BERLIN

by Paul Grant

  The room was quiet now, the fug of smoke from Grund’s pipe the only slight movement.

  ‘Lange, the Spitzel (spy),’ Baumer mumbled.

  ‘Fortunately, he’s one we know about,’ Hauser said. ‘Young Schultz paints the picture very well. The point of our get-together is, what do we do about it?’

  Hauser’s eyes circled the room, pausing on each man in turn. Silence had descended, nobody seemingly ready to break ranks. Ulrich now knew that Hauser was testing the water. They had been called here, not just to air their grievances, but to understand if the line had finally been crossed; were the workers on the government’s most prestigious building project so disenchanted, so demoralised to actually take action?

  Hauser swallowed a mouthful of beer, put down the glass and peered into the bubbles. Suddenly, his eyes lifted and he slapped the palm of his hand down on the table.

  He had everybody’s attention now.

  ‘Are we ready to go further, gentlemen?’

  ***

  The confines of Ursula’s room were warm and inviting. With her father out of the apartment, it was a fleeting opportunity for them to be alone together, and it wasn’t a chance Ulrich would normally pass up. Ursula was lying on the bed, propped up on her elbows, her full attention seemingly on him. Her blonde hair was pushed up on her head with the odd loose hair hanging down provocatively in front of her face; it was a look that drove him wild and she knew it. Her face was glowing and he felt content, for now. His fingers lazily traced down her spine and over her bare behind.

  He allowed himself to roll on to his back, letting out a satisfied sigh. He was grateful for these moments; Ursula’s mother turned a blind eye to them sneaking off to Ursula’s room together as if she understood what it was to be young; her father was not so accommodating. He stared up at the cracked ceiling, thinking back to the meeting at the Wild Boar. In response to Hauser’s challenge, each man around the table said they believed the workers on the site were ready to step up their protests. It had surprised Ulrich because they all knew what that would mean: the authorities, and more to the point the Russians, would not just stand by and let things happen. There would be consequences.

  ‘You’re doing it again.’ Ursula cut his thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Daydreaming.’

  ‘I was just thinking about what I am going to do to you next.’

  She laughed. ‘Liar! Anyway, we don’t have too much time. Dad is usually back about ten.’

  ‘That man is always spoiling my fun.’

  Ursula raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you should tell him.’

  ‘I’ll leave that one, thanks.’

  Ulrich’s face turned serious. ‘I was thinking about the meeting with Hauser.’

  Ursula’s face dropped at the mention of it.

  ‘There were some serious people there, Ursula. My feeling is they’re actually ready to do something this time.’

  Ursula pursed her lips and turned away, seemingly unimpressed.

  ‘You don’t seem that interested,’ Ulrich said.

  She sighed deeply. ‘I have told you what I think, Uli.’

  ‘Have you?’ he teased.

  ‘This isn’t something to joke about. Sometimes you take things far too lightly.’

  He could see she was angry now. It was true; he did know what she thought about it. She was scared. They all were to a certain extent but, as far as Ulrich was concerned, the option was to stand by and do nothing, and what had that achieved in the past?

  There was an uneasy silence between them. Ulrich wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  ‘I just worry about you, Uli. For all the things that have happened, you seem blasé about the risks. Sometimes I wonder how you haven’t yet been picked up by State Security.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Ursula.’

  She cupped his cheek now. ‘No you’re not, which is why you should listen to me. Think hard before you get involved with Hauser or any protest.’ She averted her gaze, and then said sadly, ‘People are watching all the time.’

  Ulrich thought about Lange. He knew he wouldn’t be the only one, just like Hauser had said.

  Ursula jumped up off the bed and started to pull on her clothes. ‘As for me,’ she said, ‘as much as I love you, I’d rather not hear about it any more.’

  He pulled a face at her.

  ‘No, I mean it, Uli. If you are prepared to take risks yourself, then you have to think about the others around you; you’re putting me, Eva, your mother, and anybody else you tell these things, at risk.’

  The words cut Ulrich deep. He hated it when Ursula got all serious on him. She always had a way of finding his sensitive spot. More to the point, she was usually right.

  Ursula had finished getting dressed and was looking in the mirror, putting up her hair with a clip. Ulrich noticed some bruising around her wrist. He could see in the reflection her face was set. He figured it might be time to leave.

  CHAPTER 4

  JULY 1946, KOLYMA, RUSSIA

  Klaus Schultz automatically switched off as soon as the political officer stepped forward. He was only interested in the man to the officer’s right. He was tall and languid with a full, dark head of hair. He appeared assured, ever so slightly bored with events, a calmness surrounding him as he puffed away easily on a cigarette. He looked out of place; what was a well-dressed man such as this doing in a prisoner of war camp in Kolyma?

  Klaus had been relieved to get off the damned ship. Their arrival point, Magadan, was a harbour littered with fishing vessels and infrequent single-storey buildings. A short march, then a long truck ride, then another march had led them around a final bend between the hills where a shallow valley had opened up in front of them. The Gulag was actually a mine with conveyors criss-crossing the valley and various types of strange buildings dotted the unspectacular landscape. There were no fences or barbed wire. There weren’t even any watchtowers. That told them that escape attempts weren’t anticipated. This was to be their home for the next twenty-five years and they weren’t expected to leave.

  Klaus was returned to reality by the man who’d caught his eye. He had stepped forward and appeared ready to speak. He took one last drag on his cigarette then discarded it to his right with a flick. Two hundred German prisoners of war were waiting for his words, but he wasn’t to be rushed.

  ‘Welcome to Kolyma, gentlemen!’ His voice was deep, resonating, and his eyes cast along the ranks before him.

  ‘My name is Burzin.’ There was a pause for the words to sink in. ‘I am the camp kommandant here.’

  ‘The primary output from this mine is gold. You will all work. You will all have targets to reach. If you do, you’ll be fed.’

  He didn’t say what would happen if they didn’t work; they already knew. Klaus’ eyes focused on the man, wondering, again, why he was here in deepest Siberia. His German was fluent, nearly flawless. His manner told Klaus he was somebody who was used to being listened to, an educated and powerful man.

  ‘I’ve been informed that the winter here lasts twelve months of the year, then the summer starts.’

  He chuckled at his own joke. Klaus wafted away a swarm of mosquitoes that seemed to have followed his every move since he got off the ship. It wasn’t cold, but neither was it warm; this was the summer Burzin talked about. Klaus could imagine what delights the rest of the year would hold.

  Burzin was lighting another cigarette. So far, there had been no threats or raised voices from the man. Klaus wondered if he ever got excited, such was his perceived level of self-control.

  ‘I will now leave you in the capable hands of Comrade Stransky. I will see you again later, when you’ve all settled in.’

  There was a flash of a smile, then he was gone, sauntering off in the direction of a sturdy-looking, large timber cabin. Klaus’ focus was wrenched from Burzin by the barked, hoarse orders of a bull-like guard, whom he assumed to be Stransky. The threats he now voiced were much more like his experiences of the
Russian work camps. The man continued to bawl out the rules, apparently the stick to Burzin’s carrot. He played his part well, a thoroughly nasty piece of work, round head on round shoulders, sporting two sidearms and a whip, which he menacingly tapped against his thigh. His fuse appeared short and Klaus marked him down as a man to avoid. During Stransky’s rabid monologue, Klaus’ mind wondered back to Kommandant Burzin. His interest had definitely been piqued by the man. He made it his mission to find out more about him.

  ***

  A storm had blown in, enveloping the camp for four days and nights. The buran, as they were known locally, comprised lethal winds and blizzards, in which it was impossible to see, let alone walk. Two prisoners had been lost in the storm between the mine opening and the barracks, a distance of no more than five hundred metres. Burzin subsequently banned all movement during the storms. That meant a break from the long, arduous shifts, for which the men were grateful. Klaus wondered how long they would last slaving twelve hours in the dark and dangerous conditions, so any respite was welcome.

  Comfortable, relatively warm and fed, Klaus and his comrades were content where they were. When the storm died down there were many things to repair, including the old generator, before work at the mine could recommence. It wasn’t a surprise when Burzin’s call for engineers among the prisoners went unanswered. Burzin’s response had been to cut the ration; perhaps he was old school after all.

  The prisoners were out in the cold again. Stransky stood snarling at the head of the men, slapping his whip handle against his leg in now customary style.

  ‘The kommandant has requested engineers to volunteer for help with the repairs.’ He spat out the words as if he didn’t believe this was the best way to deal with the issue.

  Except for the wind whistling around their exposed faces, there was silence. Snowflakes made their inexorable, yet haphazard, way to the ground. Klaus looked up and down the lines; nobody twitched.

  ‘All right!’ Stransky bellowed. ‘We’ll wait out here a little bit longer.’

  They knew the generator wasn’t working. No light in the mine meant the men could not return to the work face. The reduction in the ration hadn’t been enough to persuade the prisoners to help. So the stand-off continued, until, after an hour or so, Burzin appeared, leisurely making his way across the thickening snow of the courtyard. Klaus nudged Markus when he saw him. Burzin had the obligatory cigarette hanging from his mouth and was well protected from the cold. Stransky said something to him the men couldn’t hear. Burzin only nodded, seemingly taking it all in his affable stride. Stransky stood back and smiled smugly. Klaus could imagine what was coming next.

  Burzin flicked away his cigarette then delved his hands deep into his thick deerskins.

  ‘Gentlemen, it’s cold and we don’t need to be out here. Our camp is paid in rations for the gold it produces. If we don’t produce gold, there are no rations. Sooner or later, if you want to eat, the camp has to run.’

  Klaus could understand Burzin’s reasoning, but still nobody moved.

  ‘For the camp to run, I need a generator. Today, she is kaputt. I know there are engineers among you. I believe we could have the generator running and have all of you back on full rations in minimal time.’

  Klaus was waiting for the stick; everything had seemed reasonable so far. The increased rate of tapping of Stransky’s whip against his thigh said he was waiting for the same.

  He saw a ripple from the row of men in front of him. One of the men had his hand raised; Klaus could only see his back. Stransky stepped forward, whip at the ready, but Burzin had already seen the man.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Hausmann. I am an engineer, Kommandant. I will look at the generator.’

  There were murmurs of dissatisfaction among the men. Nobody had expected a volunteer to respond. Klaus barely knew Hausmann. He had spoken to him on a couple of occasions when he had felt him to be a touch naïve; Klaus’ judgement was being borne out. He feared the kid was making a mistake, especially with the wily Burzin. He had experienced how prisoners had turned on others in these situations in the past. Still, he figured there also may be an opportunity to exploit, and now Hausmann had stepped forward, there was little to lose.

  ‘Also me, Kommandant,’ Klaus heard himself say.

  Schram turned and looked at him in amazement. Klaus only winked.

  ‘Good,’ Burzin said. Turning to Stransky he nodded. The guard strode forward pushing men aside as Hausmann and Klaus stepped through the lines. Klaus felt a shove in the back and some whispered curses, but he didn’t reply. He had a plan, from which, if it came off, all of them would benefit.

  ‘Take them to the generator. Give them what they need,’ Burzin said to Stransky out of the corner of his mouth.

  Klaus felt a sharp shove in the back. ‘Move!’

  The pair were marched away. Klaus managed a glance to his side, catching only angry looks from his comrades.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Klaus whispered to Hausmann as they walked.

  He shrugged. ‘I served an apprenticeship with Siemens.’

  Klaus nodded then turned back to him quickly. ‘If you worked for Siemens, how the hell did you end up here?’

  ‘I volunteered for the Army.’

  Klaus shook his head in disbelief, and was about to reply when Hausmann said, ‘They accepted me on the fifth occasion.’

  Klaus stared back at him open-mouthed.

  ***

  Dirk Hausmann was as thin as wire. Klaus had wondered if it was due to the diet in the camps, but suspected that had always been his natural shape. He had watched Dirk around the aged generator, working quickly, efficiently, checking and tuning. Every now and then, he would ask Klaus to pass him the few tools they had. He knew what he was doing, and the more he worked, Klaus knew he might have a chance to pull things off after all.

  It was early in the morning when Dirk had finished. The generator was not yet working, but Klaus had a list of parts in his hand and asked the guard to fetch Stransky, the only guard speaking German.

  Dirk Hausmann was leaning against the generator, his hands caked in grease. He said to Klaus, ‘You took a risk out there. You are something, but no engineer.’

  Klaus smiled cheekily. ‘I am a mere builder from Berlin, but that taught me a thing or two.’ Klaus winked. ‘Besides, I had every faith in you.’

  Dirk’s young face looked perplexed, but there was no time to respond because Stransky came into the shed carrying a cold gust of wind with him.

  ‘Is it fixed?’ He rubbed his hand across his face.

  ‘Not yet,’ Klaus said, ‘but we know what’s wrong with it.’

  Stransky turned back towards the door. ‘So bloody fix it and stop bothering me.’

  ‘I need to see the kommandant,’ Klaus said.

  Stransky’s eyes narrowed, his ruddy face screwed up under his furred ushanka.

  ‘Why?’

  Klaus shrugged. ‘I suppose it depends if you want the generator running and everybody back at work. That is what I understood the kommandant wanted.’

  Stransky looked at the side panel and parts strewn around the floor, then at Hausmann, who only raised his eyebrows. Finally, he turned to Klaus and flicked his head towards the door. Klaus suppressed a smile, quickly grabbed his hat and pulled up his padded jacket. Stransky waited by the door, his eyes following Klaus all the way.

  He was led to the sturdy-looking timber cabin. Stransky ordered Klaus to wait outside, knocked on the door and, on hearing Burzin’s deep voice boom his assent, entered.

  Less than a minute later, Burzin stood at the door. ‘You’ve got two minutes.’

  The cosy warmth of Burzin’s inner sanctum nearly knocked Klaus over. The large office was dominated by a huge desk, which Burzin had his feet rested upon. He was reading and a thick blue-grey fug of smoke sat above his head as he puffed away on a cigarette. A squat corner stove was aglow, the door open, radiating a mesmeric heat. Feeling
slightly faint, Klaus whipped off his hat and waited patiently for Burzin to complete his reading.

  ‘Well, is it fixed?’ Burzin’s eyes didn’t move from the papers he was holding.

  ‘It will be, once we have the parts. I have a list of what is needed, Kommandant.’

  He looked over the papers, then tossed them onto the pile already scattered over the desk.

  ‘Give the list to Stransky. He will see to it.’

  Klaus had barely lifted his hand before Stransky stepped forward and snatched the paper from him. He started to shove Klaus out of the office.

  ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to the kommandant…’

  ‘Wait!’ Burzin bellowed.

  Stransky reluctantly let go of Klaus, who pulled his jacket straight. Burzin inclined his head whilst reaching for another cigarette.

  ‘I was hoping the kommandant might consider reinstating full rations to the men…’

  Stransky went to move forward again, seemingly having heard enough, but Burzin interrupted, ‘Leave us, Comrade.’

  ‘But Kommandant, the prisoner is dangerous…’

  Burzin simply raised his eyebrows and Stransky dropped his objections, but not without shooting a chilling glare in Klaus’ direction before he left.

  ‘You want me to return the men to full rations?’

  Klaus nodded.

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Yes, Kommandant.’

  ‘Before you’ve fixed it?’

  Klaus nodded.

  ‘Before the men return to work?’

  Klaus dipped his head slowly, feeling like he was being led down a path.

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  Klaus took a deep breath, knowing he was taking a chance, but feeling the whole incident had been an opportunity he couldn’t miss.

  ‘As soon as we have the parts, it will be fixed. No issue.’

  Burzin shrugged. ‘And?’

  ‘If you feed the men now, it will be viewed as a gesture of goodwill, for the future.’