“What else could you have done?” Goebbels said and resumed yawning. Schoerner got the hint.
“As soon as you’ve rested, I would like you to meet a representative of the Swiss government and hear his rather interesting opinion of neutrality. I think you will find it very enlightening. If you would like, I will also arrange for a young nurse to come and give you, ah, a thorough massage before you go to sleep.”
A female nurse? A massage? Goebbels smiled and thought that would be a marvelous idea. So too would be an atomic bomb. Both thoughts pleased him.
* * *
The small Swiss city of Arbon rested comfortably on a peninsula that jutted out into Lake Constance. Ernie’s first impression was favorable and a lasting one. The town was lovely and quaint and he decided that if he had to spend the rest of the war in Switzerland, Arbon would be the place to do it. A guidebook told him that the place had been occupied by man since Stone Age times. There were even traces of the Romans along with a late medieval castle. He made a note to see them if the war and the OSS gave him a chance.
He was quartered in a warehouse owned by an export-import company that had done business in both the U.S. and Switzerland before the war. It was now part of the U.S. consulate and was operated by a man in his fifties named Sam Valenti. Valenti was plump, middle-aged and innocuous. He had emigrated to the U.S. as a boy, became a citizen, and then decided to return to Europe as an OSS agent to help defeat the twin fascists, Mussolini and Hitler. Since Italian was one of Switzerland’s several languages, he fit in quite nicely.
“What do you think?” Valenti asked genially.
“I’ve seen better prisons,” Ernie replied.
Valenti was unsympathetic. “Be thankful that you’re indoors and the roof doesn’t leak and, oh yeah, that you’re not in a prison camp.”
Ernie had a twin bed and what passed for a room. Plywood walls separated him from the rest of the warehouse, now empty, and four other similarly built rooms. A bathroom was down the hall and included a shower large enough for several people. It reminded Ernie of his high school gym.
“You can bring in food, but don’t make a mess,” Valenti said. “If you want to bring in alcohol, make sure you have enough to share. The same goes with women.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“And don’t bring in any Nazis. I don’t want any of them pricks desecrating my property.”
Ernie had been instructed to get a newspaper and sit down in the waterfront park. He would then carefully read it. When the right time came, he would be contacted by someone named Winnie. He thought the game was a little silly until he saw German soldiers in uniform walking casually down the streets of Arbon. It was a stark reminder that Switzerland was neutral and that the German border was not only across the lake but only a few miles down the coast. It also said that the border was easily crossed and he wondered what he could do about that. He realized he was thinking like a spy and not a pilot.
After several days of accumulated boredom, he was beginning to wonder if the OSS knew what to do with him. Finally, a young woman about his age walked up to him and smiled. She was short and plump and rather plain. She had poorly cut long and greasy looking brown hair and wore thick horn-rim glasses.
“Cousin Ernest,” she said with apparent sincerity. “If you don’t remember me from our childhood days, I’m Cousin Winnie from Philadelphia and it is so good to see you. The family will be so glad when I tell them, especially Uncle Allen.”
She spoke in a normal tone of voice. Anyone trying to listen in would hear nothing out of the ordinary. He stood and took her hand in his. Her grip was warm and firm. “It is so good to see you, too, Cousin Winnie. Will you be able to stay long?”
She took his arm and they casually began to walk along the waterfront. They were just two friends, not lovers, enjoying a stroll.
“I’m sorry I was late,” she said. “I was terribly busy.”
“Doing what, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“I was across the border in Germany, in that nest of vipers. I was trying to confirm that Josef Goebbels, one of Hitler’s satanic high priests and possible heir to the Reich, had made it to Bregenz.”
Janek was impressed. This also confirmed his opinion that the border was very porous. If Germans could walk the streets of Arbon, then plump and drab Winnie could do the same in the new German capital of Bregenz. Or, he thought, maybe he could do the same thing? Going to Berlin was clearly out of the question, but what about Bregenz? It also told him that Winnie was something more than a plump little nothing in a frumpy dress that did nothing for her. He also shuddered when he realized she had bad breath and smelled as if she hadn’t bathed recently. Still, he would not judge her skills as an intelligence operative. Getting in and out of Germany proved she had them.
“Well, I did not see the Minister of Propaganda himself, but I did find a villa close to the shore that is well guarded by the SS. I was able to see blond-haired children playing in the back and a skinny yellow-haired frau watching them. I’m almost certain it was Magda Goebbels. If so, could her loving husband be far behind?”
“Are they close enough for someone to cross the border and snatch them?”
She laughed and he decided that at least she had a warm smile and decent teeth. “Mr. Dulles said you would bear watching. Even if we could do that, we wouldn’t. At least we wouldn’t do it in such a manner as to annoy the Swiss. We are their guests, after all. Word on the street and from Mr. Dulles is that she and her monster of a husband are not on speaking terms. He is probably living at some military headquarters in the mountains. In fact, I would not be surprised if Magda Goebbels and her hatchlings showed up here in Arbon to do a little shopping. The poor dears must be exhausted by their trip from Berlin. Apparently they came by ambulance, which is something else that has to be considered. I believe it violates the Geneva Convention if anybody cares, and apparently they don’t.”
They’d turned and were back where they’d started. Winnie took his hand and again shook it firmly. “I’ll be seeing you again shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you use some of the money you’ve been given and get a car? You can then travel along the border and the neighboring towns to acclimate yourself. When I come back, we’ll rent a boat and go fishing or something. Do you like to fish?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t either,” she said. “I suppose we’ll have to pretend, though. Maybe we can just throw lines in the lake and pretend.”
“Where will you be going?”
“Don’t ask.”
* * *
Lena’s thought was that the Schneiders would be looking for her in the south and west. That is, if they looked for her at all. Thus, she initially headed north and east to throw them off her trail. Even though many refugees were using the roads and even though she was armed, she avoided groups. Sometimes she walked with them, but never as part of them. She didn’t want to make friends, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
The refugees came in all shapes and sizes. Almost all were displaced Germans. They’d been uprooted by fear of the oncoming Russians and they were fleeing Stalin’s vengeance-seeking hordes. They were terrified and their goal was to somehow make it to the American or British lines. Murder and rape awaited them if they stayed still.
The displaced Germans all appeared stunned by the terrible turn the war had taken. Not only had their cities been bombed to ashes, but even those who lived in the country had seen their comfortable homesteads devastated. Now they were reduced to carrying their belongings on their backs or pushing them in carts. Few had cars since there was very little gas. The relatively lucky ones had carts pulled by gaunt horses. She even saw carts being pulled by large dogs. She had no sympathy for them. They had brought Hitler to power and cheered when he invaded and plundered country after country, including her beloved Czechoslovakia. Let them suffer. She didn’t want them to die, just suffer as she had and learn.
Other groups were spotte
d and feared like feral dogs. These were displaced persons from other countries and prison camp inmates who’d somehow escaped from the concentration camps or prisons. They wanted revenge, just like the Red Army. They too looted, raped and murdered. Sometimes they burned homes just for the sheer joy of doing it to a German. When they were seen, the refugees either hid or formed protective circles. Each time, Lena clutched her pistol tightly although she did not let anyone see it. Germany, she concluded, was descending into madness.
There was a group of nuns—Dominicans, she thought—travelling as a cluster. She wondered what the women in their long black habits were thinking. She envied them the fact that they had companions who would support each other. Lena did not miss the Schneiders, not for one minute, but she did wish she had someone in whom she could confide. She was lonely. She had used up most of her food and she had to sleep on the ground with the pistol close by. She had come to realize that no one was looking specifically for her. However, there was always the possibility of an SS or Gestapo sweep. These were generally used to capture deserters and she’d seen several instances where men had been hanged from telephone poles with signs saying “Deserter,” or “Enemy of the Reich” attached to their chests. If they checked her identification too closely, it might not hold up. Avoiding the sweeps became a priority, but how?
She used the nuns as a beacon, an anchor. She never approached them or talked to them, but she always kept them in sight. The refugee swarm constantly changed, but the nuns were always there. One heavyset sister appeared to be their leader. She seemed to have noticed Lena although there was no hint of recognition or friendship.
Night came and Lena tried to make herself as comfortable as possible on the ground. One of her folded-up empty supply bags served as a pillow; the pistol was in her belt. She closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep. When she awoke, it was daylight and the encampment was starting to stir. She suddenly felt almost physically ill. The Luger was gone.
She sat up and looked around wildly. The heavyset nun was seated on a piece of wood a few feet away. “Are you missing something?”
Chapter 6
The artillery barrage began an hour before dawn. Targets had been pre-sighted and shells rained down on what intelligence said were German strongpoints. Since he had provided much of the information, Tanner fervently hoped his data was accurate.
As the shelling increased in intensity, columns of DUKWs moved towards the Rhine. He was in the lead vehicle with Sergeant Hill. “Y’know, Captain, for someone who’s not supposed to get his feet wet, you do spend a lot of time in little boats.”
“Go to hell, Sergeant, and this is a floating truck, not a boat.”
Hill chuckled and the two men looked towards the other side of the Rhine. It was obscured by smoke and fire. Overhead, bombers dumped their loads and the shock waves rippled back over them. Could anyone be alive in that horror, he wondered, but everyone knew that they would be. The Germans had proven their resilience. They would have to be rooted out.
At a signal, the amphibious vehicles rumbled forward with each carrying a squad of infantry. The DUKW was a marvel. Built on a GM truck chassis, it could travel by road and then over water simply by throwing a switch. Or at least that was the way it looked to Tanner. He clutched his M1 carbine to his chest. It had been converted to fire full automatic. Hill carried a Thompson submachine gun, his weapon of choice. Captain Cullen would land in a later wave. He did not appear disappointed at crossing later.
The little craft plowed into the water and began the crossing. The shelling and bombing had ceased. “Now we’ll find out what we’re up against,” Hill muttered.
Machine-gun fire began to come from hidden German positions, kicking up splashes around the boats. The Wehrmacht were alive and nasty. Tanner wondered just how much damage the barrage and bombing had actually done. There had been discussions about the pre-landing bombardments. Should they be short or even nonexistent in order to surprise the Nazis? Or should they be lengthy, which would tip off the Germans that an attack was imminent? A compromise was reached. The barrage would be for two hours. Tanner did not like compromises, especially when lives were at stake.
Bullets rattled against their craft’s hull and everyone ducked down and tried to make themselves invisible. Men in the craft groaned and someone threw up. That caused others to puke as well. Tanner thought he smelled urine. He checked and was relieved that it wasn’t him.
He forced himself to again look over the side. Land was only a few yards away. They’d made it across, he exulted.
No. A German shell exploded by the DUKW, tipping it over and throwing everyone into the water. Tanner gasped. The water was near freezing and the current was strong. He wanted to scream as icy river grabbed at his testicles. He found that he could stand up and began wading towards the riverbank and safety, fighting the current that wanted to sweep him away. Something bumped up against him. It was the soldier who’d been driving the DUKW. A shell fragment had ripped his chest open and water was flowing in. Other bodies bobbed around him.
He stumbled and went underwater. He scrambled frantically to get upright. He could not let the current take control and sweep him away. The water was shallow and he managed to stand up again. Another shell landed nearby and staggered him. Sergeant Hill’s strong hands grabbed him and pulled him forward.
“C’mon, Captain. You got to get your ass out of this river before it kills you.”
Tanner was about to say that he already knew that when the Rhine water he’d swallowed came up all at once, gagging him.
“I’m all right,” he finally managed to say. A wounded soldier lurched by. His left arm was smashed and white bone jutted through the skin. Between him and Hill, they got the man to the riverbank, pushed him up, and followed him to dry ground. A medic crawled over to take charge.
Despite the carnage around them, the overwhelming majority of craft appeared to have landed their human cargoes and were headed back to pick up a second wave.
American soldiers were advancing across the field towards the Dragon’s Teeth. They were following the paths through the minefields that had been carefully mapped out.
Explosions and screams made Tanner turn to his left. A group of soldiers had taken a wrong turn and had blundered into the minefield. Several GIs lay writhing on the ground and the others stood, looking confused and terrified. One man started to run back. An explosion lifted him several feet into the air and ripped his legs off.
“Follow in your own footsteps,” yelled Hill, but they were too far away to hear. Finally, somebody got the soldiers calmed down and the survivors slunk out of the field.
More soldiers made it through the minefield’s real openings. Enemy fire began to slacken. Tanner looked behind to see that more landing craft filled with troops were already headed towards them and the east bank of the Rhine. Engineers were quickly starting to assemble the first of what were planned to be several pontoon bridges.
“I need a radio. Got to report to the general,” Tanner said.
Hill shrugged. “I think it’s at the bottom of the Rhine. Don’t worry, sir. I think he’s got a fair idea we’ve made it across. By the way, sir, you didn’t get your feet wet did you?”
“Hill, go screw yourself.”
* * *
Lena and the nun sat on the ground and faced each other. “My name is Sister Mary Columba and I am a Dominican. You may call me Columba or sister. Now tell me why you need a pistol?”
“For protection, of course.”
“But from whom? I’ve watched you the last several days. I saw how sick and frightened you looked when you realized there was an SS checkpoint up ahead. The gun is not only for protection, but because you are afraid of being investigated and then arrested. Were you planning to kill yourself with it? So what have you done that a small and frail-looking young woman like yourself would have so outraged the SS or the Gestapo?
Lena turned away. She did not know if she could trust this woman, even th
ough she said she was a nun. “I would like my property back,” she finally said.
“The gun is a military weapon. How did you get it? Did you kill a German soldier?”
“No,” Lena said, almost too hurriedly.
“Good,” said Columba. “That would have been more than I could handle. Even though I despise Hitler and all he has done, I could not countenance anyone murdering a German soldier, even if he was SS. They SS are misguided fools but they are humans with souls. On the other hand, the men in the Gestapo are not human. Are you Jewish? Did you escape from a concentration camp? What the devil are you doing out here and all alone? Why are you afraid to make contact with others? And, of course, where on earth do you think you are going?”
Too many questions, Lena thought, and they all need answers. She decided she had no choice but to trust the nun. She began to tell her tale.
Half an hour later, Sister Columba quietly handed Lena her pistol. It had been cleaned and wrapped in a cloth. “Now, Lena, we have to get you through the Nazis. How would you like to become a nun?”
An hour later, Lena stood beside the taller Sister Columba, but now she was wearing a nun’s habit. Sister Columba said it was left over from an older nun who had died of a heart attack a few days earlier. It almost fit her and it was as dirty as those worn by the others. They had kept it hoping they might find a use for it. Lena also wore the dead woman’s sandals. Her other clothing, including slacks and blouse, were in a cloth bag along with the deceased nun’s pathetically few belongings.
Columba had chopped Lena’s already short hair almost to her skull. A little judiciously applied dirt made it look a shade darker. She spread more dirt on Lena’s face and arms, and soon Lena looked as unkempt as the others, most of whom, she noticed were as young as she was.
“We haven’t had much chance to bathe,” Columba told her. “Now, as we approach the Nazis, all you have to do is look downcast and scared. If these scum are anything like the ones we’ve run up against before, they’ll let us through without checking too deeply. They will probably make filthy remarks about how they would like the chance to make real women out of us withered old virgins, but we will ignore them. One of two of them might even reach out to paw you, which they seem to think is quite funny. Just whimper and pull away. Look terrified if you can. Defiance might make them suspicious. We nuns are supposed to be innocent little creatures who have run away from the world. If things start to get out of hand, I will step in.”
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