Hitler's Angel

by William Osborne

  Otto said nothing.

  “Quickly now, and then you can have a drink. You can drink all you want.”

  Otto pressed his lips together and remained silent.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Heydrich let the silence build between them. “Are you a Jew?”

  Otto hesitated. “Yes,” he said.

  Heydrich stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed – a short, hard, humourless laugh. He picked up the glass and took a sip. “That tastes very good.” He glanced back at Otto “You are no Jew. You are a German – good, strong Aryan stock. From Bavaria, if I'm not mistaken. I wonder, Munich?”

  Otto nodded. There was no harm in admitting he was from Munich, he thought.

  “A beautiful city. Well then, a fine German boy like you should be serving the Fatherland, not betraying it. Please, I ask you, one German to another, consider where your duty lies, to whom you owe your loyalty. Help me, help the Führer. Help Germany.”

  Otto looked down at his feet. They had taken his family, he kept saying to himself. They were not Germans. They were Nazis. Nazis, Nazis. He didn't see the blow coming. Heydrich hit him hard across the face. The pain exploded across his skull. He cried out.

  “Enough. I have tried to be reasonable. Where are the two girls? Where are they going?”

  Otto shook his head, his eyes watering from the pain. Then he realised he was crying. “I don't know.”

  “Liar.” Heydrich hit him on the other cheek, full force. “We can do this all night.”

  “I swear, I don't know.” But Otto could feel his will giving way already. If Heydrich broke him now, would Leni and Angelika still have enough time to get to the border?

  Heydrich leant forward and pulled Otto's chair right up to the side of the table. He undid the rope round his right wrist, took hold of his hand and slammed it down on the table top. He dropped the ice pick he was still holding next to it. “Last chance before I take a less gentle approach. Where are they going to cross the border into Switzerland?”

  Otto closed his eyes. Tears were running down his cheeks, which were burning from Heydrich's blows. “I haven't a clue,” he sobbed.

  There was a rap on the door.

  “What is it?” asked Heydrich sharply, still holding Otto's hand on the table.

  “Herr Straniak wishes to speak with you, sir.” A soldier was standing in the doorway.

  “I will come immediately.” Heydrich straightened up. “Just in case you get any ideas about leaving . . .” In one quick, sudden movement, he rammed the ice pick through Otto's hand, pinning it to the table.

  Otto let out an anguished howl. The pain was agonising, sending bright white stars across his vision. He felt instantly sick.

  Heydrich walked across to the bar and picked something up. He tossed the object across and it landed on the table, spinning round till it stopped by Otto. It was a steel corkscrew.

  “Do you have any idea what it feels like if one of these is inserted into an elbow or a knee joint?” he asked.

  Otto, gulping for air, was unable to respond.

  “I'll take that as a negative,” Heydrich said. “And neither have I. But unless you answer my questions, you are going to find out.”

  The door was slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.

  Otto knew he was in shock. But there was only one thing he could do. His other hand was still tied to the arm of the chair. He leant forward and closed his teeth around the handle of the ice pick. He bit into the wood and pulled and pulled and pulled. But Heydrich had driven the spike through his hand and right into the oak table. He closed his eyes from the pain, sobbing again, trying to get his breath. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out when Heydrich came back.

  He heard something. He opened his eyes, stared around. Someone was knocking on the back window. And then he saw a face. As he tried to make it out, a fist wrapped in cloth punched through the glass and turned the window catch.

  “Leni?” Otto whispered. His voice cracked and he thought he would start crying again, but this time with happiness.

  Leni pulled herself through the narrow window and crossed the room in a couple of strides.

  “Don't say anything. We have about one minute.” Then she saw his pinioned hand and winced. “Oh, God.” A pool of blood was forming under it.

  “Pull it out,” whimpered Otto.

  She took a breath. “This is going to hurt, but you can't make any noise, understand?”

  Otto nodded dully. She unwrapped the cloth from her hand, shook it hard to make sure it was free from any glass shards, then stuffed it in Otto's mouth. Then she put two hands around the ice pick and yanked. At the second attempt she got it out. She was right, it was agonisingly painful. Otto yelled, the veins standing out on his neck, but the cloth muffled the sound. She sliced through the ropes around his torso, ankles and his other wrist, and helped him to his feet.

  “Leni . . . you came back,” began Otto weakly. He was still in shock. “You came back for me.” He wanted to hug her, kiss her in gratitude.

  “Don't talk . . . we have to move fast.” She helped him towards the window. A tell-tale trail of blood spotted their progress. “You'd have done the same for me. Besides, it's the last thing they'll be expecting. Quickly now!”

  Otto wrapped the cloth round his injured hand and, with Leni's help, managed somehow to pull himself through the window and drop down to the ground outside.

  They leant against the back wall of the inn.

  “Where's Angelika?” he asked.

  “Right here.” Angelika appeared out of the shadows, her face etched with worry. Otto managed a smile and hugged her.

  “Your hand!” she gasped. The blood was soaking through the cloth.

  “Don't worry, Angelika, it's not too bad,” Leni said as she tightened the cloth and tied it in a knot.

  “How did you get past the soldiers?” he said.

  “That's just it, there's only about half a dozen soldiers out there at the most. It was easy to slip round to the back of the inn in the dark. I guessed this was the only place they could hold you.” Leni was talking fast. She pulled some grenades from her pack.

  Otto's hand throbbed. He tried to forget the pain. “What's the plan?” he asked.

  “We have to get away, of course.” She handed him a grenade. “Can you handle that?”

  He nodded.

  “Right, this is what we're going to do . . .”

  CHAPTER 37

  GETAWAY

  After leaving Otto, Heydrich had marched down the corridor to the front of the inn. The terrified-looking innkeeper told him that Straniak was in a small bedroom on the first floor, and Heydrich had hurried upstairs.

  “Please, just one moment, I am double-checking the reading. It is strange.”

  Heydrich waited as Straniak's pendulum did its work. He glanced at his watch, wondering how far the other two children had got. “I can get this information out of the boy faster. He is at breaking point already.”

  “The boy will lie, you mark my words.”

  As before, the pendulum stopped dead.

  “So, where are they?” Heydrich hurried forward.

  Straniak was frowning, uncertain. “I don't understand . . . it must be a mistake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The girl is here. Right here, in the village.”

  “What are you talking . . . ?” said Heydrich. Then the penny dropped and he was out of the room and running for the stairs. He reached the ground floor and tore back along the corridor, fumbled for the key to the back room, jammed it back in the door and wrenched it open. The boy was gone. Spots of blood led to the small window, which was wide open, the pane smashed.

  Heydrich picked up the glass of orange and hurled it at the wall. Then he ripped his pistol from his holster.

  “Guards!” he roared and raced towards the front door. “Guards . . .”

  A deafening explosion drowned out his voice, the pressure wave blowing the door in and liftin
g him off his feet, slamming him against the wall. The floor was covered in shattered glass, the curtains on fire.

  He staggered to his feet as staccato machine-gun fire cut through the night. More explosions shook the building. He made his way to the front door, his pistol still in his hand. His ears were ringing.

  Straniak was staggering down the stairs from the first floor, his nose bleeding, his wire-rimmed glasses cracked. “Help me,” he croaked.

  Heydrich couldn't hear what he was saying, but he didn't care anyway. He pushed Straniak aside and stepped over the shattered door.

  In the main street, flames were lighting up the darkness, throwing shadows against the wooden houses. His Mercedes was upside down, engulfed in flames. A couple of soldiers were lying in the street, clearly dead. The handful of other troops he had kept with him were running about, some vainly attempting to extinguish the flames with buckets of water from the village well.

  “Find them!” Heydrich shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth, just as the fuel tank on the Mercedes exploded in a massive orange fireball, blowing three of the soldiers through the air like rag dolls. Heydrich was lifted up once again and dashed down on to the hard stone cobbles. He lay there for a moment or two, the wind completely knocked out of him, a sharp pain in his chest each time he tried to breathe. He hoped nothing was broken.

  Then came the roar of an approaching vehicle. It was one of the BMW 75 motorcycle combinations he had kept back, and it was travelling towards him at fifty kilometres an hour. Heydrich had one second to roll out of the way before it ploughed straight into him. As he moved he caught a glimpse of a teenage girl, no more than fourteen, sitting astride the motorbike, her head down over the handlebars. He squeezed off two shots before she was lost in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 38

  AFTERMATH

  Leni caught up with Otto and Angelika at the end of the hamlet. She skidded to a halt, revving the engine to make sure she didn't stall it. Angelika and Otto threw themselves into the sidecar, and Leni kicked it into gear. They raced away from the hamlet and Heydrich, heading east.

  “You're going in the wrong direction!” shouted Otto above the din of the engine.

  “No! We have to go this way,” she shouted back. “The search patrols went west; we'd run straight into them.”

  Leni kept her eyes on the narrow lane. It would join the main road in a couple of kilometres. Behind them came the sound of the other motorbike combination. She glanced round. There it was, about half a kilometre back.

  “Faster!” Otto shouted, pushing Angelika down and, with his good hand, grabbing hold of the machine gun fixed on the sidecar. He swung the gun round so that it was pointing backwards. Leni tried to keep the bike steady, so that he could line up the forward sight with the headlight of the pursuing bike.

  Someone on the other bike had had the same idea.

  Tracer rounds pulsed towards them – fierce, phosphorous beads of fire. Trying to ignore the pain in his hand, Otto squeezed the trigger and the sidecar's machine gun chattered back, flame shooting from the muzzle.

  But the bullets kept coming, and Leni decided to take evasive action, swinging the bike from side to side, even though this made things more difficult for Otto. He fired again. Behind them, the headlights of the motorbike swerved violently and smashed into the side of the road. Seconds later the fuel tank caught, a bright yellow ball of flame erupting skywards.

  “Yes!” Otto shouted in triumph.

  “Nice shooting,” yelled Leni. She slowed the bike as they reached the junction to turn right on to the main road. “How long do you think we've got?”

  “Not long. We need to get as far away from here as fast as we can, and then dump the bike.” Otto helped Angelika up from the floor of the sidecar.

  “It's all right, Angelika, we're safe now,” Leni shouted.

  Angelika nodded uncertainly, but she was staring at the blood-soaked handkerchief wrapped around Otto's hand, her eyes full of anxiety. “Does it hurt very much?”

  “It's not so bad.” But now that the adrenaline of the chase was fading, it was pretty bad. He leant back in the seat and closed his eyes. Angelika leant against him.

  Leni looked at her passengers anxiously. Otto was obviously in a lot of pain. And she could only imagine how Angelika must be feeling right now, after the gunfire and the explosions. Leni turned on to the main road, and kept up the speed on the motorbike. The wind whipped at her face but she didn't feel the cold. Her mind was now occupied with a looming dilemma.

  She knew she should carry out the mission's orders and deliver the girl to MacPherson. At the same time she had a growing feeling that it was the wrong thing to do. She had misgivings about his intentions. Nothing good was in store for Angelika, that was for sure. Her childhood, her whole life would be destroyed, her innocence ripped away. She'd become a bargaining chip, perhaps, or a propaganda tool. And she would forever be known as Hitler's daughter. It was not a fate Leni would wish on anyone. Whatever her orders were, her heart was telling her something different.

  She kept these thoughts spinning through her head until they reached another junction. They'd seen nothing on the road. Luck had been with them so far. She stopped to check the map. It was time for them to start going west again and make for the border and the Bodensee. Otto woke with a start and looked around blearily. He'd either been asleep or had passed out. Angelika was still curled up against him.

  “Feeling better?” Leni asked, cutting the engine.

  He managed a weak smile back. “I feel fine,” he croaked unconvincingly, his voice still raspy from his ordeal. “Where are we?”

  “Here.” Leni spread out the map on the front of the sidecar and pointed.

  Otto leant forward and studied it. “Right,” he said. “That's not too bad.”

  “Why don't you see what supplies we've got?”

  He nodded. “Come on, sleepyhead.” He gave Angelika a gentle shove.

  “Are we nearly there?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “Nearly.” Leni folded the map up before she could look.

  Otto and Angelika climbed out and stretched. “Let's see what food we can find,” Otto said, opening up one of the metal panniers on the sidecar. Angelika dived into the other one.

  “Look!” she said, holding up half a loaf of bread and a fat length of pepper salami.

  Even better than field rations, Leni thought. She was starving. None of them had eaten anything for hours.

  “Well, done, Angelika,” she said, and started to check through her own pack. She still had the maps, flares, torch and first aid kit, plus her knife and the PPK. She also had one last grenade. Otto and Angelika sat quietly on the ground, chewing on the salami and bread. He offered some to Leni but she shook her head. His pack had obviously been lost, or perhaps was sitting back at the inn.

  She opened up the first-aid kit and took Otto's hand gently. He winced and clenched his teeth as Leni removed his makeshift bandage. She unscrewed the top on a small bottle of iodine and, without warning, poured some into the wound in the palm of his hand. Otto bellowed with the pain.

  “I'm sorry, but it's for your own good,” said Leni a little crossly as she applied a dressing and began to bind it tightly with a fresh bandage.

  Otto blew out his cheeks then breathed deeply. “That's what my mother used to say.”

  “That's what all mothers say,” Leni said. She finished and went back to the map.

  “I wonder if my mother will say that,” said Angelika.

  Otto and Leni glanced at each other, then away.

  “I'm sure she will,” said Leni, but she felt bad for the lie. “Well, which way shall we go?”

  “Let's head south into the mountains. Once we get to the tree-line we'll dump the motorbike and then walk due west for the Swiss border.”

  Leni considered Otto's suggestion. “We'd reach the woods at the southern tip of the Bodensee.”

  “Exactly. We can find the boat and get to the rendezvous point
on the water by dawn.”

  The wind was beginning to build and large clouds were scudding across the night sky. But the air still felt heavy and humid.

  “Summer storm from the north,” said Otto, glancing up.

  “I have to go,” Angelika announced, getting to her feet.

  “All right, but be quick. There's some bushes over there,” said Leni, and the girl hurried away.

  Leni waited a moment or two. “We can't hand her over to MacPherson,” she blurted.

  Otto looked at her, hard. “And why not?”

  “I don't trust him. I don't trust what he'll do with her.”

  “That's not for us to decide.” Otto kept his voice low. “We have our orders, we agreed to carry them out.”

  “I don't care. Why can't we decide?” countered Leni.

  “Because we can't, Leni. Think about who she is. Just think about that for a moment.”

  “That's exactly what I'm doing! And you should, too. Everybody wants her for that reason: to use her, exploit her, harm her. Well, forget who her father is and think about who she is for one moment. She's just a nine-year-old girl who doesn't know anything. We have to do what's right for her. We have to protect her from them all.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Well, maybe that's because it is.”

  “How do you know what's right?” Otto was getting cross but Leni was just as stubborn.

  “Tell me I'm wrong, then,” she said, flipping the debate. “Tell me she'll be fine with MacPherson. Tell me he's only got her best interests at heart.” She waited for Otto to deny it.

  After a moment he let out a long sigh. “You're not wrong, Leni.” He leant down and pulled off his right boot. “Give me your knife.”

  Leni handed her knife over and watched as he prised off the heel of his boot. “What are you doing?”

  Something dropped out of the hollowed-out heel into his hand. Leni could see in the moonlight it was a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid.

  “What is it?” she asked quickly.