by Noel Hynd
“How did you know all that?”
“Dot dot dot dash dash dash beep beep beep through the fucking stars at night. My friend who leaves me messages in the phone stall tells me when to listen. How else?” He drained a beer. “Listen, Bill. Who’s the ‘bastard,’ by the way? I’ve hung around SS Central here for five extra days hoping you’d turn up, man. So your damned car better be ready.”
“I’m told it’s ready,” Cochrane affirmed. He shook his head. “Yeah, right. We’d be glad to have you,” Cochrane said.
Goff was a warrior among warriors. Having him along was a no-brainer. He added punch, muscle, brains, artillery and didn’t make mistakes. Cochrane finally relaxed enough to laugh.
“What happened to this place?” Cochrane asked as Frieda downed an egg. “Dulles said our people could come here safely. Now it’s been taken over by the opposition.”
“The usual Nazi tactics,” Goff said.
“Murder,” Frieda said softly.
Goff nodded. “Your girl here is no one’s fool,” he said. “She’s correct.”
Goff turned serious and bitter. “The Nazi thugs walked in here around closing time one night around a month ago,” he said. “A little musclebound Bavarian with black hair was the point man, though that describes a lot of them. He put a gun to Herr Witte’s face. Asked him to name the anti-Hitler people in here while a couple of seven foot storm troopers blocked the door. He refused. So they shot him in the face. Point blank. Through the brain, between the eyes. That’s the bullet hole you see in the mirror. Then they arrested his wife, shipped her to fucking Poland and took over the place. That’s how it works under National Socialism. Charming, huh?
“This is so recent that Dulles doesn’t even know about it,” Cochrane said.
“Yup,” Goff said. “Well, he knows now. I sent him word about a week ago. And I hope there’s a special torture in hell for those Nazis who’d just walk into a place and shoot the owner.”
Frieda could barely listen. She turned away. On the other side of her a young soldier gave her a smile. He tried to strike up a conversation. She turned her back to him.
“I see you’re carrying suitcases,” Goff said. “That tells me you’re ready to roll. I’ve got one behind the bar, a suitcase. I still have a friend or two in this place even though I hope the Brits drop a bomb on it. What do you say? Eat a couple of damn eggs and let’s get out of here. What’s the girl’s name, by the way?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Not much later, I hope,” said Goff abruptly turning. “That’s more Geheime Staatspolizei that just walked in. Gestapo. You know what? I’ll bet I’m the only Jew in this whole fucking hellhole, much less the only Communist. Thin k of it: they’d like to kill me twice but could only do it once. Maybe I should kill a few of them first. Time to set sail, my friend. Forget the damned eggs. Let’s go.”
Cochrane kept his hand to his face as he looked in the mirror. His eyes popped as he recognized Hans Wesselmann with what appeared to be two new associates with him.
“Come on! Shake a leg, meatball. Even I break a nervous sweat sometimes.”
“Can you cover us to the door?” asked Cochrane.
“Sure can. Let’s just get out of here.”
Cochrane threw some paper money and coins on the counter.
Goff was a large sturdy man. Cochrane and Frieda, heads down, moved in his hulking wake with Goff being careful to block the view of Frieda. She had been wise enough to wear her new scarf and headgear. No more fur with pale blue.
They hit the street. They moved quickly.
Moments later they were lucky enough to find that rarest of commodities in Berlin, a free taxi. They took it to within two blocks of the carport they sought, exited the taxi and went the rest of the way on foot, staying close together, except when Goff dropped back to ambush any followers. But there were no followers.
They found the car, a beaten up 1938 Benz. It looked as if it had picked up a dent for each month it had been on the road. It was sitting and waiting at the pre-arranged address on a side street off Ludendorff Strasse. The key, the maps and the money were all in place. Several dark windows overlooked the car from the adjacent buildings. Cochrane figured someone was keeping vigil from one of them.
They all climbed in.
Cochrane drove. Goff sat on the shotgun side with a Mauser across his lap. They reached the address for an overnight stay in Potsdam by ten p.m. The venue was a small house on a dark street. It looked like something out of Hansel and Gretel. The proprietor was a tiny man with a beard and thick eyeglasses. He gave his name as Rudi. He registered them with no questions asked, except he didn’t officially register them. They were in a private home. Rudi’s wife ushered their car into a warehouse next door to keep it out of view. Once the car was stashed, Rudi walked out of the front of his house with a pistol to see if all was clear. It was. Then he came back indoors and smiled.
There was an upstairs room for Frieda. The two men slept on the floor downstairs, positioned at different angles in the parlor in case there was intrusion during the night.
The parlor was filled with books in many languages, including Hebrew. The owner of the house mentioned that he had been a lecturer at the university in Bremen until he’d been fired. When Cochrane and Goff laid out their pistols near where they slept, the man didn’t bat an eyelash. He saw such stuff all the time. He said he would be up the next morn at six and would pack them a box of food. He hinted that if they were on the run, they should keep running. It all made sense.
Bill Cochrane, Irv Goff and Frieda “Wagner” were out of Berlin and on the road back to Switzerland. It seemed too easy and it so far it was.
Chapter 51
Germany
February 1943
They left Berlin before dawn. Goff knew the overnight police and SS work schedules. He theorized that their party of three would do well to be moving in Berlin just when the overnight shift changed to morning. During that time, just before six a.m., the night shift was reporting back and the morning shift hadn’t gone out to the streets yet. That meant there were fewer police on the streets. Gestapo was always a wild card, but most of them didn’t like to freeze any more than anyone else.
Irv Goff sighed as Cochrane drove and Frieda rode in the back seat. Rudi had packed a box with bread and fruit and three jars of clean water.
Goff was in a mood to chatter.
“The Germans are a curious bunch of people these days,” said Goff as Cochrane navigated miles of hilly icy roads at twenty-five kilometers per hour. “Get a bunch of them in a room together and they’re all pro-Hitler,” Goff said. “Well, they have to be, I suppose. But when you get the working people by themselves, you’ll find that there’s not much Nazi principle underneath, aside from the hardcore. They seem vulnerable and defenseless. You can bribe any of them, sometimes for not very much. A pack of cigarettes. A Hershey bar. Sad, really. They have a ferocious army and a crazed leader. They’re a formidable opponent. But in the end, it’s all going to come crashing down. The only question if, who gets to Berlin first? Stalin’s tank divisions or George Patton’s.”
Cochrane considered it.
“I don’t suppose you can blame them,” Cochrane said. “Hitler and Stalin are similar sometimes. They believe that if you tell a lie often enough, people will believe it. The thing is, Irv, once the lie is exposed, what’s left? Once it’s clear that the war is lost, why fight, why die?”
“Good question,” Goff said. “How many times can you get yourself killed? Just once it would seem to me,” he concluded, answering his own question.
They drove for two and a half hours, Cochrane at the wheel the entire time. The day was clear once they were a few kilometers south of Berlin. Clear but very cold. There was ice on the narrow roads. The last thing he wanted to do was end up in a ditch or a snowbank. Eventually, he found the type of spot he wanted by a bend in the road. “I’m going to pull off for a minute,” Cochrane said. “I need to st
retch.”
“Think anyone is following us?” Goff asked.
“I haven’t seen anyone. But that’s one of the things I’m wondering, too.”
Goff checked his weapon. “Okay,” he said. “Do what you want.”
They parked on a hilltop from where they could see the road as it stretched before them and behind them. They were on a plateau with a lot of snow and frosted pines, which was what Cochrane remembered from happier times when he had been in Germany before the war. He had driven this way to take pleasure in the splendor of the countryside, the company of friends, the food, and the wine.
Cochrane stepped out of the car. Frieda looked at him expectantly. “It’s okay. It’s safe to get out,” he said.
She opened the back door and slid out. She came around and stood next to him.
The hilltop was free of the mist that often enshrouded the land in the late mornings. Cochrane had what he wanted, a view forward and back. There was a long view down the mountain in both directions. Cochrane looked at it carefully. Goff stepped from his side of the car, paused, lit a cigarette and stood a respectful distance away from them, far enough to make it more difficult for a single sniper.
Frieda stepped closer to him. “I know what you’re doing,” Frieda said quietly.
“What am I doing?” Cochrane answered.
“You’re studying the road,” she said. “You can see if anyone is trailing us or if any danger is lurking ahead.”
Cochrane smiled. “The kid’s smart,” Goff said.
Cochrane put his hand on Frieda’s shoulder. “She’s a very bright girl,” he said. “Bright and brave. But we already knew that.” He paused. “I’m honored to serve as her chauffeur. Lifting his eyes to his military friend, he added, “As I am equally honored to have you with us, Irv,” he said.
“You’re a good man and a good driver,” Goff said, returning the compliment. “Let’s just not wreck the day by getting us killed. How’s that, meatball?”
“That’s good. So we wait till we’re in Switzerland before we start congratulating each other, right?” Cochrane said.
“Damned fine idea,” Goff muttered.
Cochrane gave Frieda a short embrace around the shoulders. Then he turned his attention back to their surroundings. He reckoned they were five days away from the Swiss border, considering the driving conditions. It was a guess. That was if they were lucky. Five days away if there was no opposition or problem and an eternity away if any trouble emerged. Every kilometer was precious.
Cochrane’s gaze returned to the terrain in front of him. Scattered houses and cottages reached into the distance. In a pasture a few miles to the east there was movement: a small herd of cattle with bales of hay scattered across a white landscape. Several houses flew Nazi flags. There was a long view down through a valley. Cochrane scanned to see if there were any military installations and found none.
He looked back to Goff who was still smoking but who had produced something very useful: a compact pair of binoculars. He was working the same terrain.
Cochrane gave him a moment. Frieda was clutching her bear. He noticed her small hands were gripping it tightly. Cochrane looked back to Goff.
“You might as well tell me,” Goff said. “What the hell’s bothering you?”
“Something doesn’t feel right. I can see us walking into a trap,” Cochrane said.
“Why are you thinking that?”
“Instinct.”
“Anything else?”
“Keep talking.”
“Those Gestapo people who came into the Tavern. I knew recognized one of them.”
“You what?”
Cochrane explained what had happened on the tarmac in Marseille, then at the would-be grave site near Berlin. Wesselmann had been there for both. Then he had walked into the Bar Nuremburg with what looked like two new associates.
Frieda tuned into the conversation.
“We may be on the backroads,” Cochrane said, “but I theorize that they’re looking for us. And we’re going straight toward Switzerland, which is what they expect us to do. Granted, they’ll be watching the rail stations and they’re spread thin. But anyone looking for us is going to be staked out somewhere along this road. The closer we get to Switzerland, the more likely we’ll encounter someone. My feeling is they won’t even stop to ask questions. They’ll just open fire and ambush. We won’t have a chance.”
“I’m listening,” Goff said.
“On top of that, somehow we’d have to get past German security before we even get to Switzerland. I have a new passport and so does Frieda. But I’m not sure I trust it to get us through a Gestapo checkpoint. What about you? I have to think they’d love to catch you.”
“Ha!” said Goff. “I’m probably one of the most wanted men in the country. Even if I hadn’t done anything, I’m still a Hebrew.”
“So we don’t go directly into Switzerland,” Cochrane said. “We go to France first.”
“Whoa,” Goff said. “That’s all occupied territory to the west of us. Vichy.”
“And if I’m recalling correctly, you’ve got some strong links with the French resistance. Maquis.”
“Dulles mentioned that, did he?”
Cochrane grinned.
Goff’s eyes twinkled. He dropped his cigarette and snuffed it with his boot. “Okay. That could be the case,” he allowed.
Cochrane reached into the car. He grabbed the official map of the region. He looked at the roads.
“We’d need to detour toward Freiburg,” he said. “Then go southwest and cross the border. Is the Rhine frozen, do you know?”
Before Goff could answer, Freida replied. “In this cold, probably,” Frieda she said.
“How do you know?”
“I used to visit this area in summer and winter. In summer we’d swim in the river. A bunch of us girls. We’d swim naked and the boys would spy on us. In winter we’d skate.”
“So the river is narrow in some places?” Cochrane asked.
Frieda nodded.
“How narrow?”
The girl tried to remember. “Very. Eighty meters. Maybe a hundred.”
“Do you remember the locations?” Goff asked.
“I think I do. I know where we used to swim and skate. That’s where it was so narrow.
Cochrane and Goff exchanged a glance.
“There’s just one thing,” Frieda said.
“What’s that?” Cochrane asked.
“My friend Ilse is from the Freiburg area.”
“Who’s Ilse?” Goff asked.
“Ilse was my friend in White Rose,” Frieda said. “She fled. She knew they were looking for her and me. So she left. So she probably went home. They have a farm and a house. If we go in that direction, we can stop. Maybe we could stay. Maybe we can take her to Switzerland.”
“My instructions are to get you to Switzerland,” Cochrane said. “Not your friends.”
“You’re bringing your friend,” she said, indicating Goff. “I cannot leave Ilse behind if she’s in Freiburg. She’ll be caught and executed.”
Cochrane was about to argue against it again when Frieda continued.
“Ilse grew up in the region. If we can find her, she knows all the places where the Rhine is narrow.
“The kid’s got a point,” Goff said. “Let me have those binoculars for a minute.”
Cochrane handed him the field glasses. Goff scanned the valley and the area where the road continued two or three kilometers ahead. Then he lowered the binoculars.
“Think you could set something up?” Cochrane asked.
“I’d need a day or two to set things up. That’s if things can be set up,” he said. “And I’d need a telephone to get things started.” He paused. “But listen. There’s a town up ahead. It has phone lines. That doesn’t mean the phones are working, but we can find out.”
“Okay,” Cochrane said. “Everyone back in the car.”
They stopped at a town named Madenburg, halfway
to Leipzig. Goff found a phone in a small restaurant, made a call and waited for a call back. When he returned to the car and spoke simply.
“I made the contact,” he said. “I’ll know in a day. “We would cross the Rhine about ten kilometers north of Basel.”
“The river is frozen?” Cochrane asked.
“They tell me it is. Who knows how it will be when we get there?” He paused. “There’s a lot of Maquis activity south of Strasbourg, a lot of smuggling too. The local police are overtaxed and everyone is scared of their shadow. That could work well for us. Or it could get us shot. We’ll see. Like everything else, it can go either way.”
“You’re always full of cheerful news, aren’t you, Irv?” Cochrane said.
“Just look at the world around you, man,” Goff said. “It’s not like I imagine stuff.”
They altered their route to steer more in the direction of France than Switzerland. Avoiding the larger cities also allowed them to avoid British and French bombers who now attacked German industries at all hours. Taking back roads avoided police surveillance but it extended the time needed for the trip. As for fuel for the old car, Goff could sniff out a black market dealer in almost every town in southern German. It was an admirable skill.
Everything went smoothly for a while.
Chapter 52
Germany
February 1943
While the three travelers might have struck some of those they passed as suspicious, they paid generously at each overnight stop. Cochrane distributed packs of American cigarettes as needed and Goff worked the phones with coded calls to his accomplices in France. Increasingly they shared the driving. Some of the towns they passed through he stalls of street merchants. Cochrane bought books for Frieda, who was content to sit in the back seat and read. It the evenings, Cochrane and the girl played dominos, at least a half hour each night before they retired. They spoke English and German, switching back and forth interchangeably. From day to day, her English improved. From day to day, his German remained the same.
