Germanica - eARC

by Robert Conroy

  “Hitler’s dead!” they yelled. “The fucking paperhanger is dead,” one of them added. “He shot himself, the Goddamned coward.”

  German civilians had picked up on the announcement. “Hitler kaput,” they said. Some looked jubilant, while others were simply stunned. Hitler was their god, and gods don’t die, do they?

  “Now I think I would like to be useful,” Lena said. “I would like to find an American unit and offer my services. I can be either a clerk or a translator. What do you think, Sister?”

  Chapter 8

  Tanner woke slowly. It was like he was back in the hospital in Belgium, only worse. He was in agony. His whole body ached and he was nauseous. He was afraid that his head would roll off his shoulders and bounce onto the floor. Jesus, Jesus, he thought, wouldn’t that be a sight. He hadn’t had such a hangover since he’d been in college. Or was it his senior year in high school when he woke up in Mary Ann Kutchinski’s bed a week before graduation. He’d had to run like hell when he realized that her parents had just come home and were downstairs. He tried to smile at the memory of her naked and nubile young body but it hurt too much.

  It didn’t matter. In a short while he would be as dead as Adolf Hitler. There was no possible way he could recover from this horror he’d inflicted on himself. He hoped his friends and family could come to his funeral.

  He managed to keep his head attached to his shoulders and stood up. He lurched to the latrine where he relieved himself of several days’ worth of urine and then threw up. He kept vomiting until he reached the point of almost uncontrollable dry heaves. Other officers had their heads stuck in toilets as well. Well, it had been one hell of a party. After all, it wasn’t every day that a bona fide monster kills himself. Hitler was kaput. Hitler was dead. But what, he thought, does that have to do with the price of tea in China or the end of the war? As near as anyone could tell, the war would continue.

  “Do you believe in mercy killing?” asked Cullen as he knelt back on his haunches. He turned away from his personal toilet lest sight of the contents inspire him to be sick again.

  “Captain Tanner, if you still have an iota of Christian charity in you, get a gun and blow my brains out. Wait, I have no brains, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this condition.”

  Tanner stood and found he could stand only if he didn’t make any sudden moves. Better, his stomach seemed to be settling. Maybe he would live to see another day. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to suffer like the rest of us. Besides, like you said we have no brains. They’ve all been fried away.”

  “Heartless bastard.”

  A young and disgustingly sober second lieutenant approached them, stifling a grin. “Sirs, General Evans would like to see the two of you as quickly as possible. He said in an hour or less.”

  Cullen nodded. “I gather he survived the massacre?”

  “Barely, his eyes are flaming red marbles. And I wouldn’t dawdle. He’s mad as hell although he does understand everybody’s situation.”

  “How did you make it through the slaughter, Lieutenant?” asked Tanner.

  “Dumb luck. I had duty. Tonight I’ll celebrate but it won’t be anything monumental like last night. God only knows what’ll happen when this war actually ends. I can only hope I’m there to celebrate.”

  “Amen,” said Tanner. He found a sink and splashed cold water on his face. It seemed marginally refreshing. “You don’t happen to have fifty or sixty aspirins, do you? I’d like to take them and end it one way or the other.”

  The lieutenant laughed. “If I did, I could sell them for a fortune.”

  Cullen turned on the shower and stepped in wearing his skivvies. He howled as the cold water hit him. “Did the good general say why he wanted us?” he asked.

  “Yeah. There was a shooting and two of our guys are dead.”

  Tanner stripped and stepped into his shower and let the cold water run over his body. By God, it was working. He could feel life returning to his tortured body. “This is still a war, so what is so damned important about two guys getting shot?”

  “The general thinks it might have been Werewolves.”

  “Aw shit,” Tanner said. “Lieutenant, do you think you might get us a full pot of black GI coffee along with a knife to cut it with?”

  * * *

  Two hours later and with Sergeant Hill to guide them, they drove to where the two dead soldiers still lay. There had been no attempt to move them or take them to a hospital. They were clearly dead with their heads nearly blown off. Even though sickened by the sight, Tanner acknowledged that it was very good shooting.

  “Don’t look for the provost marshal’s boys to come and investigate,” said Hill. He looked pale but otherwise okay. Tanner and Cullen had each pronounced the other to be a little greenish.

  “Why not?” asked Tanner. “This is a murder. These guys aren’t anywhere near the front lines. Somebody sneaked up on them and killed them in cold blood. The cops should be involved.”

  “Regardless,” said Hill, “I was told when I called that they were busy collecting deserters and black marketeers. I also think they might have a point. Whoever did this is military. While waiting for you to get here, I reconnoitered and found a firing position that indicated two men waiting and shooting. Just like that time on the road.”

  Tanner nodded. “And I’ll bet nothing personal was taken.”

  “Correct, Captain. These two boys still had their wallets and ID. They even had some money in their wallets. All of it was untouched.”

  “So why were they killed? Just targets of opportunity?” asked Tanner.

  “Maybe, even probably. But also they were queer and you know how the Nazis feel about queers. They hate them even more than we do. Yeah, I cleaned up the place and I got the guys who found them to promise to keep quiet about these two guys getting caught with their pants down, literally. They probably got shot with their hands on each other’s dick.”

  “Any chance that the scene was staged?” Cullen asked. Like all soldiers, he held homosexuals in contempt. If caught they would have been court-martialed and made to serve long prison sentences. Homosexuality was one of the worst crimes a soldier could commit.

  “No,” said Hill. “People heard the shots and the alarm was sounded. The snipers probably ran off first chance they got.”

  With that new thought, they walked to the firing point. From impressions in the dirt, they could see where two men had crawled up to where they could take a clean shot and killed the GIs. Was it Werewolves or did the two Americans just run into a couple of German soldiers sneaking around? Either way, the Provost Marshal was not going to be involved.

  Tanner rubbed his eyes. His headache was returning. “We will report them as killed in action by German snipers, which is close enough to the truth. Ignorance might keep their families from finding out about their relations. Nothing else matters. If there really are Werewolves, then we are going to have to be especially vigilant.”

  “More patrols?” Hill asked.

  Tanner stood and dusted himself off. “Yeah, and maybe this time they’ll be sober.”

  * * *

  Ernie Janek was worried sick. He had grown fond of Winnie Tyler of Philadelphia and now she was across the German border in Bregenz on some damn fool errand for Dulles. She was supposed to have gotten back the day before, but the news of Hitler’s death had changed things. The border was tightly sealed. Clearly the Germans were concerned about some kind of reaction to their beloved Fuhrer’s death. Maybe they were concerned that a lot of their loyal followers would desert and flee to Switzerland, taking themselves out of the war. What a happy thought, he concluded.

  Ernie had been lying hidden in shrubs for the better part of the day and now it was becoming dark. He was a hundred yards from the fence and a mile from the normal checkpoint. It was where he was supposed to wait if something had gone wrong. Well, it looked like something had damn well gone wrong. It was now an hour past the time when Winnie should have arrived.


  He shifted slightly and felt the bulge in his pocket. It was a Walther P38 pistol. Since it was of German make, he hoped it would confuse people if it was found on him. Guns were frowned upon by the Swiss and he generally didn’t carry one, but he made an exception for this day. As he always said, what could the Swiss do besides throw him out? Besides, he was reasonably confident that Dulles would intercede for him. Dulles was concerned as well, but he’d told Ernie that delays like this were to be anticipated. The spy game did not run like a railroad. Or a Swiss watch. Still, he didn’t like it.

  Day became a partly cloudy night and still no Winnie. He wondered if the Germans knew he was lying where he was. If so, he should move, but he couldn’t. This was the secondary exit point she was going to use if leaving through the checkpoint like a regular visitor wasn’t feasible. He checked his watch. In a few minutes another time frame would have passed. He was to do nothing until he spotted her and then use his discretion about actually helping her.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he detected motion and froze. Two German soldiers walked along the fence line, only a few feet inside the border. He’d seen them before and they had a regular route. They did not look terribly concerned about anything. They carried their rifles slung over their shoulders and not in their arms. He could hear their voices and they seemed to be talking casually about something. Probably Hitler, he thought. It would be a good half hour before they got back. If Winnie could see them and was careful, she could get to the fence without being seen.

  But then what? He made an easy decision. He would do what he could to make it easier for Winnie to escape.

  When he thought it was clear, he crawled to the fence and paused. Nothing. He took out the wire clippers he’d brought and carefully snipped several strands until he thought he’d cleared enough space for a small person like Winnie to slither through. He smiled. The thought of her slithering was intriguing.

  “Hurry!” It was Winnie’s voice and she was only a few yards away. How the devil had she gotten so close? He snipped the last wire and pulled them aside, thankful that the Germans hadn’t yet hung any bells on the wire.

  She crawled up to the wire. Her face was filthy and contorted. “Help me. I’m hurt.”

  Ernie crawled through the opening and grabbed her arms. He crawled backwards and pulled her. She groaned and stifled it. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Just pull me, damn it. Be sorry later.”

  He braced himself and pulled hard. A piece of wire gouged along her arm and she barely stopped a scream.

  Ernie pulled again and she was free. He knew they should crawl back but he doubted that she could do it. She looked like she’d been through the proverbial wringer. Nuts, he thought. Let Dulles fire me.

  He stood and scooped her into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and he thought she was crying. He walked back into the shadows just as he heard someone on the other side yell, followed by an angry response. They were safe, at least for the moment. He didn’t think the Germans would send any soldiers across the border, or even shoot into Swiss territory.

  “Can you walk? The car’s a little ways down the road.”

  “Yes, but you’ll have to help me.”

  “Do you need a doctor?”

  Winnie took a deep breath. “I don’t think so.” The clouds cleared and he could see her more clearly. Her face was a mass of bruises. The dress that made her look overweight was ripped and filthy. “Don’t look at me,” she commanded angrily.

  Ernie put his arm under hers and they hobbled down the road. She groaned with almost every step. He finally got her in the back seat and drove back to the warehouse. She had her own apartment in another building, but didn’t argue when she took him to his Spartan quarters.

  “Please let me have a towel and a washcloth and a few minutes to clean up. I wouldn’t mind a couple of Band-Aids for my arm, and, oh yes, a bathrobe. Needle and thread would be nice if you have it.”

  “Of course, but what happened?”

  “In a few minutes, Ernie. Let me get myself back together.”

  It was closer to an hour when she emerged, wearing the robe. It went all the way down to her ankles. She carried the dress she’d been wearing. It had been badly torn and she’d tried to make some repairs with his sewing kit to keep it from falling apart. He made some instant coffee and she sipped it gladly. The bruises on her face were bluish-black and one of her eyes was black and swollen. The bruises extended down her neck and below her collar. He couldn’t help but wonder just where else she’d been hurt and it angered him.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? Dulles has one under contract.”

  “I’m sure. It’s just bruises and, no, I wasn’t raped, although it almost happened. An angry and drunk German officer beat the crap out of me. Of course he was one of the SS pigs.”

  He felt relief that she hadn’t been assaulted but fury that she’d been beaten. “Why did he do it?”

  “I was supposed to pick up some information from an agent at a drop site in a park. Before I could, this drunken lout appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed me and started crying about how bad it was that Hitler was dead and what a great man he was. When I tried to get away, he was sober enough to realize that my accent wasn’t German, or even Swiss. Then he realized that my dress had so much padding. He dragged me into some bushes and started to ask me who I was and what was I doing in Bregenz. He wasn’t stupid and realized I was an American, an enemy, and a spy.”

  “I’m going to kill Dulles for sending you across.”

  “Wait your turn. Actually, I volunteered. Don’t worry, Ernie, it won’t happen again.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “He was drunk and he decided he would attack me. He pushed me onto the ground and started tearing at my fat girl clothes and simply lost his grip when more came off than he expected. I got up and pushed him down and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I think he sounded the alarm because the border was very quickly closed, which is why I took so long to get across. Thank you for being there. By the way, the guy’s name is Hahn and he’s a major in the SS. He also has a bright red scar or birthmark on his cheek so you’ll know him if you see him.”

  She stood shakily. “I haven’t slept in two nights. I would like to borrow your bed for a few hours.”

  He thought about making a smartass comment about her borrowing his bed at any time, but thought better of it. “It’s all yours. I’ll drag a cot over by the door and sleep outside, just like a faithful dog. Except this dog will have a pistol.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. “Thank you again, Ernie.” He became aware that she had little or nothing on underneath his unworthy robe.

  * * *

  Josef Goebbels stood at attention facing the flag of the Reich and the black-draped portrait of Adolf Hitler. Like most of the men in the large room hollowed out of a mountain, he’d been weeping. Even though it had been expected, the announcement of Hitler’s death had hit them hard. Magda had been devastated. The last he’d seen her she’d taken to her room and was sobbing hysterically. Despite their long simmering animosities, they had hugged and sobbed together and tried to comfort each other. They even made love or whatever passed for it now. Both of them had found it strangely comforting.

  He would have stayed longer, but duty called. Magda went to comfort the children while he met with the handful of leaders of the new Germanican government.

  Goebbels wiped his eyes. “Is it possible the communists are lying?”

  Field Marshal Schoerner shook his head. He was pale but appeared to not have been crying. “The communists are always lying. However, in this case they are likely telling the truth. Their armies have had Berlin surrounded and have been steadily squeezing the area around the Chancellery. Our Fuhrer always said that he would die in Berlin at the head of the Nazi cause. I am certain that the Reds will publish pictures of his body and proclaim the triumph of their cause. The question remains, Minister, what do w
e do now?”

  Goebbels thought quickly. Even though the Nazi Party in Germany appeared dead, as dead as the Fuhrer, there were a number who would want to become Hitler’s successor. “Where is Goering? Is he still under house arrest?”

  SS Major Alfonse Hahn entered the room. He had heard the last question. “He was freed by loyal members of his Luftwaffe and may be trying to make it to the American lines as an alternative to surrendering to the Soviets. He should not be considered a factor in our future, Minister. The orders regarding his possible treason are a matter of record. I do not believe that he will be obeyed by anyone of consequence.”

  Goering had considered himself Hitler’s heir until he tactlessly broached the subject, implying that he should take over before Berlin fell and took Hitler with it. With Bormann’s backing, an outraged Hitler had then considered the corpulent Luftwaffe marshal’s actions treasonous. He had publicly discredited the man and placed him under house arrest. No, Goebbels thought, Hermann Goering was out of the picture. Leave him to his alcohol and drugs.

  Hahn rubbed the bruise on his chin where that American bitch had hit him. He was certain she had been an American spy. He had punched her several times and was going to attack her sexually when she’d somehow managed to get away.

  In the absence of a formal intelligence-gathering apparatus, Hahn had effectively taken control of that aspect of life in Bregenz. Along with chasing down Jews and other enemies, he had established radio contact with a number of Nazi loyalists in Germany proper.

  “Himmler and Bormann have disappeared,” Hahn said. “It is feared that Bormann was killed trying to flee from Berlin following Hitler’s death when it became every man for himself.”

  “What a shame,” said Goebbels. He didn’t bother to hide his smile. If the detested Bormann was dead, it was better for him and for Germany. “I suppose that leaves Admiral Doenitz as a possible pretender.”