Hummel looked around to see if anyone could hear them speak. He had to do it casually since any furtive movements attracted suspicion. “Martin, do you think we’ve come far enough to stop retreating?”
“I think we went far enough a month ago. When the Americans landed at Normandy I knew it was all over. We couldn’t stop either the Russians or the Americans. Germany had to sue for peace, but our leaders didn’t and now it may be too late.”
“Agreed.” Hummel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Martin. They lit up and enjoyed the smoke. The cigarettes were Americans, taken off a dead GI. He would no longer need them, they’d thought. Besides, they had laughed, cigarettes were bad for your health.
“So what are we going to do?” Schubert asked, almost plaintively.
Artillery was rumbling in their rear. American spotter planes had found something and their guns were trying to kill it. At night when they were trying to sleep, the rumbling would be accompanied by distant flashes of light. The Americans were not going to leave them alone. “If the Yanks push us, we’re going to have to climb those damn mountains. I can’t climb mountains. Christ, I sometimes can’t even climb a ladder.”
“I can’t either. Are you suggesting that we should surrender?”
Hummel finished his smoke and field stripped the butt. He thought about saving the shreds of tobacco in case he had to try and roll his own, but figured the hell with it. He let them go with the wind.
They were in a foxhole that they had turned into a small bunker. With skills learned from years of experience, they had made it strong and practically invisible. They had solid fields of fire and were confident that they could decimate any attacking force, just as they had so many times before. They didn’t particularly enjoy seeing enemy soldiers being riddled with bullets and turned to bloody pulp, but this was war and nobody wanted to finish in second place.
Their small fort also had places to relieve themselves, although they joked that it didn’t much matter. It had been so long since they’d been able to wash or put on a clean uniform that their personal stench would overwhelm that of body waste. All the German soldiers were in the same condition. They joked that the Yanks would find them from their smell.
Hummel just wanted the war to finish. “I would like to surrender, Martin, but I don’t know how to go about doing it. We can’t just tell the others to have a good war and then go walking up to the Americans with our hands in the air. First, the Yanks might shoot us as revenge for some of the atrocities the SS and others have committed, and second, Lieutenant Pfister would have the others kill us before we got twenty feet.”
Schubert again looked around. Lieutenant Pfister was walking towards them. “What the hell does the idiot want now?” Pfister was a devout Nazi, to put it mildly. They’d heard that the lieutenant had howled like a dog when he’d heard that his beloved Hitler was dead. He had vowed that he and the platoon would die to the last man before surrendering. Sadly, Hummel and Schubert and the others believed him.
They did not stand and salute when he arrived. The Americans were too close and they had their own snipers.
“What are you two plotting?” Pfister asked.
Hummel almost froze before answering. Then he realized that their usually uptight lieutenant was just making a small joke. “We were just talking about some marvelous carnal adventures that we will have when we win this war and get to go home.”
Pfister laughed. Some days he actually had a sense of humor, proving that he used to be human. “Don’t get your priorities mixed up. Gather all your gear. We’re going to be maneuvering again. As usual we will move when it’s dark so the Yank planes can’t see us.”
The two gunners nodded their understanding. “Maneuvering” was another word for retreating. “Any idea where we’re going, sir?” asked Schubert.
“I’ve heard that we’re going to the northern head of the Brenner Pass.”
Hummel looked intently at the lieutenant. “Sir, when are we going to stop and fight the Americans? I’m sick and tired of retreating. I want to stop and kill the bastards who are violating our nation.”
Pfister looked impressed. So too was Schubert who knew that Hummel meant not a word of the bullshit he was spouting. He wanted to know when they might make contact with the Americans so they could give up.
Pfister smiled broadly. “Corporal, our opportunity will come soon enough. When we get to the pass there will be no more retreating. There we will stand and fight. Then we will destroy the swine who have invaded our land and who are violating our women.”
“That was most impressive,” said Schubert after the lieutenant had left. “It almost brought tears to my eyes.”
“Not to mine,” said Hummel. “Once upon a time I thought Hitler was God. I thought that Germany would conquer the world and then there would be a true peace, one that would be based on Nazi values. For the longest time I even enjoyed fighting in Poland and Russia. The fire bombings of our cities opened my eyes and cleared my mind. Germany doesn’t stand a chance, if indeed she ever did. I know longer wish to fight for a cause that is lost. I don’t care if Jews take over the world. I want to go home and find my family.”
Schubert shook his head. He felt infinite sadness. “I just hope we have families to find.” They both came from cities that had been leveled by American bombers. They’d heard nothing from their families and expected the worst.
* * *
Harry Truman was still growing into his job as President of the United States. He was mad as hell at Franklin Delano Roosevelt for shutting him out of the decisions that had been made and now had to be enforced by a very inexperienced Truman.
He had been considered such a nonentity that he’d lived in an unguarded apartment until Roosevelt’s death. Now, however, he had Secret Service crawling all over the place trying to protect him. He’d joked that they even wanted to go to the john with him. He liked to take brisk walks and now he did so surrounded by guards. It was a little unsettling.
He still hadn’t moved into the White House because Eleanor Roosevelt hadn’t yet left. In a moment of generosity, he’d told her to take as long as she needed and now he wondered if she would ever move out.
Truman wanted to be furious at the military and diplomatic leaders who’d quietly humiliated him by shunning him, but he knew it wasn’t their fault. It had been Roosevelt’s and they’d had to follow his orders. But why, he wondered, and realized it no longer mattered. FDR had made a pattern of ignoring his vice presidents, so why should his experiences or lack thereof, have been any different?
He was seated behind Roosevelt’s massive desk in the Oval Office that he’d already decided to retain for his use. Many of the former president’s personal items had been removed, either taken by Eleanor or packed up to be moved. A few pictures of his own wife Bess and his daughter Margaret graced the desk. Thank God he had them as his anchors, he thought.
A glum group of men looked at him. He wondered if they thought they were having a bad dream and would wake up and find that Roosevelt was still president. Someday he would tell them that he’d had that same dream.
Shortly after becoming president, he’d been informed that the U.S. was making a super-bomb, an atomic bomb. He’d been staggered to realize just how much money and effort had gone into the project. Almost as astonishing was the fact that it remained a secret. Even from FDR’s vice president, he thought angrily.
Truman forced himself to smile. “Gentlemen, I trust that the first test of an atomic bomb is still scheduled for mid-July?”
“That is correct, sir,” responded General George C. Marshall, the Army’s Chief of Staff. He was accompanied by Major General Leslie Groves.
Groves was very overweight and pear-shaped, which somewhat bothered Truman. He felt that soldiers should look the part. Still, Groves had been the man who’d ramrodded construction of the Pentagon and now the physical parts of the development of the atomic bomb. The unmilitary looking Groves was reputed to be one tough son of a bitch and Truman did like that. Groves was not a physicist, but he understood enough of the bomb to explain the military aspects of it.