“Did you know there was a concentration camp in Innsbruck?”
“No sir, but I guess I’m not surprised. The Nazis had camps all over the place. It’s a wonder they didn’t run out of people to put in them. Since that’s the case, the flyboys should have bombed it even more.”
Tanner looked up at the mountains, some of which were still snow-capped despite the warm weather in the valley and by the River Inn. The mountains were as scenic as a postcard. If it weren’t for the death and devastation in the valley, the scenery would be perfect.
“Hey, Captain. What do you hear about General Broome?”
Brigadier General Augustus Broome had been promoted from brigade commander to the top spot in the division, replacing the late General Evans. Evans had been given an impressive funeral. Ike, Devers, and Patton had all shown up to pay their respects. After the ceremony, Evans’ casket had been shipped to the States.
“Sergeant, I’ve been told that Broome is highly disappointed. He’s got the division but he won’t get a second star, at least not right away. There are concerns in Washington that we already have too many generals and not enough of an army since the war is winding down. A lot of people are going to be discharged. He was told if he played nice he’d be able to keep the star he has instead of being reduced to colonel, his permanent rank.”
Hill nodded. “Almost sounds fair, Captain. Are you sure the army thought of it?”
“Anything’s possible. Broome did put a stop to any thoughts of prosecuting Cullen for his sloppy way of handling the escaped German prisoner. Intelligence did conclude that it was the little Unger shit who had led the way through our camp because he’d been here before, and that is why Evans got killed. The brass doesn’t think too highly of having generals killed or captured. Heroic wounds are one thing, but killing, no. That Cullen will never see another promotion is now considered punishment enough.”
“But he wasn’t planning on staying in the army, was he?”
“No, but don’t tell Devers or Ike.”
They’d reached the center of Innsbruck. Ahead of them there were shouting and cheers. “What the hell?” asked Tanner.
Groups of American soldiers were gathered around, laughing, hugging, and drinking from canteens that definitely did not contain water. They got out of the jeep and walked to a master sergeant who was red-faced and grinning hugely.
“Sergeant, mind telling me what the hell the party’s all about?” Tanner asked.
The sergeant belched. “I am proud to inform you that we have just rescued your raggedy asses.” He saw the captain’s bars and paled. “I mean we’re here, sir.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Hill.
The sergeant was a little glassy-eyed. The party had apparently been going for a little while.
“Sir, this bunch of misfits and perverts is from the 85th Infantry and the Fifth Army. We came all the way up from Rome to save you. If I can read maps correctly, this means that the German redoubt has just been cut in half.”
Tanner and Hill grinned. It truly was a good time for a celebration. Hill took the initiative. “Master sergeant, you got anything of consequence left in that canteen?”
* * *
Lena didn’t visit Father Shanahan very often. They both had too much to do and, from her perspective, the search for her father had so far been pointless. But it had been a while, so she made an exception.
“Are you here for me to hear your confession?” Shanahan asked with a gentle smile.
“If I was a Catholic, I’d definitely have you as my confessor.”
“Thank you for the compliment. Now, I assume you want to know if I’ve heard anything about your father. Well, the answer is still no. I’ve gotten responses from a number of sources and there is nothing to tell you. This does not mean that he isn’t alive. It might just be that nobody’s found him yet or he hasn’t decided to come forward. The world is falling apart and has descended into chaos; there are a lot of reasons for lying low. He could also be wandering toward the Allied armies as we speak and having to make a slow go of it.”
Lena was saddened but not surprised. “I sometimes think I should go to Prague and start searching there. After all, it was where we lived.”
“That would be very foolish and extremely dangerous. The Red Army in Czechoslovakia is still wreaking havoc and is only marginally under control. Even if you got through the Russian lines, you’d still have to work your way into Prague. Worse, the commies aren’t about to leave. The best thing for you to do is sit tight and let him pop up someplace. If he’s going to,” he quickly amended.
“You’re right, of course,” she said sadly. “Like you say, it would be foolish, dangerous and likely futile. But it is so frustrating waiting here.”
“If I may comment, you seem even more at peace every time I see you.”
“Thank you and you’re right. I’ve even learned to trust people.”
Shanahan grinned wickedly. “Who is he?”
She returned the grin. “An American, Father, what else?”
“And what are your plans?”
“Our plans are quite simple. We want to survive this war and then think about whether we have a future together.”
“But he will go back to the States. What will you do if you haven’t found your father and he wants you to go with him?”
“Do you want me to say wither thou goest I will go? I will if you like, and yes, I would go with him and continue searching from wherever we doth goest. Of course, he hasn’t asked me yet. I will work on it.”
“Your English has improved also. It was always good, but now it is excellent.”
“I’m surrounded by Americans. It’s hard not to get better. My big worry is some flagrant obscenity working its way into my casual vocabulary.”
“Have you forgiven the Schneiders?”
“No, and I never will. Nor will I ever forget. They enslaved me, hurt me and humiliated me. I’ve survived, and maybe they won’t, and that would be a wonderful punishment. Whatever happens, I won’t worry about it. They may be punished here in this life or not. I will not lose sleep over them. They are beneath me.”
“Lena, would you like a glass of sacramental wine or would you want me to pray for you?”
“Both, Father.”
* * *
Harry Truman fought the urge to ask Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov if he would like a cocktail. He did wonder if the personal envoy of dictator Joseph Stalin had a sense of humor. Molotov was a survivor. He had lasted through several purges and was now one of the most important men in the Soviet Union. Rumor had it that Molotov had to tread lightly. He didn’t want to be perceived as too important and a rival to Stalin. Stalin’s rivals had a way of disappearing into Moscow’s dreaded Lubyanka Prison and never emerging again.
They spoke through translators. While Molotov’s English was acceptable for casual conversation it was not good enough for diplomatic conversations where nuances were extremely important. Truman’s Russian language skills were nonexistent.
Drinks were served. Truman had his bourbon on the rocks while Molotov had some American-made vodka that he clearly did not like. Truman smiled to himself. He had ordered that bad liquor be served to make the communist a little uncomfortable. It was petty, but he enjoyed it. The Soviets had been such pricks lately.
Molotov put down his glass. “My country’s position is quite simple. We want the deserters from the Red Army handed over to us as we agreed upon.”
“And we would like the Red Army out of Poland so that the Polish people can have their own free nation and a government of their choosing.”
“The two are not related,” insisted Molotov. “The Russians you have in your custody are traitors and justice demands that they must be punished and, yes, that punishment will likely include their execution.”
“And that is barbaric.”
“Not to us. We still have anti-Russian partisans fighting our efforts to bring peace to that area. People are already dying and will continue to die. We must see to it that those traitors do not cause further mischief.”