“I assume that a negotiated settlement is still out of the question.”
“It is, although I will accept, even authorize, the escape of any of the higher-ups in the Nazi command. If we can in get the chief rats to leave the ship, then maybe the little rats and assorted vermin will follow. Dulles is right. We can always catch them later. We can use the OSS or whatever organization succeeds it to help search for them wherever they might find refuge.” He smiled tightly, angrily. “In the meantime, we will also prepare for other extreme measures.”
* * *
Winnie clutched Ernie’s arm and watched intently as the steady trickle of humanity left Germany. It seemed strange to not refer to the area as Germanica, but even the Nazis had buried the term. Now, if only they could bury the Nazis, she thought.
A sedan pulled up to the German side of the gate. German soldiers wearing SS armbands pushed other people out of the way. Winnie held her breath. “The short guy is Captain Diehl,” Ernie said. “He’s a real monster. What happened to Marie and Sven was his fault.”
She gasped as two people were led out of the car and towards the gate. They leaned on each other for support. They would have fallen otherwise. Neither Diehl nor any other soldiers offered to help. She wanted to cry.
And then they were through. Winnie started to run but Ernie grabbed her arm. “Hold back. Walk up to them and greet them warmly. Do not let the bastards see how concerned you are.”
She nodded and let Ernie guide her. Marie and Sven had stopped and were standing, looking around. They were confused. They didn’t know what had happened or where they were. Winnie quickly walked the last few steps and grabbed Marie’s arms.
“Marie, it’s me, Winnie. You’re safe. Sven’s safe, too.” But badly hurt, she could tell. He was barely conscious.
Recognition dawned. “Winnie, what’s happening to us? Where are we?”
“It’s over, Marie. You’re in Switzerland.”
Marie gasped and sagged. She would have fallen if Winnie hadn’t grabbed her. Ernie had already taken control of Sven and was heading him towards a parked ambulance. A small hospital served Arbon. They would stay there until they were strong enough to travel to Bern and then out of the country. It would also allow a chance to debrief them. Neither Winnie nor Ernie wanted to hear the grisly details of their imprisonment, but it had to be done. Diehl and Hahn might get away this time, but a strong case would be built up against them. When caught, they would either spend the rest of their lives in prison or be hanged. Sven and Marie’s war was over.
* * *
“Now what do we do?” asked Hummel. Before them and below them lay the deep blue waters of Lake Constance. They were dug in on a hill to the north of Bregenz and along the coast. It was heavily wooded and they hoped it made them invisible. They knew better, of course, and made every effort to hide what they had done. Even so, they froze when American planes flew overhead-which they did with regularity. Both men, along with the rest of their unit that now numbered a dozen, longed to smoke a cigarette. They had been warned, however, that smoking in a forest was not a good idea for several reasons. First, it might start a fire and, second, keen eyes might spot wisps of smoke lifting into the sky. The same applied to smoking at night where the glow of a cigarette could be seen or the striking of a match create a sudden flare.
They also quickly realized that this meant that warming or cooking food would be next to impossible. Cold rations would be the menu for the foreseeable future. Nobody was happy, but it beat getting strafed or bombed.
A battery of four 88mm guns was dug in several hundred yards to their right and another to their left. When the shooting finally started, they planned on being as far away as possible from those guns. American retaliation would be savage and overwhelming. They had even gone so far as to dig bunkers two hundred yards behind their main position and in an area where the hills hid them from prying eyes on the lake.
Lieutenant Pfister crawled into the foxhole with Hummel and Schubert, who was staring at the lake and smiling. It was a beautiful scene and they hoped it gave Schubert some peace of mind. Although he seemed to be gradually getting better, he occasionally suffered minor setbacks.
“Too bad we can’t arrange for Schubert to be surrendered to the Yanks,” said Hummel. “He might get proper treatment from them.”
“Or they might just shoot him. We don’t know what they do with crazy people. If we could surrender him, perhaps we could arrange for us to surrender as well. You do realize that we’re about as far from the American lines as we can get? I wouldn’t mind going on holiday here in the mountains, but that is out of the question thanks to dear, dead Adolf Hitler.” Pfister didn’t even bother to look around to see if anyone was listening in on them. The SS rarely showed up at the front lines anymore.
Pfister now commanded a company consisting of twenty men. He’d earlier informed Hummel that he might get a battlefield commission. Hummel had told him to shove the commission-which resulted in gales of laughter from Pfister.
Hummel nodded and continued to look through his binoculars. An American gunboat patrolled a couple of miles off shore. It was within easy range of German artillery, but they would not fire and give away their positions or waste ammunition. The squat little craft might have been a tugboat at one point in its life. It had since been heavily armored and rode low in the water. It also had a 155mm artillery piece pointing at the German shore. So far it was the only American vessel they’d seen, but they thought there would soon be others. Their future was grim.
Pfister tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the sky. Contrails were visible. The Americans were watching from on high. No bombs were dropping. Apparently the informal truce was still holding. Both he and Hummel thought the use of human shields was repugnant but was far better than being bombed to oblivion. They also agreed that whatever fools thought you could apply rules to warfare were out of their minds. Survival was a soldier’s foremost goal. To hell with bravery and glory and doing the right thing, was the common thought.
“Lieutenant, so what do we do besides wait for them to attack us?”
“Would you rather attack them? At least we’re alive for the moment, while doing something foolish would be absolute suicide.”
Hummel laughed softly. “Maybe we could build ourselves a very small boat and row out to the Americans, or maybe go along the coast to Switzerland.”
“And maybe both sides would blow us out of the water without asking questions. No, I urge you to forget any ideas like that.”
“Lieutenant, do you realize that you merely urged me; you didn’t order me.”
It was Pfister’s turn to laugh. “Hummel, we’ve come too far for that sort of nonsense. I just want to live long enough to see my grandchildren grow up. Of course I first have to survive this war and then find someone foolish enough to marry me before I can have children, much less grandchildren.”
* * *
It took a long time to get an infantry division on the road and, when it finally did, the caravan of trucks, artillery, cars went on forever. Pilots in spotter planes, the military’s version of the Piper Cub, said it looked like an olive drab tapeworm that had no beginning or end. The division was headed towards the German city of Oberlingen, which was on the northern coast of Lake Constance. The U.S. Seventh Army was firmly ensconced in the city. From there, rumor had them moving down the coast to Friedrichshafen or even Lindau, which was only a couple of miles from Bregenz.
Nor were they alone on their trek. The Tenth Mountain Division was heading for the same location, only taking different roads. Tanner had a sneaking idea that the Tenth would be attacking up the hills while the 105th moved along the coast. It seemed like a decent plan and nobody had come up with a better idea.