BERLIN: Reaping the Whirlwind (The Schultz family story Book 2)

by Paul Grant

  I laughed along with the others. He appeared to be over his aberration, but I couldn’t help feeling he was storing up problems for himself, especially if we weren’t on our way back to Germany.

  The guards had cleared the crowd from the siding and started to place trestle tables between us and the train. We were instructed by a junior officer to form lines where we were to be registered and issued with rations. It was confirmation we were about to go on a long journey, but nothing more.

  We took our place in the line, again preparing for a long wait, whilst the Russians sorted themselves out. We slumped to the floor, the immediate excitement over. I couldn’t help wondering what this was all about. Were the Russians just playing with our minds, teasing us with thoughts of home, only to dash our hopes further down the line?

  We waited, alone with our thoughts. After ten minutes or so, Schram gave me a sharp dig in the ribs.

  ‘Sarg!’ He nodded towards a stream of military vehicles, spewing up dust as they made their way in our direction. There were two pennant-bearing staff cars and up to twenty troop-carrying trucks. They pulled up in the field adjacent to us.

  I felt the tension rising in my stomach. ‘I don’t like the look of this.’

  The men jumping out of the cars sported the dreaded blue tabs.

  ‘NKVD,’ Schram groaned.

  The atmosphere around us suddenly changed. Administration officials were energised. The NKVD soldiers were busy stretching out coils of barbed wire to form an enclosure away to our right.

  Koegel raised his eyes at me. ‘SS?’

  I nodded. The Russians had taken every opportunity to sift out SS from the regular German troops ever since our capture at Stalingrad. I wasn’t surprised. The Russians hated them as much as we did.

  The junior officer who had previously appeared slovenly and inefficient was now sitting erect at the table directing prisoners harshly.

  Marz was agitated. ‘Why can’t the bastards just give us a break for once?’

  ‘We know who they’re looking for. We’ve got no reason to worry.’ I said it as much for myself as for the others, but I couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  In the meantime, the first prisoners were called.

  ‘We could be here forever. How many times do they have to do this?’ Marz said.

  ‘It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last,’ Koegel said, putting his head back down on his coat.

  We followed the process with interest. Each of the prisoners’ credentials was to be checked; there were five desks for our small section. One by one the men were allowed through to the area beyond the desks, immediately in front of the train. Those that were permitted to pass were each given a stamp on their hand.

  There were two NKVD officers hovering behind the desks, listening to the questioning. There was one who appeared particularly efficient, eyeing each and every prisoner with the utmost suspicion. He was small, when upright no more than a head taller than the height of the men seated at the table. His bald crown, large bushy eyebrows and continuously sceptical brow, gave him a fearsome appearance.

  One of the prisoners had been collared by this man. Within seconds, guards were on him and marching him towards the pen in the next field.

  ‘He’s not going anywhere soon,’ Marz said.

  ‘We should move to another queue to avoid him,’ Schram said to me.

  I’d had the same idea. One by one we started to scramble towards one of the other queues, but one of the guards spotted Schram and bawled at us to stay where we were. We had no choice but to stay put.

  During the morning, the number in the pen continued to grow. It made me anxious. Wherever this train was going, we needed to be on it and not selected by the NKVD for special treatment. “Special” was never a good word in Russia.

  Finally, our turn arrived. Walking to the table, I kept my eyes down, sure not to deviate from the script. I had learned to play the submissive fool when encountering officialdom in Russia.

  ‘Name?’ The official with pince-nez glasses was flagging by now.

  ‘Schultz, Klaus’

  ‘Regiment?’

  ‘202nd division, 6th Army.’

  ‘Commanding officer?’

  The questions went on. I didn’t make a mistake because I’d answered the same queries many times before. My head was bowed, but I could feel his presence, the bald one who didn’t miss a trick. I could hear Schram to my right.

  ‘Louder, how do expect me to hear when you whisper like that?’

  I assumed it must have been aimed at Schram because his voice became stronger. The shouting distracted me, and I was barely aware the official at my table was saying something.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  I looked dumb for a moment and he held up the stamp in a gesture. I didn’t need a second invitation. I heaved a sigh of relief as my passage was smudged in black ink on the back of my hand. I couldn’t resist a glance to my side as I walked past the table. I was only in time to catch the crystal-clear gaze of the NKVD officer. His eyes locked on mine. Even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt more than uncomfortable.

  Now past the tables, the strange buzz returned. I could smell Berlin. I could see Maria. I tried to force it away, telling myself this train could be heading anywhere. Schram followed me through, our bald friend apparently content. Koegel was already sitting on the grass on the other side of the tables and we shared the same look, smiling at the respite.

  Through that haze of relief, our attention was turned to Marz, who had taken my place at the processing desk.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Marz, Oskar.’

  The NKVD officer took an immediate interest in Marz. He strode up to be within earshot and must have been staring directly at Marz. We couldn’t see his face from where we were, but his hands were clasped behind him, leaning forward, intent on his subject, like a cat over a mouse.

  Marz was holding out his hand for the stamp, when the officer addressed him.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Marz, Oskar.’

  ‘Division?’

  ‘202nd, 6th Army.’

  ‘Ah yes, you were at Stalingrad, just like me.’

  Marz was confused. ‘Er...well...’

  ‘Well were you, or weren’t you? Simple question.’

  Marz only nodded his head, his jaw agape.

  The NKVD man waited. Marz looked to be in pain; even my mouth was dry. Finally, the officer placed his hand on the seated official’s shoulder. The stamp was applied. We let out a collective sigh of relief as Marz moved around the table.

  The officer turned towards us, fishing out a notebook from his top pocket. He quickly referred to it as Marz approached us. Marz was delirious, an expression of pure relief carved on his beaming features. Now, however, I couldn’t share his relief, because I was looking into the eyes of the officer. His face had taken on a grave and serious mask of realisation.

  ‘Halt! You! Stay where you are!’

  Marz was dumbstruck for a moment. Before anything else could happen, orders flowed from the officer’s tongue. ‘Seize that man.’ Three soldiers came running from nowhere. ‘Take him to the pen.’

  Marz instantly struggled as the guards apprehended him. ‘Bastards, let go of me!’

  He kicked and fought. We could only stand and watch in utter disbelief as they started to drag him away.

  Schram managed, ‘What the...?’

  He turned to me for direction.

  Marz was three metres from us when he started to plead. ‘Klaus, Markus. Don’t let them do this. Help me!’

  My heart sank. It was hard to hear. At that moment, I wanted to bury my head in the Russian dirt. We couldn’t do anything to help him. I couldn’t look at Marz. I couldn’t look at the others.

  ‘Don’t leave me in this shit hole...Please!’

  I felt sick, but I was motionless. That was more than could be said for Schram. I turned towards him a second too late. He was already on his way to covering the sh
ort distance between Marz and us.

  ‘Markus!’ My shout was drowned out by the warning screech coming from the NKVD officer. He was frantically grabbing at his sidearm.

  I followed Schram with the intention of pulling him back. Koegel took my movement as a trigger to join in. A shot was fired. It missed me, but not by much because I felt the air the bullet displaced. By now we were too close for further shots. The officer would only endanger the life of his own men, because Schram was already on the back of one of the guards.

  Another of the guards had let go of Marz and focused on me. Before I knew it Koegel was in our midst, loosing off his mighty paws. It was a free for all, but only for a short time. The cavalry arrived and, inevitably, we were outnumbered. I could only hear the urgings of the NKVD officer as we were plied with rifle butts and boots.

  Eventually, we were all under restraint.

  ‘Take them to the pen,’ the bald officer screamed. ‘Now!’

  As I was dragged backwards by two of the guards, I caught sight of the officer. There was a sadistic smile on his maddened face. It was as if he had been waiting for something to erupt and this incident had fully justified his long-held suspicions.

  They didn’t even do us the dignity of putting us in the pen with the others; we were thrown straight into the back of one of the waiting trucks. Koegel had somehow managed to keep hold of his food parcel in the furore, but that was stripped from him in the struggle it took to get him onto the bed of the truck. The tailgate was eventually slammed shut and locked.

  I caught my breath, not wanting to believe what had just happened. A huge roar went up. We could hear the men cheering and shouting. Schram scrambled to look through a gap in the truck’s tarpaulin.

  ‘They’re letting them get on the bloody train!’

  I felt physically sick, and it wasn’t due to the blood in my mouth.

  CHAPTER 29

  AUGUST 1945, BERLIN

  Ulrich Schultz watched over his mother. The bed was something from a barracks rather than a hospital, but he felt lucky to have found that. She had barely moved since the attack. It had been nearly a week now and, apart from the odd twitch, there had been few positive signs. The doctor had told Ulrich they would not know the full extent of her injuries until she woke up. So, they had to be patient, him on a hard chair, his sister curled up on the bed by her mother’s feet. Only time would tell the long-term damage to Maria Schultz.

  After the Russians had gone, Ulrich had banged on all the doors in the apartment block, trying to rouse somebody to help, but nobody came. They all continued to hide, so fearful of the Russians that they didn’t want to come out. So, Ulrich ran with his sister onto the street, into the night. He tried other apartment blocks, knocking until his knuckles bled, shouting until his voice was hoarse. Then a Russian jeep had appeared on the street behind him. He ran, taking his sister with him. He was desperate for help, but not from them, the ones who had caused all the problems.

  With Eva he couldn’t run quick enough, and the man caught up with them. Ulrich was petrified. He thought he was going to be shot. This Russian, however, was different. He was an officer, a Captain. His German was excellent. After reassuring Ulrich, he urged him to take him to his mother and Helmi. Ulrich was scared of what they would do to his mother. Did they know she had hit one of them? In the end, he had no choice. Nobody else was rushing from their homes to help.

  The Captain checked on Helmi and his mother. He went for help, bringing men with stretchers. Ulrich wouldn’t leave his mother’s side. They went to two hospitals before they found somewhere to take them in. The Zoo flak tower still stood; it had a hospital with doctors and nurses and Ulrich was hugely grateful. He didn’t get chance to thank the Captain, such was his concern for their condition.

  He had been at his mother’s bedside for most of the time since. Whilst he sat there, watching, wishing for signs of life, Ulrich had held his head in his hands on more than one occasion. He didn’t fear having to look after his little sister if his mother didn’t survive. Naturally, he was beside himself with worry, but most of all he felt guilt. He felt great shame he hadn’t protected her. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he had stood there and watched her struck down, impotent to act. He knew he’d been right to do that. There were many stories of husbands and sons who had been shot by the Russians trying to prevent an assault on their female family members. In that drunken state, the Russians would have shot him out of hand. Being right made it worse somehow.

  His torment hadn’t ended on the night in question. The two Russians returned the next day. They arrived with loaves of bread and jam, attempting sniffling apologies in pidgin German, no doubt fearful of being reported to their superior. Ulrich had screamed at them, throwing the jam jar at them as they scarpered down the street. It hadn’t made him feel any better.

  On the second day, Helmi had regained consciousness. Her face was a ballooned mess, her physical injuries severe, but she still talked to Ulrich, trying to help him. Knowing that she’d suffered so much, seeing her pain, resolved Ulrich. Helmi was brave and he had to be strong, too, for his mother, for Eva. He would have to do his best to force down the feelings of guilt and shame. He had no choice, if they were all to survive.

  Seeing his mother’s fingers twitch, he sat bolt upright. He glanced down at Eva, wondering if she’d seen what he did. His mother’s eyes flickered this time. He wanted to shout for the nurse, but the words wouldn’t come out. He gripped her hand tighter.

  ‘Mutti!’

  She opened her eyes. They were bright and clear, as before. She looked at Ulrich, slightly confused, then around the long, dark room. She saw Eva by her feet and smiled.

  ‘Talk to me, Mutti!’ he pleaded.

  She swallowed and tried to say something. Ulrich grabbed the bottle by her bed and fed her some water. She gulped it down, gasping slightly.

  ‘Helmi?’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘She’s okay. She’s a bit sore, but fine.’

  Ulrich felt relief flooding over him. His mother tried to sit up, but he forced her back down.

  ‘Not too fast.’

  ‘What happened?’ She put her hand to her forehead.

  Ulrich pursed his lips. ‘Later,’ he said, suppressing emotion. ‘Not now.’

  She nodded, perhaps recognising the look on his face. Eva was awake now and rushed up the bed to hug her mother.

  ‘Careful, Evie,’ Ulrich said, trying to hold her back.

  ‘You’ve had a long sleep, Mutti,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, darling, but Mummy feels better now.’

  Ulrich studied her, wondering if that was really the case. He got up and called for the nurse. He knew they needed to check her over now she had regained consciousness. His relief was tempered by his overriding fear that there could be lasting damage from the blow. He had been worried the doctors hadn’t been telling him everything about his mother’s condition, but at least she was awake. He thought he had lost her, just like he felt he had lost his father.

  The nurse arrived and made the necessary examination. She was seemingly content, but she called for the doctor for a second opinion. The diminutive, aged doctor appeared with his white wisps of hair like a scientist. If it hadn’t been for the war, Ulrich doubted he would still be working so hard, yet he had been so kind to Eva and him.

  The doctor held on to his mother’s wrist with his stethoscope, listening to her pulse.

  ‘Now, Frau Schultz, you’ve had a nasty bang to the head, but you will be fine, given rest and relaxation.’

  The doctor pinched on Eva’s cheek, ‘Do you think you can allow your mummy to rest a while longer?’

  Eva nodded, a serious look on her face.

  Ulrich was now standing at the foot of the bed. ‘Are you sure she’ll be okay?’

  ‘From what I can see, there will be no lasting damage. We need the bed, but we should keep your mother here a little while longer, just to be sure.’

  Ulrich felt a surge of relief
. After watching his mother lying there, so still for so long, he feared she might never be the same again.

  The doctor looked at Ulrich, ‘Why don’t you take Eva up to the next floor? They can organise something to eat for you both. You must be starving.’

  Ulrich hesitated, not wanting to leave his mother’s side now she was awake.

  ‘Go on. Your mother will be fine.’

  Reluctantly, Ulrich took Eva’s hand and led her away down the dark corridor.

  ***

  Maria noticed, now the children were gone, the doctor’s face looked more serious. She didn’t feel pain anywhere in her body, in fact she felt quite normal. However, the doctor’s expression told her there was something else.

  ‘You didn’t tell my son everything?’

  The old man forced a smile. ‘What I said is correct. You will be fine and there will be no long-term damage as far as I can see.’

  Maria breathed a little more easily, but she still sensed it wasn’t everything.

  ‘However, there is something you need to be aware of. I didn’t want to talk about it in front of the children.’

  Maria closed her eyes, a wave of fear rolling over her, in sudden recognition of what was coming.

  ‘You’re pregnant, Frau Schultz.’

  CHAPTER 30

  AUGUST 1945, MOSCOW

  Our good quality uniforms were neatly folded on the concrete floor in front of us. The surface was ever so slightly sloped to a central point which contained a drain. There was dripping water somewhere behind us. Probably somebody had not turned off the tap properly when the floor had last been cleaned. The four of us had no uniform, apart from the one we were born in. Two heavily set female guards stared at us in bored silence waiting for something. They’d no doubt seen it all before. We had certainly been kept waiting before, often naked, which made me thankful we weren’t outside in the cold, although the cold of Siberia might just have been preferable. I knew where we were. It was a place Russian guards had often whispered about at Bekabad or Vorkuta. It was a place I’d heard many a man threatened with, bawled out by an angry Russian officer. Whatever the setting, whoever the threatened, the mere mention of the name struck a perceptible nervous chord with all who heard it. Now we were there, in the place nobody wanted to be. Lubjanka prison.