The driver had shrugged. “It’s not like nobody cares. It’s just that our soldiers come first and that’s just too bad if you’re a German. I’m sure that the Red Cross will sort it out in the near future, but, in the meantime, the German hospitals are crap.”
Only a few people were working on clearing the massive piles of rubble and they were slowly and methodically moving only one brick at a time. At that rate it would take an eternity to clear debris from the city. But who cared? The only priority was to get the roads cleared for American vehicles. Almost all the workers were old men or women. That was not how she wanted to spend the next couple of years of her life, Lena thought.
American soldiers had set up checkpoints throughout the city. Sometimes they turned people away, and other times they let people through. The nuns were always waved through. Lena was curious. These were the first American soldiers she had seen and their appearance was impressive. Not only were they bigger than most Germans but they positively radiated health in comparison to Germans. Of course, they were getting regular meals while many Germans had been reduced to eating sawdust mixed with flour. Or something the government said was flour.
American uniforms were clean. Even those worn by soldiers who’d been in combat had been mended and patched and showed a degree of pride that German soldiers now lacked. Every so often, they would see German soldiers, prisoners, being paraded off to some camp. Lena was surprised to see how happy many of the Wehrmacht were to be prisoners of the Americans. Since the alternative was to be trucked off to Siberia, who could blame them?
Of course also, the Americans were the winners and winners were always cocky. The Americans exuded confidence. They laughed a lot. Even their current driver joked, though the nuns didn’t understand half of what he said. Lena did, and she told Sister Columba that most of what the driver thought was funny revolved around sex with German women.
“Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to them that they will have to storm those mountains to our south?” Sister Columba said.
“They are living for the moment, just like I did. For several years, I counted each moment, each hour, each day as a victory. I exulted when I heard of every Allied victory, quietly of course,” she added with a laugh. “I nearly cheered out loud when the Allies landed at Normandy. I only began to despair when I thought it was possible that there would be an armistice with all armies staying in place and with me on the wrong side of the Rhine. I saw my fate as being owned by the Russians or the Nazis, what a horrible choice.”
“Then you have no regrets about taking matters into your own hands and hurting the Schneider children.”
“No. Of course not-and I don’t consider them children. Even Anton was physically almost an adult. I hope I didn’t hurt either Anton or Astrid too badly, but if I did, they were just two more casualties in a war I didn’t start.”
“Do you hate them?”
“Not really. They-all of the Schneiders and people like them-were just pathetic little creatures pumped up to think they were important. I no longer hate anybody. I now believe I might have a chance at a life, which seemed impossible just a short while ago.”
“What about the people of Stuttgart? What do you think of when you see them?”
Lena smiled. “I see strange little animals running around furtively. They have been in the darkness so long they’ve forgotten what it was like to be in the light.”
Columba laughed. “Are you trying to be profound?”
“Actually, I’m a little hungry. I’d even eat some of those K-rations if you have any left.”
Columba did and they munched happily. That was another thing about Americans, Lena thought. They really did not know how well they had things.
The driver slammed on his brakes, throwing them forward, and quickly apologized. As the designated English-speaker, Lena asked what was happening. The driver leaned out his window and pointed at a loud and jubilant crowd of GIs.
“Hitler’s dead!” they yelled. “The fucking paperhanger is dead,” one of them added. “He shot himself, the Goddamned coward.”
German civilians had picked up on the announcement. “Hitler kaput,” they said. Some looked jubilant, while others were simply stunned. Hitler was their god, and gods don’t die, do they?
“Now I think I would like to be useful,” Lena said. “I would like to find an American unit and offer my services. I can be either a clerk or a translator. What do you think, Sister?”
CHAPTER 8
Tanner woke slowly. It was like he was back in the hospital in Belgium, only worse. He was in agony. His whole body ached and he was nauseous. He was afraid that his head would roll off his shoulders and bounce onto the floor. Jesus, Jesus, he thought, wouldn’t that be a sight. He hadn’t had such a hangover since he’d been in college. Or was it his senior year in high school when he woke up in Mary Ann Kutchinski’s bed a week before graduation. He’d had to run like hell when he realized that her parents had just come home and were downstairs. He tried to smile at the memory of her naked and nubile young body but it hurt too much.
It didn’t matter. In a short while he would be as dead as Adolf Hitler. There was no possible way he could recover from this horror he’d inflicted on himself. He hoped his friends and family could come to his funeral.
He managed to keep his head attached to his shoulders and stood up. He lurched to the latrine where he relieved himself of several days’ worth of urine and then threw up. He kept vomiting until he reached the point of almost uncontrollable dry heaves. Other officers had their heads stuck in toilets as well. Well, it had been one hell of a party. After all, it wasn’t every day that a bona fide monster kills himself. Hitler was kaput. Hitler was dead. But what, he thought, does that have to do with the price of tea in China or the end of the war? As near as anyone could tell, the war would continue.
“Do you believe in mercy killing?” asked Cullen as he knelt back on his haunches. He turned away from his personal toilet lest sight of the contents inspire him to be sick again.
“Captain Tanner, if you still have an iota of Christian charity in you, get a gun and blow my brains out. Wait, I have no brains, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this condition.”
Tanner stood and found he could stand only if he didn’t make any sudden moves. Better, his stomach seemed to be settling. Maybe he would live to see another day. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to suffer like the rest of us. Besides, like you said we have no brains. They’ve all been fried away.”
“Heartless bastard.”
A young and disgustingly sober second lieutenant approached them, stifling a grin. “Sirs, General Evans would like to see the two of you as quickly as possible. He said in an hour or less.”
Cullen nodded. “I gather he survived the massacre?”
“Barely, his eyes are flaming red marbles. And I wouldn’t dawdle. He’s mad as hell although he does understand everybody’s situation.”
“How did you make it through the slaughter, Lieutenant?” asked Tanner.
“Dumb luck. I had duty. Tonight I’ll celebrate but it won’t be anything monumental like last night. God only knows what’ll happen when this war actually ends. I can only hope I’m there to celebrate.”
“Amen,” said Tanner. He found a sink and splashed cold water on his face. It seemed marginally refreshing. “You don’t happen to have fifty or sixty aspirins, do you? I’d like to take them and end it one way or the other.”