He stumbled and went underwater. He scrambled frantically to get upright. He could not let the current take control and sweep him away. The water was shallow and he managed to stand up again. Another shell landed nearby and staggered him. Sergeant Hill’s strong hands grabbed him and pulled him forward.
“C’mon, Captain. You got to get your ass out of this river before it kills you.”
Tanner was about to say that he already knew that when the Rhine water he’d swallowed came up all at once, gagging him.
“I’m all right,” he finally managed to say. A wounded soldier lurched by. His left arm was smashed and white bone jutted through the skin. Between him and Hill, they got the man to the riverbank, pushed him up, and followed him to dry ground. A medic crawled over to take charge.
Despite the carnage around them, the overwhelming majority of craft appeared to have landed their human cargoes and were headed back to pick up a second wave.
American soldiers were advancing across the field towards the Dragon’s Teeth. They were following the paths through the minefields that had been carefully mapped out.
Explosions and screams made Tanner turn to his left. A group of soldiers had taken a wrong turn and had blundered into the minefield. Several GIs lay writhing on the ground and the others stood, looking confused and terrified. One man started to run back. An explosion lifted him several feet into the air and ripped his legs off.
“Follow in your own footsteps,” yelled Hill, but they were too far away to hear. Finally, somebody got the soldiers calmed down and the survivors slunk out of the field.
More soldiers made it through the minefield’s real openings. Enemy fire began to slacken. Tanner looked behind to see that more landing craft filled with troops were already headed towards them and the east bank of the Rhine. Engineers were quickly starting to assemble the first of what were planned to be several pontoon bridges.
“I need a radio. Got to report to the general,” Tanner said.
Hill shrugged. “I think it’s at the bottom of the Rhine. Don’t worry, sir. I think he’s got a fair idea we’ve made it across. By the way, sir, you didn’t get your feet wet did you?”
“Hill, go screw yourself.”
* * *
Lena and the nun sat on the ground and faced each other. “My name is Sister Mary Columba and I am a Dominican. You may call me Columba or sister. Now tell me why you need a pistol?”
“For protection, of course.”
“But from whom? I’ve watched you the last several days. I saw how sick and frightened you looked when you realized there was an SS checkpoint up ahead. The gun is not only for protection, but because you are afraid of being investigated and then arrested. Were you planning to kill yourself with it? So what have you done that a small and frail-looking young woman like yourself would have so outraged the SS or the Gestapo?”
Lena turned away. She did not know if she could trust this woman, even though she said she was a nun. “I would like my property back,” she finally said.
“The gun is a military weapon. How did you get it? Did you kill a German soldier?”
“No,” Lena said, almost too hurriedly.
“Good,” said Columba. “That would have been more than I could handle. Even though I despise Hitler and all he has done, I could not countenance anyone murdering a German soldier, even if he was SS. They SS are misguided fools but they are humans with souls. On the other hand, the men in the Gestapo are not human. Are you Jewish? Did you escape from a concentration camp? What the devil are you doing out here and all alone? Why are you afraid to make contact with others? And, of course, where on earth do you think you are going?”
Too many questions, Lena thought, and they all need answers. She decided she had no choice but to trust the nun. She began to tell her tale.
Half an hour later, Sister Columba quietly handed Lena her pistol. It had been cleaned and wrapped in a cloth. “Now, Lena, we have to get you through the Nazis. How would you like to become a nun?”
An hour later, Lena stood beside the taller Sister Columba, but now she was wearing a nun’s habit. Sister Columba said it was left over from an older nun who had died of a heart attack a few days earlier. It almost fit her and it was as dirty as those worn by the others. They had kept it hoping they might find a use for it. Lena also wore the dead woman’s sandals. Her other clothing, including slacks and blouse, were in a cloth bag along with the deceased nun’s pathetically few belongings.
Columba had chopped Lena’s already short hair almost to her skull. A little judiciously applied dirt made it look a shade darker. She spread more dirt on Lena’s face and arms, and soon Lena looked as unkempt as the others, most of whom, she noticed were as young as she was.
“We haven’t had much chance to bathe,” Columba told her. “Now, as we approach the Nazis, all you have to do is look downcast and scared. If these scum are anything like the ones we’ve run up against before, they’ll let us through without checking too deeply. They will probably make filthy remarks about how they would like the chance to make real women out of us withered old virgins, but we will ignore them. One of two of them might even reach out to paw you, which they seem to think is quite funny. Just whimper and pull away. Look terrified if you can. Defiance might make them suspicious. We nuns are supposed to be innocent little creatures who have run away from the world. If things start to get out of hand, I will step in.”
“I will have no problem looking downcast and scared. I’m actually terrified.”
They moved with the crowed to the checkpoint, which seemed to be moving fairly quickly.
“Aren’t they checking anybody?” Columba wondered aloud.
A man on a horse cart stood up and got a better view. “They’re not checking anybody because there’s nobody there to check. It looks like the SS and Gestapo have all gone. What the hell is going on?”
“Did you pray for this?” Columba asked Lena.
“No, but perhaps I should have.”
There was commotion in the crowds of refugees in front of them. “The Yanks have crossed the Rhine just across from Vogelgrun,” someone yelled and others picked it up.
“Where’s Vogelgrun?” Sister Columba asked.
Lena smiled. “South and, of course, west of here. This means that we don’t have to continue to move to reach safety. The Americans will arrive shortly. All we have to do is wait for them.”
Sister Columba shook her head. “We will not wait passively. What if the Russians move faster than the Americans? We had always thought about heading west and hoping to find the Yanks. Now perhaps we will.”
* * *
Ernie did not buy a car. For one thing, Dulles hadn’t given him enough money, and for another, gas was in short supply. Instead, he bought an old but sturdy bicycle and used it to pedal the streets and surrounding fields of Arbon. It was a great opportunity to familiarize himself with the layout of the town. The locations of stores and homes that he could use for refuge or escape were duly noted. The lessons given him by Allen Dulles and others were bearing fruit. He was beginning to think that this life as an OSS was even better than flying a P51 and being chased around the skies by Germans who wanted to kill him. Of course, the Germans on the ground didn’t much love him either.
He casually rode up to the border where bored Swiss and German guards stared at each other. There was no apparent animosity. Peace reigned. He didn’t go within fifty yards of the border. No sense attracting unneeded attention to himself, he thought. Instead, he kept to the road that paralleled the fencing. There was enough other traffic to keep him from being conspicuous. Of course, dozens of Nazis could be watching him through binoculars and noting his presence and his every move. What a happy thought, he told himself.
From what he could see, the German border guards looked far more nervous and even appeared stressed. And why not? he thought. Their country was collapsing into ruins. Their families and other loved ones might be dead or refugees or, worse, suffering terrible fates at the hands of the Russians. He wondered if the border guards could tell him if Goebbels had arrived safely. He could always say he wanted to send the Propaganda Minister a congratulatory card.