Truman nodded. At first he’d thought that Alsos was another secret that had been kept from him. In a way it was, but it wasn’t that major. He had been amused to find that the name, Alsos, was Greek for “grove” and that it had been decided on by General Groves. He hadn’t known the man had a sense of humor. He could only hope that the Alsos information was correct. If what he had found about the bomb was even halfway correct, having it in the possession of an enemy was a terrible thing to contemplate.
Truman stood and paced. “Then can you guarantee me that this report from Switzerland about the Nazis having an A-bomb in Germanica is nonsense?”
Groves winced. “I’ve spoken to Oppenheimer and others, and they do not believe the Germans are capable of building an atomic bomb. First, we don’t believe they have the resources and the scientists to build the bomb and, second, they have no means of delivering it even if they were to build it.”
“Does that mean you are a hundred percent certain there is no possibility of the Germans building one of the infernal devices?”
Groves turned red. “Nothing is a hundred percent, sir. It is, however, considered highly unlikely and that the Germans are bluffing.”
Truman shook his head angrily. “I want one hundred percent. The risk of the slaughter of American soldiers or the destruction of a major city like Paris or London is too awful to contemplate.”
As Truman was making this pronouncement, another thought was forming in his mind-a thought that he didn’t like one damned bit.
* * *
Gustav Schneider was bitterly disappointed by the reception he and his family received on making it through to the Alpine Redoubt now called Germanica. It was unenthusiastic to the point that he thought the bureaucrats in charge had been disappointed by his safe arrival. He had spluttered and complained to no avail. One Nazi Party functionary had even told him that he’d been fortunate to be allowed access. Only important members of the Nazi hierarchy were eligible for rescue, and not the minor ones. Fortunately, Schneider did have at least one friend.
Gerhard Unger was a civilian administrator in the Redoubt. He reported directly to the still absent Albert Speer and was responsible for the ongoing construction in the area. He was fifty and had once been a physically powerful man. He had somewhat gone to fat but still looked like he could kill with his massive arms. Schneider recalled that he had done so on a couple of occasions when the Brownshirts were engaged in street fights with communists and other riff-raff opposed to Hitler.
“Gustav, I know you’re unhappy, but you are truly fortunate to be here at all. The criteria for entry into Germanica are very specific. You must bring something significant to the table. Let’s be honest, all you were was a low-level Party functionary and let’s be even more honest. You weren’t very good at it. The only thing you did of any consequence was to administer a group of informers. If it wasn’t for the fact that you and I were so close in the old days, we would have sent you away. Germanica cannot hold everyone in Germany. Our resources are extremely limited.”
“So, you’re saying I should quit complaining and be thankful.”
“Precisely. Now, I’ve gotten you a job as a clerk in my office. I would appreciate it if you did not fuck it up, at least not too badly,” he added, softening the comment with a smile.
Schneider had visions of himself and his filthy and starving family trudging down roads and looking for refugee camps. He shuddered. He would rather die. “I will do my best.”
Unger smiled. “Excellent. Now how is your family?”
“Gudrun is well. As a result of the food shortages, she’s even managed to lose a little weight. As to the children, they are a different matter. You are aware that they were ambushed and brutally beaten by that Jewess we took under our wing.”
Unger nodded solemnly. “I am. That was a terrible betrayal and so typical of a Jew. You saved the child from the ovens and for that she assaults Astrid and Anton. It’s almost unspeakable. How are they recovering?”
Gustav had no trouble speaking frankly to Unger. “It is coming slowly. For Anton, the physical pain is gone, but the psychological terror is there. He is now afraid of women. I even tried to have him serviced by a prostitute. She said he had a terrible time getting it up and couldn’t function at all unless it was dark. It was as if he was afraid of seeing a woman. I will bring this whore around whenever he feels like he can handle it.”
“Terrible,” said Unger.
“Astrid has had no problems like that. She sometimes gets severe headaches from being struck in the head, but even they seem to be less and less frequent. I am confident that she will recover fully in time. It’s Anton that I’m worried about. He has got to get over this irrational fear of women. If I could find a good psychiatrist here, I would like to use him.”
“I am not aware of any in Germanica, but I will check around.” It was not lost on either man that many of the better psychiatrists had been Jewish.
“It would be greatly appreciated. In the meantime, I take great joy in planning terrible revenge on the Jewish slut who almost killed my children. If I find her, she will die a long, agonizing death.”
CHAPTER 9
The man they brought in to be interrogated was so malnourished and skeletal that Tanner wondered just how he was able to stand and walk. Yet somehow he had summoned up the strength and had traveled a ways to get to them. He was still wearing his tattered striped prison suit and there was a group of numbers crudely tattooed on his left forearm. His head had been shaved bald by American medics to get rid of lice and he had gratefully taken a bowl of broth. A medic had told them to feed him very, very slowly. Too fast and he could easily cramp up and die.
Not only did they not want him to die as a matter of humanity, but they thought he was trying to tell them something, something he considered important. It was frustrating for all of them that no one could understand him.
The former prisoner looked around at the bustle in the schoolhouse that had been taken over by the 105’s command. “American?” he asked with a terrible smile. Most of his teeth were jagged and broken.
“Yes,” said Tanner. “Do you speak English?” he asked and got a puzzled response. “Deutsch?” he asked. The man’s expression turned to fear and then anger. He spat on the floor.
Tanner grabbed the man’s skinny arm. “No, no.” The man seemed to understand that spitting on the floor was bad.
Tanner had an idea. “Somebody get me a map of Europe, please.”
“But only because you said please,” Cullen said, handing him an atlas. It was turned to Europe.
Tanner pointed to the man and then to the map. He had to do it a couple of times before the man understood. He pointed at a place on the map. “Ah,” he said and smiled again.
“Czechoslovakia,” said Tanner helpfully.
“Czech,” the man insisted. “Czech, Czech, Czech.”
Tanner patted the man on the arm. “I understand,” he said. “Yes, ja.” And the man has something important to say? What the hell. He stood. “Does anybody here speak Czech or whatever they speak in that country?”
“I do,” said Lena.
* * *
Lena could not contain her shock on seeing the nearly dead refugee. He was the right age to have been her father. Two American officers were beside the man. She knew who both of them were although she had never been introduced or even spoken to them.
She spoke in Czech to the man in a gentle, soothing tone. He responded quickly and began chattering away. Finally, he took a deep breath and began to sob. Lena put her arms around his shoulders and comforted him.
When she finally turned to Tanner, her eyes were glistening. “He says he was assigned to a small factory about five miles from here. Their job was to repair rifles and machine guns. He said that at one point there were a couple hundred prisoners, slaves. Now there are about fifty. The rest either died of starvation or were worked to death.”