by Paul Grant
The man turned to look at Ulrich and only raised his eyebrows. Ulrich closed his eyes, the penny on its way down. ‘Christ! They want the people to protest…’
The man guided him on gently by his arm. A Volkswagen car backfired, but nobody seemed to notice. Women with perfect hair laden with shopping bags passed around them oblivious. Ulrich struggled with the normality so close to the intrigue of the Russian zone.
‘But why?’ Ulrich hissed. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I don’t claim to have all the answers. I’m just trying to piece a picture together, and you are helping me do that.’
Ulrich’s mind was running all the permutations, but it was hard to come to the answer. It was difficult to take it all in, but he believed what he was being told. Even though he didn’t particularly like the man, Ulrich was beginning to trust him.
‘So what now?’ Ulrich said. ‘If you ask me, it’s going to explode very soon.’
‘From what I know, and what you’ve told me, I agree.’
‘The sensible thing would be to avoid the meetings and keep my nose clean on the site,’ Ulrich mused.
‘The only sensible thing to do would be to get the hell out of the eastern sector before it does blow.’
‘You sound like my girlfriend.’ Ulrich laughed.
The man smiled.
‘But I’ve got a feeling you don’t want me to go anywhere,’ Ulrich said, suddenly looking the man straight in the eye.
‘So, what about it?’
Ulrich shrugged. ‘I am a builder who wants fair pay. Why should I get involved in your shadowy world?’
‘You’ve lived in it long enough to know what Ulbricht and his lot are capable of. You’ve seen enough of your comrades, friends and acquaintances disappear over the years. Think about what Hauser will be going through as we speak.’
Ulrich had tried to push Hauser’s predicament from his mind. Now he’d been forced to consider it, his mouth was dry. He knew he’d been kidding himself over the years. He hated what the party had done to his part of Berlin, but to this point, it had been going on around him, and there had always been the chance to leave, to go west like many of his friends had.
‘What exactly are you asking me to do?’
‘Carry on as normal. Go to the meetings. Keep an eye on Heissner.’
‘Working for the West Germans?’ Ulrich pulled a face.
‘Working for me.’
‘And who might you be?’
‘You can call me Markus.’
CHAPTER 17
APRIL 1953, EAST BERLIN
Bernie Schwarzer had been right.
Hans Erdmann had been in Berlin for a few months now. The pain of his wife and child’s deaths had subsided. It never went away, and it came back to trouble him from time to time but, as time went on, he found he was able to control it. He’d been kept busy training new recruits to the KVP (Barracks Police), often drilling them with Bernie on the open areas of Altglienicke, to the south of the city. Hans preferred it that way; the less time he had on his hands the better.
He’d been summoned to the headquarters of the KVP on Rudower Chaussee. The organisation was nearly a year old now and it was the first time Hans had been there. There’d been no reason given for the order, but that wasn’t unusual in a military organisation.
Hans was shown into a musty, old-fashioned office which would have leant more to the traditions of the Prussian military than a new people’s military; an old oak desk, wooden stained floors and high decorative ceilings. A bespectacled officer signed papers behind the desk. The task finished, the officer stood up to welcome Hans.
‘You must be Erdmann. Take a seat, man!’
He shook Hans warmly by the hand. ‘Generalleutnant Müller.’
Hans placed himself in a large, heavy wooden chair opposite.
‘So, how are you enjoying Berlin, Erdmann? It’s been what, six months now?’
‘Yes, Generalleutnant. Everything is fine, thank you.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. I realise times were difficult for you in Leipzig. Tragic business.’ Müller shook his head sympathetically.
Hans nodded without adding anything.
‘Well, I am glad to see that’s all behind you, Erdmann. Now, I’ve brought you here today for a special purpose.’
Hans was intrigued, so much so he edged forward in his chair. Müller pulled off his reading glasses.
‘I’ve had a call from our comrades in State Security. It seems we are at a rather critical point in our country’s political development.’
The officer watched Hans intently for a reaction to his words.
He continued, ‘As much as our government continues to deliver success, there are unfortunately some elements within who wish to undermine our work.’
Hans’ face remained deadpan. He wasn’t concerned with politics, which was one of his worries in coming to Berlin. People did tend to talk about it more than in Leipzig.
‘The point is they need some support from us. We are reaching a potentially difficult time, especially after the death of Comrade Stalin. All resources have to be available for the State. Are you with me, Erdmann?’
‘Yes, Generalleutnant.’ Hans still didn’t know what Müller wanted from him exactly, but it wasn’t the moment to split hairs.
‘You’ve done very well training the new recruits, ensuring they are loyal to the cause. I am going to recommend you to form part of that support, Erdmann.’
Hans raised his eyebrows slightly.
‘This is an honour for us at the Kasernierte Volkspolizei!’
‘Yes, Generalleutnant,’ Hans said quickly.
The older man nodded, seemingly satisfied his message had been understood. He went on, ‘The role could be politically sensitive.’ Müller again looked at Hans closely, gauging his reaction.
Hans felt wary. The mere mention of the words ‘politically sensitive’ set off alarm bells.
‘Could you explain more about the role, Generalleutnant?’
Müller sighed dramatically. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot say too much, what with security and all that.’
Hans wondered if he’d actually been told, but was sensible enough not to say so.
Müller felt there might be a need for a further pep talk. ‘At times like these we all have to dig in and support each other, Erdmann. The capitalists are always quick to try and weaken us with subversive and disruptive elements. We must never allow this to happen!’
‘No, Generalleutnant. We must not.’
Hans didn’t feel he could protest about the posting, after all, he’d not really been told anything of substance and the KVP had looked after him since his troubles. He felt he owed them something.
‘Good. That’s decided then. Your orders will be issued in the next couple of days. You can leave Schwarzer to the care of the men in your temporary absence.’
‘Yes, Generalleutnant.’
Hans Erdmann wondered exactly what he had been volunteered for.
CHAPTER 18
MAY 1953, KOLYMA, RUSSIA
For Klaus Schultz the day started just like any other in the previous six years: thinking about home and fretting his family had forgotten about him and moved on. In fact, there was no reason to believe this day would be any different from the next. That was until a high-level delegation from Moscow arrived at the camp. Klaus and the others wondered if Burzin had been recalled to the capital, perhaps to be arrested. It could happen like that in Russia. However, judging by the music and singing emanating from Burzin’s cabin, this was to be a very different day.
They were lined up waiting for the kommandant. The rumours were numerous, many of them wild; desperation tended to do that. Klaus had an excitement in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t grasp. There was no reason he should have felt like that, although his intuition told him something big was in the offing.
Burzin ambled towards the group and the chatter died away. The kommandant seemed relaxed, but that was nothing out of
the ordinary, except for once there was no cigarette in his mouth, or in his hand.
‘Gentlemen, I have gathered you here to give you some news you may never have expected to hear.’ There were whispers among the men.
‘You’re going home to Germany.’
For a moment, there was no reaction; perhaps nobody believed it. Klaus knew it wasn’t the first time in the last few years they thought they were going home. He was struggling to believe what he’d heard. Even Burzin felt he had to repeat it.
‘Tomorrow you will start your journey home. You will all be released.’
Burzin climbed down from the small platform, seemingly having said all he came to say. He wouldn’t have been heard now anyway, because the message had finally sunk in. Hats were tossed high into the air and some men collapsed to their knees. Next to Klaus, Hausmann had apparently gone into shock. ‘Who will take care of the generator?’ he asked.
Klaus shook his head and put his arm around his comrade.
‘It doesn’t matter, Dirk. Not now.’
Klaus could only think of home. Was it really true he would see Maria and Ulrich and Eva again after all this time? Were they even aware he was still alive? He had no idea if Markus had made it back with the letter. He looked up to the grey sky and took a deep breath. At least now he would be free to find the answer to those questions.
***
Less than an hour after the announcement, Klaus was called to Burzin’s office. In all the excitement, not surprisingly, his past discussions with the kommandant hadn’t really registered in his mind. Only now, as he stepped into the warmth of Burzin’s office, were they back on his radar.
There was an air of activity. Boxes were being packed, papers stuffed in the stove, and the man himself was smiling, albeit with a cigarette hanging leisurely from the corner of his mouth.
‘How have your comrades taken the good news?’
Klaus couldn’t help looking around as the office was practically dismantled in front of him.
‘I would ask you to take a seat but somebody already removed it.’
Klaus smiled meekly, wondering why he was there. ‘The men are a bit shocked, Kommandant.’
‘This is genuine, Schultz. They will be starting their journey home tomorrow.’
Klaus felt threatened. ‘You said ‘they’?’
Burzin looked confused, so Klaus explained. ‘You said “they” will start their journey home.’
‘Ah, yes… you have a choice, Schultz,’ he said, pointing with his almost expired cigarette.
Klaus’ mouth was dry. He let his backside drop onto the corner of the desk.
‘Choice?’
Burzin nodded, almost amiably. ‘You can go with your men tomorrow, or…’ He took this opportunity to light a cigarette and belch smoke high above his head. ‘You can come with me. Now.’
‘Why would I want to come with you?’ Klaus feared he didn’t want to hear the answer. He didn’t know if Burzin had planned it, but he didn’t believe people like him made mistakes like that.
One of the guards came into the office. ‘You asked to be kept informed, Kommandant. Colonel Dobrovsky will arrive in Magadan at 0600…’ He stopped, looking at Klaus.
Burzin shrugged. ‘Thank you, you can go.’
‘There’s more to the message, Kommandant.’
‘Well?’
‘Under no circumstances is prisoner 7254397 Schultz to be released.’ The guard left the office.
‘Well, well, well.’ He smiled again. ‘He’s persistent, our major, sorry, my mistake, Colonel Dobrovsky, isn’t he?’
Klaus didn’t know what to say. He felt like his very existence was hanging by the thinnest of worn twine.
‘I like you, Schultz. You might not believe me, but I do. And that’s why I’m giving you the choice.’
Klaus felt stunned for the second time in two hours. He didn’t trust either of them, but he trusted Dobrovsky less. He knew he was the pawn in their power game. Whatever the real truth, Burzin wanted Klaus alive for some reason, whereas Dobrovsky wanted him dead.
Klaus swallowed and his survival instinct kicked in. ‘I’ll be freed if I come with you?’
‘Better than that, I’ll send you to Germany from Moscow. You’ll be home before your comrades.’
‘Why?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘The car is waiting.’
‘We’re going now?’ Klaus was incredulous. ‘I have to say farewell to my comrades.’
Burzin shook his head vehemently. ‘You can speak to them in Germany. We have to go now. If we miss the plane, you’ll still be here tomorrow. And if you’re still here tomorrow, you won’t be going home. Ever.’
***
Klaus was driven from the camp feeling desperately numb. He shouldn’t have felt that way; he was being freed after ten years of servitude, after all. But leaving Doc Vogel and Dirk without so much as a word, after all they’d been through together, left Klaus feeling hollow. He felt sick as they arrived at the airfield. With a Tupolev Tu-4 waiting, propellers already running, Klaus was starting to grasp the degree of influence Burzin enjoyed in Moscow.
Climbing aboard the plane, Klaus was stressed, unsure if he was doing the right thing. It had been a wrench to leave the camp, which he could never have imagined it would have been. It wasn’t only about leaving his comrades; this thing with Dobrovsky was hanging over him like a sharpened axe.
Less than two hours after the leaving the camp they were airborne, heading for Moscow. Klaus found himself sitting opposite Burzin in the cramped cabin, still in his camp clothes.
Burzin pulled a flask from his pocket and offered it to him. ‘Let’s drink to freedom!’
He took it without thinking, tipping back the flask. The liquid burned his throat and he couldn’t help coughing, so long was it since he had tasted alcohol.
Wiping his mouth, Klaus said, ‘You said, “our freedom”.’
Burzin nodded genuinely. ‘Yes, our freedom. I was in Kolyma serving a sentence just as you were.’
Klaus raised his eyebrows; he could think of many ways Burzin hadn’t been serving a sentence like them, but he didn’t want to spoil the party. It was the happiest he’d seen Burzin in those six long years.
‘I was denounced and sent to the Gulag, only my contacts saw to it that my life was made more comfortable.’
Klaus had to laugh. ‘By making you kommandant?’
Burzin shrugged, cigarette already alight, the confined cabin thick with smoke. ‘That’s how Russia works, like it or not.’
Klaus could see Burzin opening up; maybe it was the alcohol. It had certainly made Klaus feel braver. ‘And what about Dobrovsky?’
‘He was part of the Directorate leading the investigation against me and my colleagues… and ultimately why I ended up in Kolyma.’ His face was set now. Klaus was starting to comprehend the depth of the enmity between him and Dobrovsky. It also made him feel he would actually be allowed to go home.
‘You seek revenge?’
‘Maybe I won’t need to be the one delivering it. Things are changing in Moscow and Dobrovsky must be careful.’
‘What’s changed?’ Klaus asked.
Burzin looked at him and laughed. ‘Of course, you don’t know. Josef Stalin is dead.’
Klaus’ eyes were wide. It explained many things. He reached for Burzin’s flask and took another long swig.
Burzin chuckled. ‘Enjoy it!’
He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. ‘Don’t underestimate Dobrovsky, though. He’s not stupid and he has an unhealthy interest in you.’
‘I don’t understand why that should be. Why am I, and my comrades, so different to all the other German soldiers?’
Burzin shrugged. ‘I would like to know the answer to that. I looked at your file, but there’s no real detail. Only to say, you were never meant to make it out of Kolyma. You have me to thank for that.’
Klaus swallowed hard. It explaine
d Dobrovsky’s reaction to Schram’s escape. He was trying to take it all in. In many ways he had been unlucky to come across Dobrovsky in Stalingrad, not that he knew about it then. Finding them on that railway siding had been pure coincidence. And now it was pure good fortune the man sitting opposite him had been Klaus’ camp kommandant. He had been saved because of an old grudge between battling factions of the KGB.
‘Tell me what happened to Stransky.’
Klaus was immediately on his guard. Having just been released, he wasn’t about to confess to murder.
‘Come on. Schram escapes and Stransky goes missing. It is not a coincidence.’
Klaus shrugged, not as ready to open up as Burzin; he didn’t feel free just yet. He was not sure if he ever would.
‘Perhaps you’re right to keep quiet. You know you would make a good spy, Schultz.’
Klaus shook his head. ‘I am a builder, or was back in the day, before the war. I just want to see my family.’
‘And you will. I called ahead. You’ll be moved on before Dobrovsky knows where you are.’
Klaus nodded, mumbling his thanks.
‘If I recall, you are from Berlin?’
‘That’s correct.’ He thought of home and wondered what had become of the place.
‘Okay, but you will need to stay in the western sectors of the city. Dobrovsky can get to you in the Russian sector.’
Burzin was about to go on, but Klaus cut in, ‘Sorry, what do you mean “sector”?’
Burzin looked at him. Did Klaus detect a flash of pity in his eyes? Whatever it was, Klaus felt decidedly edgy. Burzin was perfectly still, so much so a large lump of ash fell from his cigarette.
‘Oh my God, you don’t know. You really don’t know about Berlin?’
Burzin started to laugh and didn’t stop for a long time.
Klaus could only look on in angry bewilderment.
CHAPTER 19
JUNE 1953, BERLIN
