by Paul Grant
He grabbed another prisoner, passing on the shovels as he was returning to the mine, and rushed to Burzin’s cabin. The large, thick timber was designed to keep out the cold. It didn’t help eavesdropping, but the fact Burzin had helpfully opened one of his small shutters allowed him to garner a gist of the conversation. Despite Klaus’ lack of knowledge of the Russian language, it was clear Dobrovsky was raging mad. He snapped and snarled at Burzin from the off. He heard Schram’s name mentioned on a number of occasions, and worryingly, he also heard his own. He was expecting concern or contrition from a man trying to save his neck. However Burzin, normally the calmest of men, started shouting right back at Dobrovsky. Klaus looked around him, wondering if anybody else was witnessing this.
He sensed the argument was drawing to a close and made a move. The last thing he wanted was to run into Dobrovsky. He made haste to the hospital to let the Doc know what he’d heard. He made it to the hospital door in time to see Dobrovsky stomping from Burzin’s office. Dobrovsky wasn’t a man to take things lying down, whatever Burzin’s reaction. If he was here to take over the search for Schram, the question was why? Why was he still interested in them after all this time?
Hans Vogel was busy taking care of patients, and anyway it was difficult to talk then because of the presence of the Russian doctor, so Klaus returned to the maintenance shop. When he arrived there, there was a guard waiting for him.
‘Come! Kommandant!’ the guard said in a serious tone.
Klaus was quickly stepping into Burzin’s inner sanctum, his mind reeling. Burzin had seemingly recovered his composure, as he was leaning back in his chair taking a long drag on a cigarette. Klaus opened his jacket, feeling the heat; maybe it wasn’t only the output from the stove this time.
‘Take a seat, Schultz.’
He felt uncertain.
‘Sit! I insist.’
Cautiously, he sat on the leather padded chair opposite Burzin. Klaus was deeply worried and he knew it. He thought people like Burzin could smell the fear.
‘A man has arrived here all the way from Moscow.’ Burzin stopped to take an inordinately long draw on his cigarette. The end glowed and the space between them was filled with a thick fug of smoke.
Burzin pointed at him with his cigarette. ‘I believe you know him.’
Klaus’ mouth was dry and the smoke was making his eyes smart.
‘Major Dobrovsky of the KGB.’ Burzin smiled. ‘I am right, aren’t I, Schultz? You do know him.’
Burzin was teasing him. Klaus could only nod dumbly, too scared to do anything else.
‘He came all the way from Moscow about the escape of your comrade.’
Burzin’s eyes bored through him now; having weakened him, he was waiting for a reaction, the slightest twitch.
‘It’s that important to him. Now, he will take over the search for Schram.’
Klaus’ eyes widened slightly and Burzin didn’t miss it. He had his way in now and he wasn’t about to make life any easier for Klaus.
‘That’s not something to concern yourself with directly, of course. However,’ he paused for effect, and Klaus was feeling it, ‘the rest of it is.’
Burzin licked his dry lips slightly and, leaning forward, stubbed out his cigarette, somehow finding place in the ashtray overflowing with spent butts.
‘He wants to take you back to Moscow, Schultz.’
Klaus slumped visibly. He closed his eyes. As soon as he had seen Dobrovsky, this is what he had feared. The man would never give up. He knew if he returned to Moscow, he wouldn’t survive. His blood would flow in the drains of Lubjanka once more, but this time it wouldn’t be due to the overuse of rubber hoses, but from a neck shot.
When Klaus opened his eyes, Burzin had his hand to his chin, watching him intently. He didn’t have much fight left. He wanted to plead with Burzin for help, but he couldn’t find it in him. There was something at the back of his mind, however. He did wonder why Burzin had him here, seated in front of him like it was a business meeting rather than a prisoner in the kommandant’s office.
Burzin reached lazily for his cigarette packet, lit another, replacing the blue-grey cloud between them which had all but cleared.
‘I know Dobrovsky.’ Burzin’s eyes narrowed. ‘He wasn’t a major then, of course, only a captain.’ He spat the words out. ‘In fact, we go back a long way.’ His eyes were elsewhere for a moment, staring into the space over Klaus’ shoulder.
From somewhere, hope was starting to rise in him. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but whatever it was that existed between the two men, it was serious and grave, especially to Burzin.
‘Major Dobrovsky will have his way on one of the matters we discussed.’
Klaus was staring at him intently now. Burzin recognised it and chuckled. ‘Well, if he wants to freeze his balls off scouring half of Kolyma for Schram, why not? Rather him than me.’
‘And the other matter?’ Klaus’ voice was gravelly, slightly weak.
Burzin stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette with force and feeling. ‘I told him he can go and whistle. You will remain here.’
Klaus heaved a sigh of relief, wondering if he was in his right mind being so comforted at being told he will stay in an Arctic Gulag.
‘When you crawled out of the hole that time, I said you were more than a normal POW. You recall it?’
He had almost forgotten.
‘Well, now you see it. You are interesting to me, Schultz, even a little bit important.’
It didn’t make Klaus feel content in the slightest. In fact, he felt he’d just escaped Dobrovsky’s noose to have Burzin’s quickly replace it.
‘I’m keeping an eye on you, Schultz.’ There was a smile on his lips, thin and threatening.
‘You can go back to work now.’
CHAPTER 12
AUGUST 1952, LEIPZIG, EAST GERMANY
At one time Hans Erdmann had only drunk beer. Generally at the end of a hard day at work, sitting together with his wife, and even then he would only drink one, perhaps two bottles, whilst they enjoyed the evening together. That changed when his wife became pregnant; Hans didn’t drink anything whilst Monika carried the baby, such was his excitement, his wish to feel involved. Then the fateful day came. The doctors said they could do nothing to save Monika or the child, a boy for the hospital records only. Suddenly, Hans Erdmann was alone in the world.
He tried hard to focus his eyes on the schnapps in front of him. The bottle was half empty, not half full. The living space around him was littered with empties from his past binges. It was easier, and quicker, to lose himself in strong spirits. It numbed the pain he felt over and over. Since it happened, the last two months had been a blur. Since the funeral, the only person he’d seen, except the lady who sold him the liquor, was his friend Bernie Schwarzer. At first, Bernie had drunk some schnapps with him, but not any longer.
The edge of the pain had been subdued now. He emptied the contents of his glass in one gulp and went to pour another. Some of the liquid splashed onto the table and Hans giggled. He felt nicely pickled now, a state of non-feeling where he was content to remain. Before it all happened, they said he was a leader of men, one chosen to form part of the new People’s Army when it eventually came. It wasn’t called that yet, but it would be. Hans enjoyed drilling the men, getting them prepared for the threats they may face. Now he couldn’t care less if they kicked him out, as they had no idea what he was feeling.
During the war he’d cut his teeth during the mighty tank battles around Kursk, with Bernie showing him the ropes. It was sink or swim in those days and Hans survived, with help from his old comrade, then thrived. He made it through the prisoner of war camps and eventually into the Kasernierte Volkspolizei (KVP). Hans Erdmann had been going places.
‘For Christ’s sake, would you look at this place?’ Bernie stood at the door in his uniform. He strode to the window, sending bottles flying. He yanked back the curtains bathing the place in light and threw open the window.
/>
Bernie turned on him, the pity long since gone. ‘Is this how it’s going to be all the time?’
Hans didn’t respond, except to reach lazily for the spirit bottle, but his friend beat him to it, snatching it away.
‘No, you don’t. There’ll be no more of that.’
‘Give me that bottle. I need it!’ Hans slurred.
Bernie grabbed his collar. ‘What you need is a hard boot up the backside.’
‘Ah, leave me alone. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘I know that you’re throwing your career and your life away. What happened is sad, Hans, very sad, but this…’ Bernie threw up his hands at the sorry desolation around the apartment, ‘…isn’t the answer.’
‘Oh, and you know what the answer is, do you?’ Hans’ eyes started to fill with tears. Even in the state he was he hadn’t expected emotion; he thought he was done with all that after the first few days. Hans went to get up but fell forward, his hands outstretched on the table in front of him. Then he toppled sideways towards the floor, but strong arms caught him before he could do some damage. Hans struggled, but the arms didn’t let go. He went to strike out, angry at the intrusion in his deep, wallowing sorrow, but Bernie took the blows. And when he stopped fighting, Hans started to sob into his friend’s chest. He didn’t stop for a long time.
***
The place was just about clean. Hans could hear the bells of the Nikolaikirche. After a lot of coffee his head had nearly ceased throbbing. Bernie had stayed with him to help him through, like he had done many times before. Hans didn’t have many people left in the world; his parents had been killed during the incessant bombing of the city, his brother on the Eastern Front. He knew it’s why he had taken Monika’s death so badly. It had all been mapped out for them. Hans wasn’t big on politics, but the military was where he felt at home, and now that was slipping through his fingers.
Bernie handed him another cup of coffee. Hans wasn’t keen.
‘Come on, take it! You need it.’
Hans reluctantly accepted. Since earlier, he had felt slightly better, mentally if not physically. The grief had poured out of him in the form of tears and anger, and his old friend had taken the butt of that anger.
‘I think it’s time you went back,’ Bernie said.
Hans didn’t reply. He hadn’t really missed the barracks, as there were other things on his mind.
‘It would also be better if you got away from Leipzig.’
‘Why? It’s my home.’
He fully expected Bernie to tell him there was nothing left for him here now and he’d have been right, only he was too kind to say it.
‘A fresh start would be for the best.’ Bernie wasn’t giving in.
Hans shrugged. ‘You might be right. I was thinking about whisky instead of schnapps next time.’
Bernie saw the funny side.
‘They need good people in Berlin, Hans.’
‘Berlin? Why would I want to go there?’
‘The KVP will grow quickly. You’ve got to see how things are moving, Hans. It’s a chance for you, a big one.’
‘And what about you, Bernie?’
He smiled. ‘You don’t think I’d let you go up there on your own, do you?’
‘Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.’
‘Just think it over. I am sure it will be for the best.’
CHAPTER 13
JUNE 1953, BERLIN
As Ulrich Schultz sat down to eat with his mother and his sister, Eva, his mind was elsewhere. The news about Hauser’s arrest, and Grund’s nervousness, had permeated Ulrich’s normally affable character. In recent days, he’d found himself looking over his shoulder, noticing people around him, when usually he wouldn’t have given them a second glance. Without Hauser’s leadership, no further meetings had been called at the Wild Boar. It hadn’t stopped the protests on Stalinallee, though; in fact, the protests had reached the Borsig Locomotive works. Things seemed to be coming to the boil. A week ago, Ulrich would have welcomed that; now he didn’t feel quite the same.
‘Are you going to eat that or just look at it, Uli?’ His mother had to follow up the words with a nod in the direction of his plate before he caught on.
‘Yes, sorry, I was just thinking about something.’
‘You don’t say,’ Eva laughed, teasing her older brother gently. Ulrich smiled at her and picked up his fork to eat.
His mother was staring at him with concern in her eyes.
‘I heard at the Magistrat they may remove the increase in the norms,’ she said. Ulrich knew this was his mother’s not so subtle probing, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
‘Let’s hope so,’ he said noncommittally.
‘The protests are still going on?’
Ulrich looked at his mother. She knew very well what was going on. He could see the lines around her eyes. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping. He knew the pain of the uncertainty over his father, and the pain from the incidents when the Russians arrived, never went away. He wasn’t about to burden her with anything else.
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure it will do much good.’
Eva was looking at him now, slightly open-mouthed. ‘What’s wrong with you? Usually you’re quite happy to put the world to rights.’
He flashed her a sarcastic smile. Eva was smart, far smarter than him. She wanted to be a doctor and Ulrich knew nothing would stop her. She had the brains and the drive to go with it.
The meal continued in silence. Normally Ulrich enjoyed his mother’s goulash, but today he wasn’t in the mood. He couldn’t help wondering what he should do next. The warning from the man at the Resi still sat uncomfortably with him. Hauser wasn’t around and Ulrich didn’t trust Grund enough to give him the information, not that he was prepared to listen. He felt he couldn’t share this with anybody, more because he didn’t want to burden them. Ursula was right; it was dangerous to talk about these things with his mother, Eva, Ursula, anybody. He just had to sit tight and let things play themselves out, even though the lack of action was making Ulrich anxious.
‘Are you seeing Ursula tonight?’ his mother asked.
Ulrich nodded. ‘We’re meeting later.’
She smiled. Ulrich could see Eva’s set face out of the corner of his eye; she wasn’t fond of Ursula and it showed. Ulrich knew his mother probably felt the same way, but she was too diplomatic to say so directly.
The meal was finished, as much as Ulrich felt like eating anyway, and Eva got up to clear the plates away. When she was out of earshot his mother said quietly, ‘You can’t fool me, Uli. What’s wrong?’
He played dumb. ‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’
‘Really? I know there’s something going on, because I can hear the ticking from here.’
He laughed, but he still wasn’t giving anything away.
‘Look, Uli, I don’t want to pry, but I’ve seen reports…’ She stopped herself. ‘…Let’s just say they are preparing some harsh measures if the protests get worse.’
Ulrich looked up, eyes slightly wider. ‘Who told you this?’
She shook her head. ‘Things pass across my desk every day that I cannot talk about. I just think it’s important you know these things before…’ – she seemed uncomfortable now – ‘…you do anything stupid.’
Ulrich didn’t reply for a moment. Things hadn’t really changed since he was younger. At the end of the war his mother had fought hard to keep him out of the Hitler Youth, and then from being dragged into the battle for the city as the Russians closed in. Many of his classmates were involved in the fighting and paid for it with their lives. Sometimes he felt like his mother was constantly steering him, guiding him through life.
‘You mustn’t get involved, Uli. It won’t end well.’ She was almost pleading now, like she was certain of something.
Ulrich got up from the table feeling slightly chastened. He was a little ashamed his mother felt the need to look out for him all the time; maybe because she was so c
lose to the mark.
‘Thanks for the warning, Mum.’
He didn’t want to look at her, but couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was the guilt. He was always amazed how his mother could see straight through him. He also knew her warning might be too late.
CHAPTER 14
JUNE 1953, BERLIN
The message had been relayed through one of the apprentices. Ulrich didn’t know the young man, and he didn’t have chance to question him because Lange was hanging around their level. Nonetheless, the meeting was planned for the next evening and once again, the Wild Boar was the venue. In some ways Ulrich was excited, grateful the resistance to the targets was organised, still being led. There was also an apprehension, however. He was fearful of what he might find at the meeting; after all, the man at the Resi confirmed the place was being monitored. It would be a risk for Ulrich to attend and it may well be a State Security trap.
He played lazily with Ursula’s hair. They hadn’t been in her room long, both still fully clothed and lying on the bed. For once, Ulrich wasn’t in the mood to do much. The same could be said for Ursula; she was staring at the ceiling, seemingly as distracted as he was.
‘My dad will be home soon,’ she said.
Ulrich felt a twinge of disappointment. ‘It was hardly worth me coming round.’
‘Sorry, I can’t do anything about it.’ Ursula’s brow was pinched in stress.
‘Never mind,’ he said, slipping an arm under her neck, ‘I know it’s not your fault.’
‘You’ve hardly said a word since you’ve been here anyway.’
