found a useful task. Her parents were constantly complaining about the hardships that had befallen them and, frankly, she’d scream if she must hear it one more time. How much more satisfying was it to spend her time tending to badly injured people and experiencing their gratitude.
Every morning she rushed to the hospital as soon as she woke. But that day she was in for a horrible surprise. A group of Russian soldiers infiltrated the building, forcefully evicting the patients and confiscating every piece of furniture. She pressed her back against the wall, waiting for two soldiers to pass her, before she slipped inside looking for Dr. Ebert.
Her glance fell on a rather smart young man who barked orders in Russian at the soldiers. But he wasn’t in uniform, which was a peculiar. Instead he wore a dark blue business suit consisting of pants with a sharp crease and a well-fitting jacket.
The man noticed her and crossed the room to approach her, giving her ample time to study his gait and face. He seemed well-educated, poised and definitely in charge of whatever was happening here. His blond hair was cropped short and he had alert gray-green eyes. She judged him to be in his late twenties, but nowadays it was so difficult to tell. He could be much younger, because he didn’t have the worn-out, battle-hardened expression most soldiers, even the youth, featured.
He didn’t look Russian at all and she could have sworn he was German, which was all but impossible. A German barking orders at Russian soldiers?
“Fräulein, are you in charge of this place?” he asked in perfect accent-free German. But what surprised her most, was his soft tone, unlike the usual bellowed commands the Russians issued.
“No, mein Herr , that would be Dr. Ebert. I’m just an auxiliary nurse.”
He smiled and his formerly cold eyes exuded warmth, while he stretched out his hand, “I’m Werner Böhm, in charge of the culture and education taskforce of the Soviet High command.”
“Marlene Kupfer,” she said, unsure what to think about him. This Herr Böhm seemed nice enough, but apparently, he worked for the Russians.
“I’m pleased to meet you Fräulein Kupfer, and while I certainly applaud the work you’re doing here, unfortunately my orders require me to inform you that this is an unauthorized operation and you must vacate the building as of today.” The green of his eyes faded into a cold gray and he
looked honestly sorry.
Marlene couldn’t help but blurt out, “Unauthorized? Are you kidding me?”
He raised an eyebrow before answering, “Fräulein Kupfer, I can assure you this is not a joke. Your little hospital is a sanitary danger for national health. My orders stipulate that this operation has to be shut down immediately.”
“I can’t believe you monsters remove bedridden patients under some phony rules!” Marlene was livid. She balled her hands into fists and would have strangled the man in front of her, if it hadn’t been for Dr. Ebert’s intervention who’d appeared like a ghost behind her.
“Herr Böhm, I beg you to pardon my nurse. She is still young and temperamental. I will see that your orders are fulfilled. But would you be so kind to tell your soldiers to leave the handling of the patients to us?“ Dr. Ebert didn’t flinch. He was a man who had seen everything and there was nothing that could get him upset.
Marlene glared daggers at the poor doctor, but she reluctantly accepted that it was no use resisting the occupying authority. Things only got worse when people put up a fight. Most of the patients in this room could testify to this fact.
Even though Herr Böhm looked pleasant enough, he was as much a monster as the rest of the Russian devils. These so-called liberators behaved worse than the Nazis ever had.
“Thank you, Dr. Ebert. To reward your cooperation, I will give you until tomorrow morning to vacate the building,” Böhm said, glancing expectantly in her direction.
Did he expect her to be grateful for his generosity? Not until hell froze over. Self-righteous bastard. But a nudge from Dr. Ebert made her put a good face on the matter. With her sweetest smile she said, “Thank you very much for this incredibly humane and considerate offer. It’s an honor to attend to the orders bestowed upon us by the Almighty Soviet High Command.”
Herr Böhm’s face took on a pleased expression, but when he noticed the poisonous sarcasm in her voice, he suddenly looked as if he’d chewed on a lemon.
She rejoiced at the small victory. But not for long.
From the Ashes Page 5
