by Tom Zola
“I’m out!” he yelled and disappeared into his foxhole.
Not a good idea, Berning thought. At least one of the Russians seemed to understand German, too. Under the cover of submachine guns, they all stormed up the hill at the same time.
Only now did Berning notice that Bongartz was pinned down behind a tree just forty yards ahead of him. Due to the submachine gun fire he couldn’t even think of returning it with his repeating rifle. By now the Russians had moved up to only a few yards away from them and threw hand grenades. Detonations rocked the position and created high walls of soil that reached up to the treetops.
When the dust had settled and Berning could see again, the Russians were already everywhere. Soviet submachine guns punched holes in German soldiers at almost point-blank range while Pappendorf’s weapon took Russian lives in return. Apparently the staff sergeant had regrouped part of the platoon for a counter-attack, to outflank the Russians and throw them out of the trenches again.
Then Berning’s eyes found Bongartz. The lance corporal stood facing a Russian soldier; both were armed with rifles which they used to fence with each other like musketeers. The Russian smashed the shaft of his weapon into Bongartz’s hand, bruising it. The lance corporal howled and dropped his weapon; then he immediately grabbed his opponent’s gun with his fingers. The Russian pushed himself up against Bongartz; both screamed and fell backwards down the hill into a hollow.
“No, please don’t,” Berning groaned. He could no longer see the two combatants from his position, but he was also unable to move. He just stood there, trembled and tried as hard as he could to swallow his tears.
Suddenly some power took over his body, and he started to run – right to the hollow where Bongartz and the Russian were struggling. He could hear the moaning and groaning of the soldiers who were fighting for their lives. Berning stopped next to the hollow and froze again.
Bongartz lay on the ground, turning blue. The Russian’s hands – he had huge paws – were wrapped tightly around the lance corporal’s neck and continued to press down. Sitting on Bongartz, the Russian pushed his whole weight down on the lance corporal. Apparently he didn’t even notice Berning and groaned bitterly while he pushed down his weight on Bongartz even harder. The lance corporal’s arms and legs flailed around but he was trapped helpless under his enemy. Berning was paralyzed. He wanted to help his comrade but he couldn’t move his hands. They gripped the wood of his weapon so hard that his fingers cramped up and hurt. So Berning just kept looking at the two: Bongartz’s flailing and kicking became wilder and more desperate. The lance corporal’s eyes rolled back into his head and he spat at the Russian but his opponent didn’t let go of him. Then the lance corporal’s movements gradually grew weaker. He was still swinging his arms wildly in the air, but a few seconds later he stopped moving and his body started to jerk. The Russian kept up his strangling hold. Bongartz’s arms were the first to totally stop moving. His legs were still kicking. Then the kicks turned into jerks, and finally the jerks gave way to complete immobility. Bongartz’s eyes rolled back even farther in his head but suddenly his gaze became clear and focused again. His eyes stared at Berning – for just one second that seemed like two eternities to the sergeant. Then the light of life left the lance corporal’s face forever.
Several moments passed without the Russian soldier loosening his grip. Finally he let go. He reached for the rifle that was next to Bongartz’s dead body in the hollow and repeatedly smashed the shaft into the lance corporal’s face. Bongartz’s features turned to a bloody mush.
The Russian got up, turned around and saw Berning. The distance between the two men was only a few yards.
The Russian was a tall and sturdy fellow. His face was covered with dirt and splattered blood, somewhat concealing his blue eyes and blond hair.
Berning was unable to move even though he realized that his adversary was tensing the muscles in his arms and grabbing the gun more tightly. Suddenly the Soviet soldier dropped his gun and raised his hands. Berning’s body shook with rage. This guy had murdered Rudi!
Murderer! The sergeant thought. Murderer! Goddamn murderer!
Berning’s whole body trembled. His hands grabbed his rifle again with determination, his grip tightened around the wood. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the Russian. The man looked back with an empty glance and an exhausted look on his face. Berning’s arms tensed while he slowly raised his firearm – almost automatically.
The word murderer echoed in the sergeant’s head.
Pappendorf suddenly appeared behind Berning and the Russian, trailing five soldiers behind him. “Berning!”
The Russian turned around and nodded his head to point at his hands, which he had raised. Meanwhile the fire and combat racket had died down almost completely while the remaining Soviet soldiers escaped into the woods. Their attack had been warded off.
“Well done, Sergeant!” Pappendorf said, surprised. “You’ve taken a prisoner of war.”
Berning was still trembling.
Belp, Switzerland, May 8th, 1943
Everything had actually gone according to plan – which Taylor had not expected beforehand, because women were unpredictable, and in general one could control the affection or dislike of others only to a certain degree. Yet it seemed to work.
As promised, yesterday evening Luise had returned the bicycle to the MI apartment Taylor used in Bern. All dressed up and made up with cosmetics and lipstick – and her curvy body wrapped in a red dress – she had shown up on his doorstep, and that despite the fact that she had worked in Bern all day while her apartment and therefore her closet, too, were in Belp. Unsure of herself and with a flustered smile on her lips she had said hello and thanked him profusely yet again. And then she had hesitantly asked him with a stutter – Thomas liked her shy demeanor – if they could meet for a coffee and a walk in beautiful Belp the next day. Though she knew it wasn’t proper for a lady, she said, she would like to treat him to a cup of coffee as an expression of her gratitude.
Taylor had just smiled and naturally accepted the invitation.
He also had further adapted Aaron Stern’s biography that had been prepared by MI, because the master spies of the Abwehr had forgotten one important detail: Thomas wasn’t circumcised. So that there wouldn’t be any unpleasant questions later, Stern’s new story was: Mom died during his birth, Dad was killed in the Great War. Therefore he grew up in an orphanage; so no circumcision, no bar mitzvah, and so on. Simple enough.
*
The afternoon sun had to struggle through the thick clouds, and so it was very humid without being hot. The soil and the vegetation cracked under the weather that had denied them any raindrop for weeks now.
In many spots the grass had already turned yellow and was burned by the sun, while ponds were slowly drying up, turning into swamps.
Thomas and Luise had finished their coffee and were now taking a walk on the outskirts of Belp, along a country lane running along an evergreen forest.
In the background, the land rose up above the flat plains on which the town was located, while a few farms were scattered here and there, looking as if they had long since been overrun by nature. In the distance Belp was nothing more than a larger collection of cozy brick houses. Thomas and Luise had chatted about all kinds of things without getting much beyond trivialities. She had told him that even though she lived in Switzerland, she also had British roots.
Her father was a high-ranking officer in His Majesty's Armed Forces who was currently stationed somewhere in Africa. Her mother, who was Swiss, had passed away while giving birth to Luise’s sister, Stella. Luise worked as a secretary at the British Consulate in Bern.
Taylor had already known, but of course, he didn't let it show. Instead he told her about his alleged home, a small village near Inverness in Scotland. He told her that he worked for a British trade company, and that four weeks ago his employer had sent him to Switzerland where he intended to spend a few years.
This bio
graphy smartly evaded the fact that small Jewish communities were usually well connected, which might cause a problem if no one in Bern had ever heard of Aaron Stern.
Furthermore he had presented himself as a liberal Jew who didn’t take his religion all that seriously, because first of all, Thomas could never have learned all the rites and traditions of such an extensive culture in such a short time, and second, Luise’s family supposedly didn’t practice the Jewish faith that zealously, either. His story about being an orphan helped, too, because it gave credibility to the fact that he had not been raised as a Jew.
As the day went on, Luise had lost a bit of her shyness, but she was still cautious and approached him as hesitantly as a wild animal.
Thomas genuinely liked her. She was pleasant, polite, well-mannered as well as breathtakingly beautiful, and she also excited him physically.
Now they were walking side by side in silence and smoking freshly lit cigarettes, while a dense forest opened up in front of them. Unexpectedly the expression on Luise’s face had turned serious, and she looked down with narrowed eyes.
“Aaron?” she finally interrupted the silence. They had agreed to keep conversing in German even though both could speak English, too, but Luise felt more comfortable conversing in her first mother tongue.
“Yes?”
“Doesn’t the current situation in Europe scare you, too?”
“No, why should it?” As soon as Thomas had uttered these words, he winced. He needed to finally start thinking like a Jew, too! And how could the Jews not be frightened by the anti-Semitic atmosphere in Germany and Italy – yes, even in the Soviet Union and in parts of France? He definitely had to be more careful!
“I mean the situation in the German Reich and in Italy.” She looked at him wide-eyed.
“I see,” he responded sheepishly. “But Hitler’s gone, and a lot has changed since then.”
“No, I don’t believe it. That’s just German propaganda! If this Witzleben and his generals really were as righteous as they claim to be, they’d have ended this miserable war a long time ago. After all, the Germans also started it! They marched into their neighbors’ countries, and now they suddenly claim that they no longer want to have anything to do with the Nazis? Then why don’t they pull their forces out of Russia and France, where they occupy foreign territory that’s not theirs?”
“I can’t tell you why.”
“But I can tell you: Because the same Nazis are in the new government – they just have different names now.”
Thomas was silent. What could he say? After all, he couldn’t really start defending his country now.
“But at least the Jews are supposed to be better off now, I heard,” he finally interjected.
Apparently – and obviously understandably as well – this issue was a sore point for Luise, who was now getting into a mixture of rage and fear.
“What utter nonsense!” she cried. “My Dad has a few connections in occupied Europe. He’s heard of Jewish families in mortal danger who had to be hidden from the Germans by courageous Dutch and French people because the Germans wanted to deport them to labor camps. Didn’t you ever wonder where they’re taking the Jews?”
Thomas shrugged and said thoughtfully, “I guess they have been exiled and taken to Jewish settlements in the East where they can live in peace.”
He wasn’t sure if a Jew these days, who, after all, had been affected by the European anti-Semitism and the events in Hitler’s Germany, would really respond like that, but Luise didn’t seem to become suspicious.
She was much too busy keeping her emotions in check while she continued, “Yes, that’s what they’re saying. But I don’t believe it. Where are all these settlements supposed to be, huh? Where in the East? All there is, is the front line and occupied Russia ahead of that, where nobody wants to take in any Jews. And I don’t think that the Germans would clear whole sections of Russia to let us settle down there. They’re much too busy with their war!”
Luise’s words actually did make Taylor reflect. Only now did he realize that he had always taken the claim at face value that the Jews would be resettled in the East, without questioning the issue. Yet Luise was basically right.
“My Dad knows even more, I could tell by his face, but he doesn’t want to tell me any more.” Luise was literally trembling. “Since the beginning of this year, some Jews have allegedly returned to Germany. But all of their belongings are gone, and suddenly there are strangers living in their homes. They get a few reichsmarks handed to them and are then left on their own! And that’s not all there is, because many of them didn’t come back and many of those who did are extremely upset and confused.”
“Well, I had no idea. That’s … that’s really frightening.”
“Yes, when I think about it, I could cry. Why would anyone do something like that to other people? Why?” She fell silent for a moment to let her words sink in. Then she continued, “But then I haven’t told you about the biggest audacity and dirty trick so far that the Germans have been playing.”
“What’s that?” Taylor would have preferred to stop this conversation right then and there but he had to prompt her to keep playing his part.
“The Jewish men who return from these so-called labor camps are immediately drafted by the German Wehrmacht to fight their war for them! First everything is taken from them and they’re deported from their homelands, and now they’re supposed to go to war for those who did that to them? That’s the kind of crude disrespect only Germans are capable of. I find that truly disgusting!”
All of a sudden she broke down while tears ran down her cheeks. Thomas went over to her right away and held her tight.
“Oh, Aaron,” she cried. “Why does the world have to be so cruel?”
He didn’t know why – he honestly didn’t, and so he just shook his head while his warm hands stroked her head and Luise slowly calmed down.
“Everything is going to be all right,” he said finally.
“Will it really?” There was sarcasm in her voice when she lifted her head and looked at Thomas with wide, deep-blue eyes.
“Of course it will.”
“I wish I had your optimism.”
“Well, I mean what could happen?”
“Switzerland is surrounded by fascists! I’m just frightened, Aaron. I’m so scared.” She pressed her body against his and started to cry again.
Thomas felt her grip tightening. She shifted her weight, leaning against him and trusting that he would hold her tight. He liked that.
Yet inside he was torn apart by doubts. For the first time ever there was something – more a hunch than real certainty – that was gnawing on his trust that the German Reich really was on the side of the good guys.
South of Kursk, Soviet Union, May 10th, 1943
Heeresgruppe Süd – Two kilometers south of Kursk
Kursk had been taken and was now in German hands once again. Army Group South had already taken the city the day before, after the Russian troops had withdrawn to the west almost without putting up a fight - and therefore went right into the encirclement that was closing in on them. But Engelmann couldn’t really taste victory yet.
Why on Earth did the Russians flee into the pocket instead of east? He wondered without finding an answer, while peering out of the commander’s hatch at the southern suburbs of the city. A narrow stream – the Seym River – cut through the terrain while primitive roads led to the center of Kursk. On the horizon one could already see the houses of the outermost southern district peeking through numerous treetops. The buildings Engelmann could make out had been battered by the previous battle. A lot of them were ruins with blown-out windows, and many of the houses were partially or completely collapsed. Just this morning Engelmann had been in the city for a briefing at the regimental command post. Actually, civilians were still living everywhere throughout the ruins, most of them old men, women and children. Filthy and smelly, they were always looking for food and useful objects in the rubbl
e. These people were scarred by the war. Their eyes were filled with fear in the face of their old, new occupying forces because the last time the Germans had come, they had been followed by the Einsatzgruppen, SS death squads that had to pick up deserters, partisans, and other wanted persons. Little did the people of Kursk know that these Einsatzgruppen no longer existed, and even if they had known, their previous experiences were enough to make them terrified of the field-gray uniforms for the rest of their lives.
The battle of Prokhorovka, the occupation of Oboyan and securing control of the important bridge over the Psel River there, had broken the Russian resistance, so that the further advance had been more like mopping up the remains.
That was the reason why Engelmann’s platoon had reached its new operational area south of Kursk while the reunion with Heeresgruppe Mitte was expected for that night. Then several Russian armies would be encircled and face their imminent destruction.
In the distance three shots suddenly rang out in the city, and their echoes reverberated for a long time. Then there was silence again, only accompanied by a concert of songbirds. There were still a few nests of resistance in Kursk, but these last defenders stood no chance at all.
Engelmann looked at the area ahead expectantly while the rest of his crew sat near the tank or ate or slept. By noon his platoon had already tightened the tracks of their panzers, refueled them, and replenished the ammunition supplies as well as camouflaged them sufficiently to conceal them from enemy pilots. Now there was nothing else to do but wait for new orders – and precisely these possible new orders were what Engelmann was worried about.
Engelmann enjoyed the pleasant warmth while his tank was protected from the sun by the shade of tall birch trees. He reflected over the current situation. As of that morning he had been convinced – with sad certainty – that Field Marshal von Manstein, the Commander-in-Chief East, had decided to go through with Phase II of Operation Citadel despite the fact that the German attack forces were worn-out and exhausted: the advance into the depths of the country, with Voronezh as their goal.
