“It sounds just. Incomplete and imperfect, but as good as it’s going to be.”
“Now let’s change the subject to something a little more pleasant, Lena. Have you ever had the pleasure of eating in an army mess hall?” Ordinarily, she and the other foreign nationals working for the division either ate field rations where they worked or food was brought to them. It was highly unusual for a foreign worker to eat with the soldiers.
She laughed and he realized that she had a very nice laugh. “How’s the food?”
“Generally pretty bad, but I’ll bet it’s better than what you and the other clerks have been getting.”
“Sounds good. If that’s an invitation, I accept.”
* * *
Small world, thought Ernie. The two thugs who’d jumped him in Bern and whom he was afraid he’d killed were sitting in a café along the waterfront of Arbon. They were sipping beers and had a fine view of the lake and couldn’t see him approaching from behind. Despite the apparent prohibition against private boats on the lake, a handful of white sailboats were enjoying the day. He wondered if Winnie would have liked going on one. It wasn’t going to happen. Word had come from Allen Dulles that they were not to go out on the water again. Nor were they to venture too close to the now reinforced and sealed German border.
With three heavily armed countries now having access to Lake Constance and two of them at war with each other, the lake had just become very dangerous. Ernie sometimes wondered if he should again talk to Dulles about getting back to the air force and becoming a pilot again. The last time he’d brought up the subject, Dulles had calmly reminded him that he was doing an important job in Arbon by keeping tabs on the Nazis just across the border. He’d closed his comments by telling Ernie that the Luftwaffe was almost nonexistent; therefore, who would he fly against? He might not even get a plane. He might be stuck at some base on Iceland doing clerical work instead of intelligence and spying for the USA. Ernie had agreed.
Dulles had then suggested that if Ernie was serious about getting back into the war he could arrange for him to be sent to the Pacific. “I still couldn’t guarantee you’d get a plane or, if you did, that there would be any Japs left to shoot at except those fools who want to kill themselves and others. I could, however, assure you of jungle rot, stifling heat, and boredom. Of course you would likely never see Winnie again.”
A contrite Ernie said he would love to remain in Switzerland and with the OSS.
But nothing had been said about what to do if he saw Nazis in Arbon. Should he assume that they too had diplomatic immunity? If so, then Germany’s diplomatic corps was going to hell. Still, he wondered what the two thugs were up to.
The Nazis got up and paid their bill. He could see that they didn’t leave much of a tip. The new Reich must not pay very well. Ernie waited until they were well clear of the café and began to follow them. There weren’t many people on the streets so he was careful not to be seen. When the two men turned down a side street, he picked up the pace. They might lead him to where they were staying and perhaps using as their own espionage headquarters.
He’d barely turned the corner when he went flying. He slid forward on his hands and knees. He tried to get up, but he got a kick in the ribs that knocked the wind out of him. He managed to see the two Germans standing above him, smiling. He couldn’t get up. He was helpless as more kicks struck his chest, back, and head. I’m going to die here, he thought and his world spun. He could hear the Germans laughing.
Finally, one of them grabbed him by his now bloody shirt and yanked him to his knees. “You thought we were stupid, didn’t you? You got us one time, but not a second.”
With that, they began hitting him again. He could hear screams and shouts in the distance. One of the Germans swore and they let him drop to the pavement. One more time he tried to get up and failed. His world was spinning and he decided to let it.
* * *
Ernie awoke to find himself in his bed at the warehouse. He tried to get up but fell back. The pain in his chest was too much. He wondered if his ribs had been broken. He checked the rest of his body and everything was pretty much there, just a lot of it was swollen and painful. So how the hell had he gotten to his bed?
After several tries he did manage to sit up and swing his legs onto the floor. He realized that he was fully clothed and bloody. He heard footsteps and his OSS landlord, Sam Valenti, approached.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said.
“How long?”
“Just a few hours. Some passersby heard the fight and the police came right away. It’s been recorded as an attempted mugging, but nobody believes that. Dulles has been notified and he’s not too happy.”
“Is he mad at me or the Germans? The Germans, I hope.”
“Both of you, I presume. Winnie’s not too thrilled either. She was in earlier and left crying. Anyhow, this is for you,” Valenti said as he handed over a package.
Ernie opened it gingerly. It hurt too much to stretch. Inside the package was a German Luger and two clips of ammunition. “Dulles said there’s one clip already in the gun, so you should be set.”
“I thought guns were illegal in Switzerland?” Ernie said.
“They are, so don’t get caught with it.”
“Ah, did Winnie say where she was going or when she would be back?”
“She’ll be gone for a couple of days, pal. Dulles has her off to Bern as a courier. He said she’ll have a gun too.”
* * *
The last time Tanner had seen so many tanks was that terrible day in December when scores of German Panzers had erupted from their hiding places and overwhelmed the men of the outnumbered and outgunned 106th Infantry Division.
This time it was different. The tanks were American Shermans and he counted forty of them leading an infantry attack on German positions near the entry to the Brenner Pass. Accompanying them was about the same number of M3 halftracks carrying infantry. That was just what he could see. Plans called for three full divisions to attack the German lines with two more in reserve. They were positioned to exploit the expected breakthrough.
Bombers and fighters had worked over the area where the German defenses were supposed to be the strongest. A long and thunderous artillery bombardment had followed the planes and preceded the tanks. The ground had shaken and the locations where the Germans were presumed to be had been enveloped by smoke and fire. The force of the explosions could be felt where he was with the division’s command.
“Pity the poor bastards,” muttered Cullen.
“Ours or theirs?” asked Tanner.
“Anybody who had a mother,” he answered.
No one was saying that the attack would be a cakewalk. The Germans were well dug in and well camouflaged. The 105th wasn’t the most experienced division in the Seventh Army, far from it, but even the most inexperienced soldier knew that the Germans would be difficult to pry from their fortresses.
Hell erupted. Seemingly out of nowhere there were flashes of light and blasts of thunder as German guns opened fire on the tanks. The main German antitank weapon was the almost legendary 88mm antitank gun, which was capable of easily destroying an American Sherman, as it now began to prove. As they watched, two American tanks were struck and began to burn. One lone crewman emerged from a tank. A few seconds later a third tank was killed and then three more.
Occasionally, an American would manage to escape from the hell that was erupting inside a burning Sherman’s hull, but not too often. Even then, a number of the soldiers were wounded or on fire. One poor GI had lost his foot and hopped frantically towards the rear. Tanner urged him on, but to no avail. He collapsed and lay still. A medic finally got to him, checked him over, and left him. Tanner felt sickened.