by Dean Hughes
And then he saw a bus coming his way. It stopped at the corner he had just passed, and he ran back to it. This was providence, he had to believe. Transportation in Berlin was sporadic these days, with few taxis and unpredictable bus schedules. But now, when he needed it, a bus had come. He stepped on, paid the driver, and then moved to the back, where he hunched down. He watched the windows, saw nothing, and began to feel better as he moved steadily away from the central part of Berlin.
But he was in an enormous predicament, and he knew it. He had assaulted a government agent, probably from the Gestapo. He knew all too well what a manhunt that would set off. All that was bad enough, but now his means of escaping Germany was lost. The SD identification card had been his ticket into Switzerland.
He kept taking deep breaths, and he searched his mind for answers. He could try to contact Georg, eventually, but for now he needed to get out of Berlin. And he had to get away from the city quickly, before a search closed his escape routes.
For the first time he began to pay attention to where the bus was taking him. He was moving away from the main Bahnhof, the Potsdamer Station, but there were other stations. The problem was, a person couldn’t leave Berlin without a special permit. He knew that it was sometimes possible to use commuter trains or streetcars to get outside the city boundaries, and then to catch a train from a smaller town. He got up and walked quickly to the front of the bus. “Excuse me,” he said to the driver, a woman. “I want to catch a streetcar to Neustadt. Where can I do that?”
The bus driver didn’t bother to look back. She said, “I’ll show you. It’s only a few more stops from here.”
So Brother Stoltz waited and watched as the bus continued south, and then, when the woman said, “Here you are,” he got off. But he had to wait much longer than he wanted to–at least twenty minutes–before the streetcar came. It was a long, slow ride to Neustadt, and by the time he got there, he wondered what he might face inside the station. Agents might have been alerted at all the little train stations. Still, he couldn’t think what else to do.
So Brother Stoltz tried to act confident again. He was still carrying the black coat, since he knew that no man would travel without an overcoat this time of year. But he was without luggage, which would make him conspicuous. He had to hope that security was not as tight as it would be at a major Bahnhof.
In the main hall of the station, Brother Stoltz checked the big board and decided that a train leaving for Munich was his best bet. It was scheduled to leave in just a few minutes. But he knew he had a problem. He would have to use his identity, and the travel papers only justified his travel to Berlin. If someone checked him closely, he would have no explanation for why he was returning south. Still, it was his only chance, so he walked to the ticket booth, made his purchase, and headed for the train. At the gate was a railroad employee, a ticket taker, but just beyond him was an officer, perhaps a local policeman. “Could I see your papers?” he asked.
Brother Stoltz handed over his identity card and the travel papers. He asked immediately, “What can we expect today? Any delays on this line?”
The policeman swore. He was a dull-looking man with a flattened nose and squinted eyes. “One can always expect delays these days,” he said. “You know how it is.”
“Yes, but the raids haven’t been so bad lately. I think maybe we have the British on the run with our rockets. That’s something new for them.”
The whole idea was to keep the man talking and not paying too much attention to the papers, but the officer was taking a look at the identification card when he said, “That’s right, you know. We may have a few more weapons to throw at them before long. That’s what I hear.”
“Yes, and they have it coming, after all they’ve done here, with their damnable raids on civilians. They have no shame.” Brother Stoltz knew this was a favorite complaint, something most Berliners would gladly talk about.
“It’s more than a shame. It’s something we have to make them pay for,” the policeman said.
“You have it right. Exactly right. And what of this–”
But now the policeman was handing back the papers, pushing gently against his arm. “Go on through. Your train is about to leave. And there are others waiting.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Brother Stoltz took back the documents. The man had looked at the travel papers but clearly hadn’t read the destination. And so Brother Stoltz took a deep breath and walked on to the train, where he took a seat and hoped that the train would depart on time. He knew his problems were far from ended. Once his false SD identity card was discovered in his abandoned coat, and that might have happened by now, the Gestapo would know he was a spy. If his true identity was somehow recognized, his previous crimes would also be known. That would only heighten the intensity of the search.
Minutes were ticking by, and the train was still not moving. The departure time had come and gone. Brother Stoltz kept hoping that the train would begin to move.
Then he saw two men in leather overcoats. They had reached the entrance to the platform, and they were talking with the policeman. At the same time, the train finally bumped and started to roll. It was easing along slowly when Brother Stoltz saw the agents running toward the train. They were not boarding yet but moving faster than the train and looking through the windows. The policeman was with them. And they would soon reach his car. If they spotted him, he knew he was finished.
Brother Stoltz stood up and walked quickly to the end of the car and then out the door and onto the little platform between cars. By then the train was picking up speed, but he jumped anyway, on the opposite side from the agents, where there was no platform. He landed on another line of tracks, and when he hit, his momentum carried him forward and threw him down on the railroad ties. He tried to catch himself with his hand but felt a shock of pain as his wrist took his weight and twisted under him. Still, he jumped up and then climbed onto the platform on the opposite side from where he had seen the agents. He straightened himself then, and he walked resolutely–trying not to call attention to himself–back toward the main hall of the station.
As he reached the gate, he looked back. The train was gone, and he saw no sign of the agents. He guessed they had boarded the train. What he did see was the local policeman walking back toward the gate where he had been stationed before. Brother Stoltz ducked out the next gate, and he didn’t think the man had seen him, but as he walked into the main hall, he saw two more men in leather coats. They were standing near the main doors of the little station, and they were looking about.
Brother Stoltz turned quickly away, and he walked into a Gasthaus inside the station. He sat at a table, lowered his head, and tried to think what to do. His wrist was throbbing with pain, but he couldn’t worry about that now. In his hurry he had left the black coat on the train. The agents would probably discover that–and perhaps guess that he had gotten off before they had gotten on. But how soon could they get back? Did they have some means to notify the agents who were in the main hall?
Maybe he should try to get out of this station, but what then? He still needed to get away from Berlin. He looked up at the train schedule on the wall of the restaurant. A train was leaving in about twelve minutes, for Leipzig. The gate was a good choice–at the opposite end of the building from the gate he had used before. Brother Stoltz tried to think how he could get past the policeman there.
He looked toward the door to the restaurant, alert to the possibility of someone coming to look for him. What he also noticed was a conductor’s coat and hat hanging on a hook near the door. He acted instantly, without much of a plan. He stood up just as a waitress was approaching his table. “Oh, never mind,” he said. “I suppose I’m out of time.” He walked to the door and then glanced back. The waitress had turned away, and no one else was looking his direction. He grabbed the coat and hat and stepped quickly outside. He plopped the hat on his head, threw on the coat, and, in spite of the pain it caused to his wrist, buttoned the coat as he wal
ked. He hoped the wrist wasn’t broken. He had no idea how he could get medical help.
Brother Stoltz walked quickly, but he tried not to let his panic show. He didn’t have the right sort of tie, nor the proper uniform trousers, so he had no idea whether he could pass himself off this way, but Germany had become used to makeshift uniforms, with so many shortages.
He walked, rather casually, to the gate where the train to Leipzig was leaving, and there he tipped his hat to the ticket taker. The man looked confused, obviously not recognizing him.
“I’m a last-minute replacement,” he said. “The regular man got sick, so they called me in. I’m new on the job.”
The man nodded, not seeming to care.
Brother Stoltz stepped quickly on past and hurried to the train. But it wasn’t leaving for a few more minutes, and the one thing he couldn’t do now was let himself be spotted by a real conductor. He stepped into a car and waited, standing up. And he chatted briefly with a passenger. When the man offered to show him his tickets, he said, “I’ll check all that when the train starts. I need to go on forward for now,” and he walked into another car.
Again he waited, and the minutes seemed to pass like hours. He knew he would have to dump his disguise at some point, but then he would be without a ticket. He had no idea how he could manage that. He was far from out of danger, and he was wearing down. The tightness in his chest kept him from breathing normally. Pain was spreading into his shoulders. He wondered whether he might be having a heart attack.
But then the train started moving. He held his spot in the nearly empty car. Three men up front were chatting with each other, and they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what he was doing, so he decided not to change anything until he had to.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before the men began to glance around at him, as if they were curious why he wasn’t doing anything. Brother Stoltz didn’t look at them straight on. He stalled a little longer, and then he finally did walk forward. “Could I see your tickets?” he asked.
The men each in turn handed over the tickets, and Brother Stoltz chatted with them. “This is not bad weather for November, now is it?” he said.
One of the men said, “I spent last winter on the Russian front. This feels like summer to me.”
Brother Stoltz nodded and smiled. “I’m certain that’s true,” he said. He glanced ahead, through the window on the car door, and he saw that in the car ahead of him, the real conductor had just stepped in. “Danke Schön,” he said. “Gute Reise.” Then he turned and walked back through the car and out the door. He knew what the men would tell the conductor when he arrived in the car, and he didn’t know what would happen then. Would the conductor drop what he was doing and come looking for him?
Brother Stoltz walked through all the cars–four of them–and then took a seat in the last. He would ride as far as he could and get away from the city. When the conductor showed up, he would have to bluff him as best he could.
But the conductor didn’t show up right away, and that seemed a good sign. At least he hadn’t become so concerned as to make a quick search. When the man did finally show up in the car ahead, Brother Stoltz got a better look. He was rather a frail-looking man, older. If nothing else, Brother Stoltz could overpower him rather than allow himself to be detained.
But when the conductor came into the car, he looked sharp and aware, not like a man who could be gotten over easily. He cut off his ticket taking and walked directly to the back of the car. “What’s going on here?” he said.
“I’m off duty. I’m heading home.”
“You had no business checking tickets. What were you doing that for?”
“I started doing it before I even thought–out of habit. I’ve hardly slept lately. I’m not thinking straight.”
The man took a long look at Brother Stoltz, who averted his own eyes. It was a weak story, and he knew it. “Let me see your papers,” the conductor said. “Do you have your railroad pass?”
“No. Not with me.”
“You have no right to ride this train without a pass–no more than anyone else. You know that as well as anyone.”
“I know. But we were bombed out last week. Everything is such a mess with me right now. I must get a new pass, and–”
“Bombed out where?”
Brother Stoltz knew there had been few raids lately, and he didn’t know how to answer. He had dug himself one more hole, and he was beginning to lose concentration, even the will to keep this up. “I don’t mean last week,” he said. “It was two or three weeks ago, or maybe–”
“I want you off this train. I don’t think you’re a conductor. What are those trousers and shoes you’re wearing?”
“I’m new actually. I–”
“I don’t know where you got that coat, but I think you’re jumping on for a free ride.”
“No, no. I wouldn’t do that.”
“We’re stopping in five minutes, in Luckenwalde. I want you off this train–either that or I’ll turn you in.”
“It’s all right. I’ll get off.”
“I should turn you in anyway.”
“I’ll get off. I don’t want trouble. I should have known better than to travel without my pass.”
The conductor gave him a skeptical look, but then he turned and walked back to the front of the car, and he began again to check tickets. When the train stopped at Luckenwalde, Brother Stoltz got off. He looked back and forth along the platform, saw no one, and so he pulled off the coat and hat. He stuffed them both into a garbage can as he walked into the station. Then he bought himself a ticket for Leipzig.
He had a long wait, since another train wasn’t coming for almost two hours, but no one in this little station seemed to pay attention to him, and this time no one was checking papers. He made it to Leipzig very late that evening. He was temporarily safe, but he was also trapped. He didn’t dare try to board another train in a big station like this–not without proper travel papers–so his thought was that he would have to find someplace to hide away in Leipzig for a time. But as he was leaving the station, he saw three trucks lined up outside. They had apparently been loading some sort of cargo off a train. Brother Stoltz took a chance and asked one of the drivers where he was going and whether he could catch a ride. The man was heading south to Stuttgart, and then on to Karlsruhe. “That would help me,” he told the driver. “I’m trying to get to Freiburg.”
“We’re not supposed to carry people,” the man said.
“I know,” Brother Stoltz said. “But here’s my problem. Someone stole my luggage, and now I have no travel papers. I can’t buy a railway ticket. I can file for all my papers again, but by then I’ll miss my brother’s funeral–in Freiburg.”
The man shrugged. “But if I get caught, it could be my job.”
“Yes. I understand,” Brother Stoltz told him, and he turned to walk away.
But the man called him back. “It’s all right,” he said. “No one is likely to find out. Go ahead and get in.”
So Brother Stoltz got his ride, and it was just what he wanted. He was getting back to the south, close to the French border, and not so terribly far from Switzerland. If the Americans crossed the Siegfried line, in the south, the way might be open to escape Germany. Or if he could get help through Georg or through his OSS contacts, and get new papers, maybe he could cross into Switzerland. Karlsruhe was a big enough city to get lost in, but it was out of the way, far away from Berlin. So he felt good as the truck rolled down the Autobahn that night–and relieved that the driver was not a talkative, questioning man. But slowly the reality was setting in. He had done nothing to help his son, had accomplished little for the OSS, and his chances of survival were improved–but not good.
Chapter 20
Wally’s time with Sonbu San had been rejuvenating. The extra food, the rest, had rebuilt his strength, and the positive response he felt toward an “enemy” was a blessing to Wally’s emotions–even if it didn’t change the way he felt
about the guards. Perhaps the war wouldn’t end in 1945, but if he could get his strength back and find more peace within himself, he could outlast whatever came–and then return home a better person. After that he would try never to think of the guards again, and the hatred wouldn’t have to be a problem. What he didn’t want to do was plague himself with guilt about it now. Chuck was right about hatred, of course, but some problems took time to overcome, and now was not the time to deal with this one.
Or at least that’s what he told himself. But at another level, he knew he was clinging to the hatred, needing it. It was a kind of pleasure, the one part of himself he could hold onto in the face of such brutal treatment. He could look at the guards and let them see his disdain, his abhorrence of them. Maybe Chuck would say that was the wrong attitude to take, but if it was, it was an attitude that helped Wally stay alive, and he was not ready to give it up.
Wally had received nothing from his parents since the package they had sent him for Christmas almost a year before, so he had no sense of what was happening to his family, but he believed his father would be satisfied with some of the changes he had made in himself. Maybe he wasn’t all he should be, but he would have the rest of his life to grow into that kind of person.
So Wally was feeling quite good, but it was easy to feel better, more confident, when he was receiving an extra meal each day and getting extra sleep. Unfortunately, all that came to an end. After a few weeks Wally and Sonbu San finally removed the buried equipment from the mineshaft. On the following morning Wally was called to another crew. On the way into the mine that day, Wally asked one of the men, a fellow named Hernandez from New Mexico, what to expect from his new supervisor.
“He’s got a bad temper,” Hernandez told him. “His name is Kiku, but we call him ‘the kicker.’ When he gets mad, he’ll haul off and kick you. And I mean, he really lets you have it.”
“What kind of work are we doing, anyway?” Wally asked.
“Timbering. And the guy is good at it. I never worry about the shaft caving in once we get the timbers up. He does things right. But you’d better hop to with whatever he wants. The man has no patience at all.”
