Germanica - eARC

by Robert Conroy

  No one had ever heard of Harry Truman. Some even thought his name was Thurman and that he was as Jewish as Roosevelt. She had to remind herself that she was surrounded by Germans and somewhat alone with her feelings of hatred for the Reich. Her consuming fear now was that the death of their president would result in the Americans halting their conquest of Germany and leaving her in limbo. What would she do then?

  She still traveled with the nuns and found them a puzzling bunch. With the exception of Sister Columba, none of them spoke to her or even looked at her. She thought they were sometimes laughing at her, but that was almost to be expected. She was dressed as a nun but was absolutely not a Dominican. She was able to confirm that the other sisters were fairly young, which was also puzzling.

  “That is because the old ones could not travel,” Columba had said. “We left them behind with our prayers. And I told the others not to speak to you,” Columba admitted one evening. “The less they know, the less they can tell anyone. Right now I believe we are safe from the Gestapo or the SS, but that could change in a heartbeat. If the Americans show any sign of weakness, the Reich will emerge again.”

  And where were the Americans? Rumors had them everywhere. The latest said they were a few miles to the north and heading towards Stuttgart. Her column of refugees was moving slowly because they had to bypass the mountains. American planes continued to fly overhead and some of them flew so low that they could see the pilots’ faces. What were they thinking? she wondered. Much of an entire nation was on the move, fleeing from the terrors of defeat and the vengeance of those who had been oppressed.

  Travelling in large groups meant safety. Too often they had come on the naked, mutilated and desecrated corpses of those who thought they could go it alone or in small groups. Former inmates recently freed from concentration camps were delighted at the opportunities to take vengeance on those who’d persecuted and imprisoned them. Who could blame them? she thought. Some of those former inmates she’d seen were starving and wide-eyed with anger and pain. They wanted food and there hadn’t been enough for their German overlords. They’d been kept in vile living conditions for years where they’d been beaten, starved, and many of their friends and loved ones murdered. She found herself wondering what had happened to her father. It was a painful window on her past that she tried to keep closed. But now that the end appeared near, thoughts of her past were coming back. Perhaps the Germans kept good records of those they imprisoned. She thought that he had been sent to Dachau, but she wasn’t certain. The Americans had overrun the infamous concentration camp, so someday she might be able to go there and find out his fate. But not now. It was too dangerous.

  Later that night there were howls and screams. She pulled out her pistol and tried to see in the darkness. There was commotion to her left, followed by gunshots. Either the criminals were armed or other civilians had had the foresight to arm themselves.

  “Don’t even think of trying to help,” Sister Columba said as she grabbed Lena’s arm. “There’s only one of you and God only knows how many of them, whoever they are. Stay here and protect yourself and us.”

  Lena agreed and spent the rest of the night with her pistol on her lap. The world had gone to hell.

  * * *

  George Schafer and Bud Sibre flew their P51s deep into the Alps. It was a clear day and the sun reflected off the remnants of the past winter’s snow. It was not a comfortable feeling. They were supposed to be looking down on mountains, not looking up at them. Granted, their P51 Mustangs could climb to more than forty thousand feet, and granted that most of the mountains in the Alps were well under fifteen thousand feet, they still had to fly low to see potential targets. The tree line above which trees didn’t grow was about seven thousand feet.

  They didn’t want to miss out on any more opportunities. Only a couple of days before, intelligence had let them know that the convoy of ambulances they’d ignored probably contained Josef Goebbels and his wife Magda along with their brood of kids. Just how the intelligence guys figured this out, Schafer and Sibre didn’t know. Either they were really good at their work or they had secret sources. The two pilots only understood that they’d blown a good chance to shorten the war. Reports said there were a number of other ambulances headed south towards the Alps. Who or what were they carrying?

  They would not make the same mistake again. Any ambulance, school bus, or hearse would be shot to shreds. They’d taken too much teasing about missing out on Goebbels and not all of it was funny. They’d been accused of lengthening the war because of their squeamishness and there’d been a couple of skirmishes that calmer heads had broken up.

  They’d mentioned their intentions to their commanding officer and he’d shaken his head. “Ambulances are off limits. You will not shoot at them unless they shoot at you first. Think about it, guys. Even if you had killed Goebbels, would that have ended the war or would the Krauts simply pick someone else to be their new Fuhrer? And if you did manage to kill an ambulance full of school kids, how would you really feel about that?”

  They agreed that the major was correct. They would take the criticism. But they didn’t have to like it.

  “Jesus, Bud. If someone’s hiding an army down there, they are doing a great job of it.”

  The craggy tops of mountains seemed to dare them to make a mistake. Already, several planes had flown into the mountains, exploding violently and doing nothing to harm the mountains. Just how the pilots had gotten disoriented, was a puzzle. But both men knew that only a second’s loss of concentration could result in sudden flaming death.

  The lower portions of the mountains below seven thousand feet were heavily forested and had lost most of their snow covering. This was too bad. In the snow they might have been able to follow the tracks made by German trucks and tanks. As the mountains got higher and closer together it became obvious that no vehicles of any kind would be travelling near them.

  “Are we anywhere near Switzerland?” asked Bud. “I wouldn’t want to piss off those nice neutral assholes by flying over their country.”

  “I’m not too certain where we are. If you ask me, one mountain looks just like another. Look on the bright side. We absolutely do not have to worry about the Luftwaffe.”

  The fact that the Luftwaffe had almost totally disappeared was one reason why they were flying as a pair and not as a larger force. Even if the Germans had planes, there were no airbases for them nor gas to fuel them. Now there were numbers of pairs of American warplanes out scouting for German ground forces. The mountains interfered with radio communication, which was another cause for concern. Should something happen to them, it might be a long time, if ever, before someone found them.

  “I think we should turn around,” said George. “There may be people down there but there sure as hell isn’t an army.”

  A short while later as they left the highest mountains, they were rocked by explosions shockingly close to them. “Where the hell is that coming from?” George yelled. A second shell from a hidden German antiaircraft battery sent shrapnel rattling against their planes.

  “Aw Christ, I’m hit and I’m losing oil,” said Bud. “I might have to bail out.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine but the plane isn’t.”

  There was no thought of trying to locate the German guns. Bud’s survival was paramount. George flew underneath his wingmate and examined the wounded P51. Oil was leaking and making ugly streaks on the belly of the plane.

  “Okay, Bud. We are going to head north and try to find a place for you to land. It’s about a hundred miles to our base, so I don’t think you’re gonna make it all the way. Unless we can find you a good spot to land, you’re gonna have to jump. How many times have you made a parachute jump?”

  “This’ll be my first and you know it, smartass. And it’ll damn well be my last. I mean if I survive it, it’ll be my last.”

  “You better survive, Bud. You owe me money.”

  Chapter 7

&n
bsp; The rifle shot came from a clump of evergreens a hundred yards down the road. Tanner and Hill ducked while their driver swerved the jeep and tried to keep from crashing. Someone was screaming in pain. At least it isn’t me, Tanner though. Hill and Tanner got the men out of their jeeps. The machine guns mounted on them opened fire and began to chew up the trees. Individual American soldiers began firing their M1s in the general direction of the forest.

  Tanner clutched his helmet. “If the sniper has a brain, he’s far, far away by now.”

  A second shot and a third followed. “He doesn’t have a brain,” said Hill. “But the son of a bitch is cunning. He waited for the lead elements to go by his position before shooting. We were a little complacent and now we’re paying for it.”

  Two men had been shot and one looked very seriously wounded with a bullet in the abdomen. The second had a broken arm and medics were caring for both. Tanner shook his head. The one with the broken arm would be fine, but the other had his stomach ripped open. Medics were working on the gut wound, but the looks on their faces said that their efforts would be futile.

  “I’m going to take a squad and go after him, or them,” Hill said. “We could call in air support but who knows how long that would take. I suggest you stay here, Captain. I don’t think you know all that much about infantry tactics.”

  “No argument.”

  A few minutes later, Tanner thought he heard gunfire, but the trees muffled sounds so thoroughly that he wasn’t certain. He hoped to hell that Hill knew what he was doing. Waiting for the air force to splatter the forest with napalm wasn’t all that bad an idea, he thought.

  * * *

  Sergeant Hill’s men spread out and, taking turns, moved towards, and then into, the woods. He took a chance and had a couple of his men race ahead to cut off what he felt were only one or two Germans. They quickly found where the sniper had been hiding and there was evidence that he’d had a companion, somebody else to spot for him. Now how fast were they moving?

  For a second he was stunned as a bullet splintered the tree next to his head the same time he heard the gun fire. He dropped and swore. “Anybody see anything?”

  “I did,” one of his men yelled and began firing into a group of trees. Others followed suit, chewing up the forest.

  Hill was about to order them to stop wasting ammo when he heard a scream. Jesus, he thought, they’d actually hit someone.

  He called for covering fire and the advance continued, although more carefully. They might have wounded, or even killed, one Nazi, but there was at least one more out there someplace.

  The men laid down more covering fire and Hill was only a few yards from the trees. Suddenly, a bloodied German soldier with a hand grenade charged out, screaming “Heil Hitler!” at the top of his lungs. Hill and the others fired and bullets ripped through him. He limply threw the grenade, which went only a few feet before exploding, pulverizing the German’s body.

  There was a crump sound from inside the trees. “I think the second guy shipped himself off to Valhalla,” Hill said. He signaled them forward. Inside the grove, the second German was just as dead as the first. He too had chosen suicide by hand grenade rather than be captured. What the hell kind of enemy is this? he wondered.

  He looked at the bodies and felt ill. They were too young. “Private, get the captain.”

  * * *

  Tanner had been waiting, frustrated and angry. He should have gone with Hill. So what if he wasn’t an infantryman? He was in command wasn’t he? He should have pretended to lead and followed all of Hill’s suggestions. Damn.

  Finally and after what seemed an eternity, a soldier emerged and beckoned. Tanner rose and followed the man into the woods. Hill appeared and led him the last few feet. Two bodies lay side by side on the ground. Both German soldiers had been shredded by their own grenades. They had been dragged there so they could be searched.

  “I don’t think we need to call for a medic,” Hill said sarcastically.

  “A mop might be more appropriate.” The corpses had been thoroughly riddled. Tanner looked closely at the bodies. “Wait, just how old are these guys?”

  “Just out of diapers is my guess. I noticed that too. I got curious and pulled their ID. One is fifteen and the other is fourteen. Just like us, the Nazis have run out of manpower if this is what they’re throwing at us. These two Nazis should be in high school, not out here trying to kill us.”

  Both young men were on their backs and staring at the sky, although one of them had only one eye remaining. “Congress is going crazy because we’re using eighteen-year-olds in combat. I think our Congress should come out here and see this. I guess eighteen is ancient to the German army.”

  “Wait, look at this,” said Hill. Each young man had a strange patch on his shoulder. It was a stylized animal face with flaming red eyes. “All right, Captain, can you tell me what the hell this represents? Is this what I think it is, sir?”

  “I sincerely hope I’m wrong, but it sure looks like a nightmare version of a werewolf.”

  * * *

  The rumble of approaching vehicles awakened the refugees. Lena and the others got only to their hands and knees. Even though it was night, standing up might make one a good target. Crouching made one smaller and it might make running a lot easier.

  They looked at each other fearfully. Who was coming? Was it the Russians? She was thankful it was a cloudy night. The darkness might hide them. They could scatter and maybe live, at least for a while.

  But if it was the Russians, they were now between them and any kind of safety the refugees might find with the Americans.

  They held their breath as the sounds got closer. Now they could identify individual engines running, each with a chorus of others in the background. “It’s an army,” said Sister Columba, “But whose?”

  They were a good two hundred yards from the road and now Lena could make out dark shapes as they rumbled closer and louder. A long shadowy column of vehicles was going to drive right past them.

  The lead vehicles moved by at about fifteen miles an hour. They didn’t look like German vehicles she’d seen, but maybe these were a different style or maybe the Germans had captured them.

  “Does anybody here speak Russian?” asked Columba. “If they are Reds, maybe we can reason with them.”

  Lena nearly choked. “One does not reason with the Red Army. They are monsters.”

  The column had halted. Men were getting out of their vehicles and stretching. The vehicles kept their engines running, so It looked like the pause was momentary. A number of soldiers appeared to be taking the opportunity to urinate, while a couple moved farther away where they dropped their pants and squatted. Under different circumstances it would have been hilarious.

  “Watch out for me,” Lena said.

  Using her dark habit to hide her, she crouched and crawled slowly and cautiously to where she could see the vehicles more clearly. She could hear the men talking but could not quite make out the words. It was maddening.

  At first the insignia on the nearest truck was unreadable. Then the moon came out and she could see it. The same with the voices as the soldiers talked and laughed, unafraid of anything. Now she could understand them. These were the conquerors. They were not German.

  She crawled back to where Columba and the others waited, their eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. Lena grabbed Columba and pulled herself up. She started to cry. “They’re Americans,” she sobbed.

  * * *

  This time there would be no meeting in a restaurant. By mutual agreement the discussions would take place in the dining room of a farm house outside of Arbon and disturbingly close to the German border. The Swiss family that owned the farm had taken some money and happily departed for a long afternoon’s shopping. A framed portrait of Swiss General Henri Guisan was on the wall. Ernie wondered if the homeowners were sending a message about Swiss strength and the nation’s ability to enforce its neutrality. Guisan was the head of the Swiss army.

&n
bsp; The man they met was about sixty and looked fatigued. Even though he wore civilian clothes, it was obvious that this man either was or had been a soldier.

  “It’s good to see you again, Allen. I had begun to despair that anything good was going to come of our discussions.”

  “I had my doubts as well, Heinrich. One can only hope that it is not too late and that events have not gotten that far past us.”

  “There is jubilation in Germanica that Roosevelt is dead,” the man said. “Goebbels and Schoerner are beside themselves with hope that the Allies will fall apart. Please tell me that will not happen.”

  “I cannot speak for Harry Truman any more than you represent Josef Goebbels. However, I do not think that the Allies will collapse. France and Britain might reduce their commitments, and Russian advances will surely grind to a halt, but the United States has more than enough resources to deal with your Germanica by itself.”

  “Of course, but does it have the will? How many more casualties are you willing to take?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Dulles answered with a candor that surprised Ernie.

  Ernie sat still like a statue. This Heinrich had also brought an aide and the two men looked at each other curiously. Apparently both Heinrich and Dulles wanted either a witness or protection. On being introduced to Ernie, Heinrich had stated that the conversations would be in English out of deference to both Dulles and Ernie’s lack of German language skills.

  “Do your leaders know that you are here?” Dulles asked.

  “Yes, but they will deny it if pressed. Even though you and I have met before, this conversation would never have happened, just like the others.”

  Ernie sucked in his breath. Now he knew who this Heinrich was. He was General Heinrich von Vietinghoff, previously commander of all German forces in Italy. Now he commanded the southern flank of the Alpine Redoubt, or Germanica.

  There had been rumors that the Germans had earlier been trying to negotiate the surrender of all forces in Italy and that a top general was leading the efforts.