“I’m sorry,” Detloff stammered.
“I should have you shot,” Schurmer snarled.
He wouldn’t, of course. Schurmer had made a quick call to Berlin and his friend, Ernst Varner, and confirmed that the odious little twit’s equally odious father was still a senior aide to Heinrich Himmler. This was why he, and not Detloff’s direct superior was handling the incident. Not only would the boy not be shot, but Schurmer had to figure a way to hide this incident.
Nor did he think young Detloff was all that much of a coward. From everything he’d found, the situation in the bunkers when the American planes had dropped napalm had been terrible.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me! Your disgusting pimples say you’re younger.”
The boy gulped. “Sixteen, sir.”
“Now tell me the truth. Wouldn’t you rather be at home waiting for the Christ child to deliver presents on Christmas Eve, or do you believe Santa Claus does it at night like the Americans do?”
Prudently, the boy didn’t answer. Schurmer thought it more likely he, like so many devout Nazis, didn’t believe in anything except Hitler’s dogmas. Perhaps the boy’s family would just sit around the lighted and decorated Christmas tree and exchange presents and lift a glass of schnapps to Himmler and the memory of Hitler.
Schurmer knew what had happened to the boy. When planes had dropped napalm on a bunker beside Detloff’s, the men inside had been incinerated. A cloud of flame had rushed over where Detloff and his men were justifiably cowering. Air had been sucked out of the bunker and men had collapsed, choking and gasping, but the napalm had been a near miss and blessed breathable air had returned quickly. Fingers of liquid fire leaking through embrasures were extinguished, but the air stank of scorched flesh and burned meat. In terror, a slightly singed Detloff had led a stampede out of the bunker. On their way, they passed a number of cremated German soldiers and it was then that young Detloff had lost what remained of his courage.
Detloff was almost in tears. “I was more afraid then I ever thought possible. I have never seen such horror in all my life, not even during the bombings in Berlin.”
Schurmer had no sympathy. “Then you have never truly seen war.” But why should a sixteen-year-old boy have to see war in the first place? Have we sunk that far?
“It wasn’t only the fire, Colonel, it was the fact that the walls were closing in on me and I thought I would either suffocate or be crushed.”
Wonderful, Schurmer thought. How many other claustrophobic soldiers were down in the bunkers and what would make them also break when the real attack came? Fire, not claustrophobia, was the true Achilles heel of the fortresses of the Rhine Wall. They were almost impervious to shelling and bombing, but nothing could stand up to fire, and the liquid napalm used by the Americans could possibly unravel all his work.
“I even hurt my leg again.”
Schurmer wondered if the wretch hadn’t reinjured his knee on purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought a self-inflicted wound would get him out of the military. Well, if that had been Detloff’s plan, he was wrong.
“Please don’t tell my father.”
The look of terror on Volkmar’s face said it all. His father was a petty tyrant who probably beat his children for the slightest transgression. Schurmer wondered if the elder Detloff had killed or beaten any helpless Jews. Schurmer had no love for Jews, but felt contempt for those who took advantage of the helpless.
“I will not tell your father about your cowardice, nor will I have you shot, or even court-martialed. However, you cannot go back to your unit. They had little confidence in you before and none now. You will keep your rank for your father’s sake, but you will command no one. You will be assigned to a new unit being formed to counterattack the Americans if they do succeed in crossing the river.”
Detloff brightened. “Werewolves?”
Schurmer sighed. “There is no such thing as werewolves, Detloff. They are figments of the imagination just like bogeymen and witches. No, you will be part of General Dietrich’s staff. Do you understand English?”
“A little. I learned it in school.”
“Which means you don’t understand a damn thing. However, you may still be useful.”
Detloff snapped back to attention. “I will not fail.”
Schurmer sighed. Better the little fool did fail. At least he would stand a chance of living.
“I will not fail,” Detloff said again. A broken record, Schurmer thought.
Detloff saluted and left. Alone, Schurmer poured himself a couple of shots of good Scotch. Not much more of that left, he thought, but there was no reason to save it. Germany had reached the point where they were sending old men and totally ignorant boys like Detloff out to fight the overwhelming might of the Americans. A Jew at Auschwitz had a better chance of surviving until summer than sixteen-year-old Volkmar Detloff. He took a swallow. Merry Christmas, Germany.
***
“So what was in your package?” Carter yelled.
“Some socks and some stale cookies,” Jack answered. “Along with some paperback books that look interesting. I don’t think my family knows just what to send.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Levin said with mock piety. “What did you send them, snow from Germany?”
“What a great thought.” Jack laughed. He decided not to tell them he’d sent Jessica a vial of water from the Rhine.
He smiled at the thought of his parents trying to figure out what to send to a son who either has all he needs or nothing at all. They knew that there was no room at the front for luxuries. They also knew that really valuable stuff, like liquor and cigars, might not make it to him. The vast majority of personnel handling mail were honest, but it took only a few creeps to ruin things.
Jack was most pleased by a letter from Jessica and the fact that it began “Dearest Jack.” Dearest? Wow, had he come up in the world. She also said that she missed him and hoped he would get some leave time. Leave time was another rumor. If the war really was on a winter hiatus, would the powers that be grant leave? Whiteside and Stoddard thought it was a good possibility. Maybe the regiment would be rotated out for a while, or maybe just individuals or units could go. It didn’t matter. That Jessica wanted to see him was the important thing.
However, he’d been told that Paris was off limits, and not just because of the near civil war now engulfing France. Apparently the city was becoming a Mecca for deserters. It didn’t matter. He’d find a place for them to be together.
Jack laughed softly. He was in love with a young lady he’d only seen once although, again, he felt their letters had brought them very close together. Hell, they hadn’t even made out. He wondered what would happen if they did get time together. He started to visualize her naked and caressing each other and it began to get warm in the tent. He decided it was best not to dwell on those possibilities.
Life where they were bivouacked wasn’t intolerable. The army had done its damndest to do what it could for the GI’s. Since it was fairly obvious that they weren’t going to move for a while, tents had been set up and wooden floors laid down. Mess halls actually served hot food, and there were showers and laundries working. Colonel Stoddard’s headquarters buildings were solidly fortified and with good reason. There were reports that German infiltrators would try to attack vulnerable spots, so the men were constantly reminded that they were in hostile territory and should carry their weapons at all times.
Other rumors said that the nonfraternization rule would be relaxed to permit “essential” transactions. Levin wondered if that would permit Feeney to go back to the fraulein who’d serviced him. Probably not, was the consensus.
The penance given Feeney by Father Serra had been delicious. Not only did he have to say a rosary each day, but he had to serve as an altar boy whenever needed. Feeney still insisted it was worth it, and that people were jealous.
In the back of every
one’s mind was the ugly reality that spring would inevitably come and with it the titanic battles that would claim so many of them. Jack couldn’t help but look at his comrades and wonder who among them would be alive the next Christmas, and who would be maimed. He knew they were looking at him and wondering the same thing.
If it hadn’t been for the war, he would have finished college and been well on his way with a good job and a career. Maybe he’d even be married and planning a family with a wife who, in his imagination, looked surprisingly like Jessica Granville.
Now he had no idea when any of this would occur, or even if it would occur.
Carter slapped him on the shoulder and passed him a bottle of Rhine wine. “Ain’t it crazy? Christmas is supposed to be joyous but we can’t shake the sadness. Bittersweet, isn’t it?”
Jack took a drink. The wine was pretty decent for once. “Sure is. So what do we do about it?”
“You know as well as I do, my friend,” Carter said. “All we can do is live for today, this moment, and ignore anything beyond that, which is why you should take advantage of every moment you can find to be with my lovely and virginal cousin. Hey, she is still a virgin, isn’t she?”
Jack laughed. “If she isn’t, I had nothing to do with it.”
Levin sat down and smiled widely. He was drunk. “And to all a Merry Hannukah.”
***
Across the Rhine, Ernst Varner had managed to get leave to spend Christmas with his family. Von Rundstedt had laughingly said that since Varner had traveled all over Germany for him, he should take a few days off and visit those who really counted. Varner declined to remind the von Rundstedt that he’d already had one trip home in the last few months. The field marshal was giving these little bonuses to those on his staff who had served him well.
Varner had found it disconcerting to see his beautiful wife and only child carrying guns. He knew the reason, of course. The reports of attacks on refugee columns had been a topic of conversation at the OKW. If Germany could not protect its own civilians, just how could they resist the Americans?
Despite the presence of the war hanging over them, they did manage a festive Christmas Eve. Only a few presents were handed out and they were mainly symbolic, like cookies or sweets.
This time his young pilot, Lieutenant Hans Hart, sat with them at the main table. Everyone said that no one should be alone on Christmas. Both Ernst and Magda thought the way he stared at Margarete was hilarious, especially after she gave him a Christmas cookie as a present. Not quite as funny were the looks she returned. The young couple was growing up far too quickly.
“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” he whispered to Magda.
“No you’re not,” she replied sweetly.
Before they retired to bed, Varner stepped outside in his full uniform with his MP38 machine pistol slung over his shoulder and conspicuously visible as well as the Luger in its holster. The attacks on civilians had diminished. In part, he thought, because the Rhine bridges were down, which meant no more refugees were coming from the Rhineland, which was now occupied by the Americans. That didn’t mean that the human vultures weren’t out there. He’d read the reports and understood that while many of the attacks were by Germans, a number had been by foreigners. German criminals were bad enough, but the Reich had brought countless numbers of foreign workers, slaves, to work in factories and farms, and many of these had been uprooted by the bombings and were hiding wherever they could. Escaped POWs were another possibility. In particular, freed Russian prisoners wanted to wreak a terrible vengeance on their captors.
He stepped into the barn. The three foreign workers had finished their Christmas dinner and Bertha had given them a couple of bottles of the bad wine she made. Varner had mixed thoughts about giving them alcohol, but concluded that there wasn’t enough to get them drunk and dangerous.
The three men shuffled to their feet, but did not look him in the face. Were they among the ones who’d attacked refugees? The two Latvians looked harmless enough-large, but harmless. However, the Czech or Frenchman or whatever he was, Mastny, looked positively feral. Varner wondered what he’d find if he searched the many recesses of the barn? Money? Jewelry? Nothing?
He stared at them, again making sure they saw his weapons. His look told them he could and would cut them down in an instant. The Latvians looked frightened, but Mastny didn’t. He understood the game Varner was playing.
Varner wished them a good Christmas and a peaceful future and left them. He would tell Magda to keep a watch on Mastny and to push Bertha to send him back to the prison if he gave even a hint of trouble. He would give Margarete the same message.
He saw shadows on the porch. He almost stopped but smiled and kept on walking as if he had not seen his daughter and his pilot standing so close together.
***
It was after midnight when Margarete padded softly down the stairs. The wooden floor was cold on her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. She thought she looked like an old lady. Her flannel nightgown was full and came down to her ankles. She thought she also resembled a very lovely ghost in the dim light. She found the door to the spare bedroom that had once housed a servant. Heart pounding, she opened it and slipped in.
Hans was awake in an instant. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
“I had to wait until it was safe.” He started to get up from the bed, but she pushed him back. She could see that he was wearing his underwear and thought it made him look cute. She pulled back the blanket and slid in beside him. His arms went around her and their bodies strained against each other as they kissed with an intensity that surprised them both.
Margarete felt his erection against her, gasped, and pushed her belly against it. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Hans asked.
She giggled and licked his ear. “I am a silly little virgin, but not a stupid one. And be still, we only have a minute before my mother realizes I didn’t go to the kitchen for a cookie.”
He laughed and they kissed again, their tongues eagerly exploring. “We will not go all the way, Hansi, but I won’t fall to pieces if you touch me.”
Hans began to stroke her, feeling her body under the cloth. “This way,” she said and shifted so her nightgown was above her bottom. His hands on her bare flesh excited her. He pushed the nightgown up to her shoulders. She sucked in her breath as he gently caressed her breasts and her nipples. He shifted so his lips were on her nipples and his hand was down her panties and between her thighs, which were suddenly moist and seemingly moving of their own volition. Margarete had never known such sensations and wanted them to continue forever. It was nothing like that idiot Detloff’s pawing of her. This was the way it should be.
However, a rational corner of her mind said it had to stop and, with great regrets, she pushed him away.
Hans lay back gasping. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you, Hansi.”
“Nobody’s ever called me Hansi. I don’t know if I like it. But if you say it, it must be all right.”
She gazed at his erection stretching the fabric of his shorts and felt bolder than she’d ever been in her life. “This is to make sure you do come back,” she said as she slid his shorts down. He sighed as she took his manhood in her hands and stroked it. She’d never done it before, but she’d talked with friends who had. Shortly, he gasped and climaxed.
Margarete stood and smiled down at the stunned young pilot. “Good night, Hansi dearest, and if I don’t have a chance to talk to you in the morning, I very much want you to come back safely.”
Hans smiled and said he would. When she was gone he thought how nice it was for her to want him to come back safely. What the devil was safe to a pilot in a war where the enemy ruled the skies? Even a man who flew something as innocuous as a Storch was at risk and, besides, he was sick of not pulling his weight in the war. He decided it was not the time to tell her he’d applied for a transfer to train as a jet fighter pilot.
Magda was waiting for h
er daughter at the top of the stairs. “Well? I gave you ten minutes with him and you took twelve,” she said with a knowing smile.
“I lost track of time, but don’t worry, my precious virtue is safe.”
Magda gave her daughter a hug. “I never doubted for a minute. Now go to bed, and this time I mean yours.”
Margarete walked towards her bedroom, turned and grinned wickedly. “I’m still a virgin, Mama, just a much more knowledgeable one.”
***
Himmler paced his office. Never the most secure of persons, his doubts were getting the best of him and the presence of the stern field marshal commanding his armies was not comforting.
“I never should have agreed to let you pull our armies behind the Rhine.”
Rundstedt almost yawned. They had basically the same discussion every time they met. “You didn’t have a choice, Herr Himmler. If you had ordered the army to fight on the west bank it would have been defeated and destroyed, and the Rhine Wall would now be empty of troops. Then, regardless of the weather, the Allies would have poured across, and all of us would be in hiding or running for our lives.”
Himmler waved him off. “I know, I know. But I am being criticized for the loss of the lands and the cities. Think of it, Aachen, Cologne, Koblenz, and so many other places that have been German forever are gone.”
“Once more, Reichsfuhrer, the lands were lost for nearly two decades after the Treaty of Versailles and were subsequently recovered. If we stick to our plan, they will be German again in a much shorter period of time. As to the plan, it is going well. Our armies are intact and safely on the east of the Rhine where they are continually building their strength.”
This latter statement was a sop to the paranoid Himmler. There were serious problems in the military. Thanks to the moves he’d made, the army had large numbers of men, but many of them were either very young or very old, and so many were poorly trained. Also, the loss of the Rhineland had devastated the morale of the troops, many of whom had homes now occupied by the Yanks. Worse, many of the soldiers defending the Reich weren’t even German, but conscripts from other conquered nations, and whose reliability was doubted.
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