Margarete agreed that the war should end, but she doubted that the Allies would ever deal with Himmler. Still, the idea of the forest being so hostile was depressing. She remembered wonderfully scary tales of monsters and witches and goblins in the depths of the woods, and the tale of Hansel and Gretel always gave her chills as a child. But these were not imaginary trolls or bogeymen, these were people who would kill. No, she would not go anywhere near the woods.
Nor did it surprise her that people were hiding in them. On those occasions that she had to go near the tree line a mile or so from her uncle’s property, she’d had the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were on her.
On a happier note, she’d gotten a letter from Hans Hart, the young pilot she idealistically thought of as her beloved. His attempt to transfer to jet fighters had been, as he wrote tongue in cheek, shot down. He’d been informed that there were far more experienced pilots than there were jet planes. If he wished to transfer to the Luftwaffe and fly and ME109 or some other, older plane, he was more than welcome.
Hans wrote that he was willing to fight for the Reich, but not commit suicide. He was, after all, German and not Japanese. Realistically, other than the ME262, all the other German planes were either second rate, or outnumbered a hundred to one, or both.
As a courtesy to her father, General Galland had spoken to Hans and told him to stick with ferrying officers in his Storch. The Luftwaffe was kaput. Stay alive, Galland had said and Margarete wiped away a tear as she thought of the Luftwaffe general’s courtesy.
“We will have to move,” Alfie said and his two companions nodded agreement. Most of the snow had melted and tender green shoots were poking up from the wet ground. For a long time they’d been aware that they weren’t alone. As they patrolled their area, they’d seen footprints and, on one occasion, watched in hiding as a handful of wretched men in German army uniforms tried to eke out an existence in the woods.
The three men made no attempt to make contact with any of the others. Desperation could drive refugees to do terrible things. They did not go out without weapons and, since few Germans and even fewer foreign refugees had guns, they assumed that anyone who’d seen them would think twice before attacking. They assumed the German soldiers they’d seen were deserters, which meant they were criminals in the eyes of German law and would do anything to keep themselves alive.
As far as they knew, the cottage had gone unnoticed. No footprints had been seen anywhere near it, but perhaps others had hidden their tracks just as they had swept away their own.
“And where shall we go?” asked Rosenfeld. He had taught them what tender young roots were edible. Alfie thought he was crazy, but damned if they didn’t satisfy a craving and actually tasted good if you were hungry enough.
“Alfie’s right,” said Blum. “We can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, someone’s going to stumble on this place just like we did. I wouldn’t be surprised if the police don’t send patrols into the forest to look for people like those deserters we saw, and if they find us they’ll kill us. You heard the Ami planes last night, didn’t you? Well, the Nazis will doubtless feel that someone is tipping off the Americans and we’ll be likely candidates.”
“But how would we ever do that without a radio? Smoke signals?”
“They won’t care,” said Blum. “If they catch us we’re guilty and the local Nazis would have done their job.”
“Jesus,” Alfie said. Last night, several American fighters had flown tantalizingly low over the forest before bombing and strafing a nearby target that had exploded with a tremendous roar. They’d argued whether it had been gasoline or ammunition.
But Blum was right. They would not be treated as prisoners. For one thing, Alfie had already escaped once and, for another, Blum and Rosenfeld were clearly Jews. The crudely drawn tattoos on their arms so testified.
“If the Americans make it,” Rosenfeld said, “we stand a chance. If not we’ll have to do something desperate.”
Alfie laughed. “As if this isn’t desperate enough? Whatever the hell do you mean?”
“We should consider either heading east in the general direction of Berlin to where the situation might not be so violent,” Rosenfeld said, “or, God help me, we should be trying to cross the Rhine.”
Blum snorted. “And how the hell do we do that? Should we disguise ourselves as logs and try to drift across? And your idea of heading towards Berlin is sheer insanity.”
Rosenfeld shrugged. “Then somebody come up with a better idea.”
No one did.
Jessica did as Jeb directed and found the small hotel in Rheinbach. He said it belonged to someone he knew and Jessica met Hilda almost immediately.
“You are probably wondering if your cousin and I are lovers instead of just sleeping together and the answer is yes.”
Jessica forced a smile. “I would have been surprised if you weren’t.”
Hilda laughed. “I suppose you are right. The next question you’d like to ask is whether I or my family were Nazis and the answer is also yes, and at one time I was proud of that fact. Before you judge too harshly, recall that Hitler was chancellor since I was nine and before that there was chaos, hunger, and civil war in Germany and abject poverty here in the Rhineland. Please recall it was administered by the French who despised us and abused us because we were German and had killed so many of their soldiers in the first war. Hitler brought order out of chaos and returned the Rhineland to Germany.”
“Wonderful, but he also brought a second world war and death to millions of innocents.”
“Which no one suspected would happen and which no one will believe now. And yes, we initially supported the takeover of Austria and Czechoslovakia and the recovery of the Rhineland to return us to our place in the world. Contrary to what some believe, however, there was not cheering all over Germany when we invaded Poland and wound up at war again with France and England. For so many, it was as if a nightmare had returned.”
Jessica had heard the same from others, that many Germans had been shocked, appalled when the 1939 attack occurred, evoking memories of the horrors of the First World War. However, she wondered just what was reality and what was self-serving fabrication.
“Yes,” Hilda continued, “we did support expelling the Jews, but not their murder. But we laid down with the devil, didn’t we? And now my family is trying to repair its fortunes by dealing with the American army and whatever government is installed in the Rhineland.”
“And that includes sleeping with Jeb?”
Hilda actually giggled. “No, that is pleasure, not business.”
The two women went to the third floor of the hotel. There were only a dozen rooms, but all were clean and neat, although impersonal, typically German. Jess was pleased to note that no pictures of Hitler or Himmler adorned the walls, but there were a couple of spots where a frame had been removed.
The room given to Jess had a double bed and its own bathroom with tub and shower and a nice view of the street below. She could see no damage from bombing or fighting. Hilda made a point of mentioning that it was the only such room in the building and Jessica was properly grateful. Even if Jack couldn’t make it, a weekend with her own private bath and bed would be heavenly.
She put her toiletries in the bathroom and a change of clothing in the dresser. She had a civilian dress, but had worn her Red Cross uniform with slacks instead of a dress. Turnbull had told her that a young woman in civilian clothes apparently waiting for someone could easily be mistaken for a prostitute and harassed by the MP’s.
She went downstairs and outside. The sky was clouding over and a hint of rain was in the air. More important, there was no sign of Jack. The few German civilians walking about ignored her while the GI’s gave her the once-over and walked on. She heard one of them say “officers only.”