Today, however, he had another idea, his own. He motioned to his supporter to put his weapon down and, turning to the others, mimed grabbing someone by the throat.
There were two Germans, evidently convinced that the basement was still clear: Their submachine guns hung over their shoulders as they headed for the stairs to have a smoke. They had no chance against the half dozen or so men who suddenly fell on them. In a couple of seconds they felt their backs slam down on their gun barrels and gasped to find at least three Czechs kneeling over each of them.
He was crazy, he shuddered in retrospect, to jump on them practically empty-handed with a bunch of strange men; it could have backfired badly. And yet here they lay, rank-and-file SS storm troopers, both wide-eyed rookies.
Yes, Mother, TODAY IS MY DAY!
“What should we do with them?” he asked the one who had taken his side; now the man showed his hands, large as shovels.
“Tie ’me up and guard ’me,’ the tram driver said. “There are rules about prisoners, aren’t there?”
He knew them from even his own short war and momentarily considered using two of the straps girdling him — but would he definitely get them back? And after what happened to the poor runt who’d had to return them…. One thing was certain: They couldn’t drag the Germans with them, nor could they leave them here with inexperienced guards. So he made his decision.
“Where’s the toilet?” he said, turning to the man from the radio.
“We passed it as we came in.”
He left his regiment by the steps, guarded by two newly acquired submachine guns, and nodded to his new ally. The Germans went in front of them, hands crossed high on their backs, the way Králik had taught him. The best way to stiffen them up, Rypl, as every schoolteacher knows! The archive toilets were hidden in a small side hall. Beyond the urinal was a stall with a toilet bowl; the yellowed door ended about a foot from the ceiling. It was perfect for his next idea.
“Hinein!” He pointed the gun muzzle at them. “Both of you, inside!”
They squeezed into the narrow space; the second one chuckled uneasily. He slammed the door behind them and asked his guide, “Is there anything to wedge the handle with?”
The man reached into a corner and grabbed a broom standing in a bucket with a rag. Deftly he propped it between the stall door and the wall. Did he already know? He looked so eager!
He nodded for him to go out into the hallway first, and eyeballed the size of the gap above the stall door. Then he pulled the pin from the grenade, silently counted to three, and hurled it into the stall. He heard a double scream, but he had already slammed the washroom door and pressed himself against the side wall.
The explosion jammed the door shut. Too bad. He would have liked to look. An admiring smile crossed his companion’s face, and he made a further discovery.
I HAVE A FRIEND!
On the corner of Bredovská Street, which was guarded by two light storm-trooper tanks, Buback was assaulted by the pungent stench he had smelled during each post-Normandy retreat. In the courtyard, a huge pyre was burning; files with documents from various departments were heaped on it. Why, he wondered for the first time: Why burn the only proof that even in these infamous walls they had proceeded strictly according to regulation? Except that was the problem.
The German nation was not the only one ever to place its own interests above the legal norms of the civilized world. However, it seemed likely to be the first one condemned for applying its laws strictly and thoroughly, because ius germanicum, which allowed the death penalty for a critical word or a hook-shaped nose, had now thrown the greater part of a civilized continent back into the Dark Ages.
It had always consoled him that the paragraphs he enforced defended the time-honored values for which mankind created laws, even if they were part of that greater German legal code. He had been practically the only officer at all his previous postings who had not needed to cover his tracks. But was that enough to let him shrug off responsibility for what the burners were trying to hide?
What was his own part in his nation’s guilt? Could the two be separated? And more importantly: Could Germany’s guilt be redeemed? He kept trying to do just that, even though the Third Reich could still avoid total defeat, leaving ius germanicum the law of the victors. The newly announced German doctrine seemed to count on this possibility, at least in Kroloff s version. It took his breath away.
According to absolutely reliable sources, British prime minister Churchill and the new American president Truman were convinced that Stalin intended to establish Communist regimes in all the territories occupied by the Red Army, thus building a bridgehead that would let him quickly conquer the rest of Europe. The new German leadership planned to distance itself from the excesses of some SS units, which it would apparently disband, the skull head explained enthusiastically — as if the Gestapo would go scot-free! They would then offer the Anglo-Americans a partial capitulation and an assurance that Germany would carry on the battle against the Bolsheviks.
Field Marshall Schörner had assumed the high command over German staff, central offices, and services in the area controlled by Mitte’s armies, who would play a leading role in these plans. Certain persons had let the situation in Prague get temporarily out of hand; they would be punished and replaced. Lieutenant General Meckerle was sending his best men to provide political reinforcement in threatened areas. He, Kroloff, felt honored to be accompanying the chief inspector to Pankrác, a crucial neighborhood in the southeast of the city. There they would secure the beginning of the route that would let more than fifty thousand troops and their equipment leave Prague every day for the west.
Impossible, Buback marveled; they were sending him to Grete! Given the circumstances, he quickly reconciled himself to the change in plans. Anyway, he soon found out Meckerle was momentarily absent, and Buback could learn far more in the field than the gossip and fairy tales he’d heard here.
“How will we get there?” he probed. “As far as I can tell, we only hold the city center.”
“Armored transports will come for the authorized representatives,” Kroloff announced. “The Czechs only have light weapons.”
Among which is a Panzerfaust, Buback nearly said aloud. He would have to rely on Grete’s cross.
They waited almost three hours for the escort vehicles. The column commander seemed on the verge of shooting himself as he described how they had wandered around and around in some suburb, because the Czechs had repositioned all the road signage, even swapping the street signs around; the Nazis’ perfect maps were useless. Finally a German woman, a native of Prague, had saved them when she saw the convoy for the third time and had the courage to run out of her house, climb up to the cabin of his vehicle and guide them here.
On the way to Pankrác, Buback saw that what had been primitive barriers at noon were being continually, diligently, and painstakingly strengthened. However, the flotsam and jetsam from workshops, construction sites, and houses were no match for caterpillar vehicles. All along the route the Czechs fled into nearby buildings; the convoy met no opposition.
In crossing the deep gash called the Nusle Valley, Buback was reminded of how the city’s topography would aid in its defense. Still, he knew the force that was preparing to strike, and could imagine the desolation it would leave in its wake. As they rose toward Pankrác, a rare panorama opened for a moment before them: to the left the towers of Vy