Chapter 1
I feel pain, therefore I am. At least I don’t think I’m dead. Maybe I’m in hell, Tanner thought. If this was hell, then why the hell was hell so cold? He thought that was funny and almost giggled. He realized he was lying down, which made a kind of sense if maybe he really was dead.
“Captain Tanner, you okay?”
The voice came from his left. Tanner tried to speak but his mouth was too dry and he could only gag. He tried to generate some saliva. “Is there any water?” he finally croaked.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna have to get it yourself. Or have you forgotten what happened?”
His mind was cloudy and his head was pounding. Exactly what had happened? He began to recall German artillery shells exploding near him, his being slammed to the ground, and clumps of earth falling on him. After that, nothing. Clearly he had been stunned. But was he hurt badly? It didn’t seem like it. His arms and hands moved, which was a good sign, and he used them to check the rest of his body. All was present and apparently in good order. There was a bandage on his arm and his right knee had been wrapped.
He was on the ground and lying on his back. There was a large hole in the roof of whatever building he was in and he could see the low-hanging clouds that had hampered American air operations and protected the Germans. Someone had laid a blanket over him. He rolled his lanky six-foot frame onto his side and sat up. The world swam for a minute and then stopped. “You better hurry, Captain, or you’re gonna miss the surrender.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The regiment’s surrendering, sir. Maybe the whole division. I don’t think there’s been anything like it before in this man’s army.”
That’s ridiculous, Captain Scott Tanner thought. But was it? His mind was clearing some more and he recalled visions of German tanks and infantry coming through the snow, the mist and the rain, overrunning and overwhelming the inexperienced and thinly spread out 106th Infantry Division. Now he recalled men running in panic from the onslaught. He saw them being blown to bloody pieces by shells from German artillery and tanks. Many senior officers had been as bad as the enlisted men and the junior officers. Stunned by the ferocity of the totally unexpected German onslaught, too many had been indecisive. They had done nothing while the division was cut to pieces. Yes, some men and units had fought bravely, but so many men had frozen, unable to give orders or make decisions. Or worse, had abandoned their posts and their men to their grim fate.
Tanner dimly recalled firing his carbine at shapes in the mist and swirling snow. He thought he might have hit someone, but wasn’t certain. All had been chaos and confusion and terror. Finally, he’d run in panic with the others and the thought shook him. Army captains were supposed to lead, not run screaming for help that wasn’t there. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a combat officer, he was supposed to lead and he hadn’t. He had failed and it made him ashamed and bitter.
The 106th was a new division and had been put in the line on December 11, 1944 to gain a little experience fighting the Germans. The division had been given far too much front line area for one division to cover. Don’t worry, the division’s commanders were told. The area they’d been assigned was presumed to be calm and as safe as a combat area could be. The men could train and patrol and maybe get a little fighting experience.
Too bad nobody told the Germans. On December 16th, the Germans had attacked in overwhelming strength.
Tanner managed to stand up. He lurched over to where a canteen lay on a table. He looked around and saw that he was in some badly damaged farm house. He took a swallow and began to feel better.
“You know you could share, Captain.”
Tanner recognized the man on the floor as a private named Peters. His legs were in splints and, almost sheepishly, Tanner brought him some water. A second man lay by Peters. His name was Tucker. He too was a private. Tucker was unconscious and breathing shallowly. Tanner dribbled some water on Tucker’s lips but got no response.
“He’s been like that for a while,” said Peters. “Corpsman said he didn’t think he’d make it. I didn’t look, but the medic said there’s a big dent in his skull. If you want to roll him over you can see his brains.”
“No thank you. Tell me about the surrender?”
“Well sir, you know we got our asses kicked by the Krauts. We were surrounded and outnumbered and outgunned and outfought and, oh yeah, outsmarted.”
Tanner interrupted. “I remember that much. Who decided that anyone was going to surrender?”
“Hell, I don’t know. The medic said that two of the division’s three regiments were surrendering and that the third one had gotten away. He said our position was helpless and that he was going down the road to tell the Germans that there were wounded in this farmhouse. That was a couple of hours ago so they ought to be back here pretty soon.”
Tanner took a deep breath. Did he want to surrender, to become a prisoner of war? Hell no. But did he have any other realistic choices? The Germans were all around. Could he get through and go west to where the American lines had to be? The Germans couldn’t have pushed the Americans too far back, could they? He decided that he had to try it. The weather was cold and miserable. Snow had started falling again. A prison camp might be dry and warm, but it would still be a prison. He could be there for years, maybe decades or even the rest of his life. Everybody had said that the Nazis were on their last legs and would collapse soon. Sure. The ongoing German offensive had just shot that idea all to hell. Now it looked like the war could go on forever with him in a prison compound. No thank you. He would leave this hellhole and go west. If he didn’t make it, he could surrender all by himself.
He picked up his M1 carbine and gear. He had two clips of ammunition, but only a handful of packs of rations. Once more the world moved and stopped. Another deep breath and he was back in control.
“Peters, if anybody remembers there were three of us, tell them that I left right after the medic did. I wish I could take you with me, but you know that’s not possible.”
“Understood,” said Peters. “You can’t carry us and you sure as hell can’t drag us around by the arms. No, sir, you get the hell out of here and when you reach safety, just remember us.”
Tanner reached down and shook Peters’ hand. “I will. You won’t be forgotten.” He was surprised by the depth of emotion he felt. It was terrible to abandon the two helpless soldiers, but there was no way he could take them.
He patted Tucker on the head. No response. “Germany may be hard on Jews,” he said to Peters, “but I’ve heard they’ve been treating prisoners of war pretty decently. You’ll be okay. The war can’t last all that much longer.” Too bad he didn’t mean it. This last German offensive proved that the Krauts were a long ways from dead.
He saluted them and stepped to the doorway. I hope they’ll be okay, he thought. He looked outside and down the muddy road. A German vehicle was approaching, although very slowly. Tanner ducked out the back way and used the farmhouse to shield him from the approaching Germans. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do, he hid in some hay and threw snow over himself while he waited to see what would happen when the Germans arrived. He had an awful feeling that it would be something dreadful. He prayed that he was wrong.
The German vehicle was a Kubelwagen, the German version of a Jeep. It stopped by the house. Four men got out and Tanner saw to his dismay that they were all SS. One appeared to be a fairly senior officer. All four went into the house. Tanner pulled out his binoculars and watched and waited. After a moment, he heard harsh laughter and then screams followed by the staccato burst of a German submachine gun.
All four Nazis came outside, laughing. The senior officer’s weapon was smoking. The German took a number of steps in Tanner’s direction and he thought that the German had seen him. But his luck held. The bastard unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his penis and began to urinate into the snow. When another German joined him, the officer laughingly told him that this pissing spot was reserved for field grade officers only, which they all thought was hilarious.
Bastards, Tanner thought. How can you butcher two helpless men and then laugh? He focused the binoculars on the senior man. His SS rank was equivalent to colonel. He was stocky, in his thirties, and there was a rose-colored birthmark in the shape of a star on the Nazi’s left cheek. He would remember that. He would also remember Peters and Tucker.
* * *
The surrender of the 106th took place on December 19, 1944. Tanner would never forget that date. To him it was even more important than December 7, 1941, the date of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. He quickly found out a basic truth. An army is difficult to hide, but one man is not. He moved slowly but steadily westward. His few rations quickly ran out and he realized he was in danger of starving. He tried eating some grasses and even kept some of them down, but chewing twigs simply made him sick and gave him diarrhea. His boots were soaked and his feet had felt funny for a while, but now were paining him. He didn’t think he was frostbitten, but he wondered about trench foot. He wanted to live, but not as an amputee. He sagged to the ground. He needed rest, but allowed himself only a few minutes before pulling himself to his feet. He also needed to keep going.
Without food and with his feet hurting, he’d lost track of time. He only knew that he was a hunted animal and had to stay hidden. He had to reach safety, not just for himself, but for Tucker and Peters. He had gone into the farmhouse after the Germans had left and seen their mangled corpses. He had the horrible feeling that there was more that he could have done for them. Logic told him he was wrong, but he wasn’t being particularly logical.
He wondered just when the hell he would run into American forces. He could tell by the sun that he was heading west, but how far west had the Germans advanced? Had they gone all the way to the French border? He sucked on some snow to kill his thirst. He remembered as a kid being told never to eat yellow snow and then wondering what it meant. His stomach had been cramping up and his bowels were barely under control. If he didn’t get help soon, he would die in a Belgian forest and it would be a long, long time, if ever, before anybody found his remains. That thought almost made him cry. He was a twenty-six-year-old college graduate with a liberal arts degree. He’d majored in German history and was an associate professor of languages at Dayton University. He’d taught German, which he thought was probably why he’d been assigned to a billet as an intelligence officer in the 106th in the first place. Sometimes, the army does get things right, he’d thought.
Tanner had seen precious few civilians during his wanderings and had stayed hidden. He didn’t want them involved with him. Someone might turn him in or, worse, the Nazis would treat them like they had treated Tucker and Peters if they were found out. The SS were everywhere and they were animals. The U.S. Army had begun discovering concentration camps. They’d all been shocked to the core. Tanner wondered if he would have wound up as a skeletal wreck if he had surrendered along with the rest of his men.
He heard someone cough. He looked up and saw half a dozen men standing in front of him and with rifles leveled at his chest. He laid his carbine on the ground and stood up slowly. As soon as he was upright he held his hands up and out. The other men had wraps on their helmets and white cloths over their uniforms so he couldn’t tell whether they were German or American. It didn’t much matter. His run for freedom was over.
“Give me the password,” one of the soldiers said in English and Tanner nearly collapsed with joy.
“I don’t know the password. I’ve been running from the Germans.”
“Sure, and maybe you’re one of those shits who’ve been disguising themselves as Americans and blowing up stuff.” From the way the others deferred to him, the speaker was likely an officer.
“My name is Scott Tanner and I’m a captain in the 106th Infantry Division. Who are you?”
“Not yet. I ask the questions. Hey, if you’re telling the truth, you were one of the yellow bastards who surrendered weren’t you?”
“Not everyone surrendered,” Tanner bristled. “I sure as hell didn’t. Can I put my arms down?”
“No. Who won the American League batting title last year?”
“Lou Boudreau and he hit .327. Bobby Doerr was second.”
“Not bad. Now, who’s the coach of the Green Bay Packers?”
“I don’t fucking know and I really don’t give a shit,” Tanner snarled. “I’m cold, tired, wet, hungry, and I ache all over. I think I’ve got trench foot and I don’t want to lose my feet. Unless you plan on standing here talking all day, I’d like to see a medic and get something in my stomach.”
“Sounds fair,” the American officer said and lowered his rifle. “By the way, you’re filthy and you need a shave.”
Tanner knew he was filthy but hadn’t considered his beard. He checked his chin and realized he’d grown a fairly full head of chin hair. The officer grinned. “You look a lot like Abe Lincoln would’ve if he’d been a hobo.”
Others came forward and took Scott by the arms and gently led him back to where a couple of jeeps were parked. A soldier opened some K-rations and Scott wolfed down some biscuits.
“You know what day this is, Captain?”
Tanner laughed. He had lost track of days. “No idea.”
“It’s January first, 1945. Happy New Year. Maybe this year will be better than the last.”
Couldn’t be much worse, Tanner thought.
* * *
Life in Berlin revolved around the Allied bombers. The British bombed at night and the Americans during the day. Some days they bombed every day and night and some days they did no bombing at all. Despite the fact that it was a major target, the Chancellery, the hub of the German government, still functioned. Today there had been a pause in the bombing. Everyone understood that it wouldn’t last, but people would enjoy the respite while it lasted. It gave them a chance to shop for what limited and severely rationed food was available, and it gave them time to try to repair the damage to their homes.
Josef Goebbels, Martin Bormann, and Albert Speer had commandeered a small conference room and some privacy. They did not want aides and secretaries as possible witnesses. The three men glared at each other. Goebbels and Bormann were rivals and each despised the other, while Albert Speer was the architect of the Nazi’s war effort. The men were nervous. Bormann, age forty-five, had insinuated himself into the position of personal secretary to Hitler. It was a position of obvious influence. It also required a very annoyed Goebbels to defer to his rival, a man he thought of as a thug and a snake.
Goebbels was slightly older at forty-eight and much better educated. He had earned a PhD from Heidelberg University in 1921. He was the Gauleiter of Berlin and the Minister of Enlightenment and Propaganda. He had thrived by subordinating his personal ambitions to those of Bormann’s. He was also incredibly homely in many people’s opinion and walked with a limp because of a club foot. In all, he was an unlikely candidate to be one of the heads of the Master Race. That women found him attractive was generally attributed to the fact that he was powerful.
At forty, Albert Speer was the Minister of Armaments and War Production. An architect by profession and education he had excelled at providing the weapons the Third Reich needed to fight the long war. Despite Speer’s efforts, the war appeared to be winding down and defeat was staring at them.
Two other members of Hitler’s clique were not present. Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, was trying to lead Army Group Upper Rhine, while the Hermann Goering was in his mansion at Carinhall and doubtless trying out some new narcotic. Himmler would be kept abreast of the discussions, while Goering’s existence would be ignored.
The men were nervous and could not stop shifting in their seats. Enemy bombers were not overhead but they could be at any moment. There had been suggestions that the Party headquarters be moved to the vast underground military complex at nearby Zossen but Hitler had so far vetoed it.
Bormann tapped lightly on the table. “Let’s get on with it. Once again, the Fuhrer has changed his mind and not a moment too soon. It is becoming apparent that our offensive in the Ardennes will not be as successful as anticipated.”
Goebbels lowered his head at that comment. His analysis of the Ardennes offensive was a gross understatement. The offensive had involved much of the Reich’s military reserves and was rapidly becoming a total disaster. The defeat of the German armies west of the Rhine meant that so much less would be available to confront the Red Army as it approached from the east. It also meant that the defenses along the Rhine would be that much weaker against the resurgent Americans. It was a dismal situation.
Bormann continued. “The Fuhrer has decided that the German government must move to the National Redoubt in the Alps, and that includes everyone in this room.”
Speer looked up in disbelief. “We have no such redoubt. I was not permitted to go beyond the planning stages.”
Bormann eyed him coldly. “Knowing you, Herr Speer, you doubtless exceeded your authority and are farther along than you would like to admit at this time.”
Speer flushed. “In a manner of speaking, your words are true. What I did was prepare to move critical production facilities to new areas as we have been doing for some time and yes, that does include the Alps. We have dispersed our factories to protect them from Allied bombers. I also identified and developed storage areas to provide supplies for large numbers of refugees, and we have built living quarters for those who will work and live there.”
Bormann actually laughed. “And would the German army be defined as a large number of refugees?”
“It could,” Speer admitted, “but that’s not for me to decide.”
Goebbels was in turmoil. He and his wife had pledged to die in Berlin with his beloved Fuhrer. They had no wish to live in a world without Nazism. Now he was being given a chance to survive. No, he was being ordered to survive. “If it is the Fuhrer’s decision we will, of course, honor and obey it. Will he come with us?”
“Most emphatically no,” said Bormann. “He is determined to die in Berlin if the army is unable to hold off the Red Army’s hordes. Should that need arise, the Fuhrer feels that he should die for the cause of Nazism. He feels that today’s Germany does not deserve him or the Nazi Party and should be destroyed. However, he has decided that the seed of Nazism should endure and that it should be nurtured and grown in a national Alpine Redoubt.”
“Has he decided who should be the person in charge?” asked Goebbels hopefully. He and his wife had six small children. They had decided that they all should die and would not even think of surrendering. He already had the cyanide pills that would end their lives.
Bormann smiled knowingly. “You and I will go to the redoubt and run Germany together. You, Herr Speer, will also be there, and you will leave immediately to begin developing a new country.”
Speer shook his head. “This is a vast undertaking, or it could be. I will need to coordinate with the army.”
“Of course,” said Bormann. “Logistics and geography will rule the size of the redoubt as well as the population that can be sustained. To assist you, I have requested that General Warlimont be assigned to the group.”
Speer and Goebbels were surprised. Warlimont was considered a master at planning operations, but he was not thought to be totally trustworthy by Hitler. Even though he had been wounded in the July 20, 1944, assassination attempt, there were those who thought his support of the war had become lukewarm at best. Perhaps, Goebbels thought, this was a way of getting the general out of Berlin. He also had never served in combat. He was an archetypal staff officer. A brilliant man perhaps, but very limited in his experience.
“Then who will have overall military command of the redoubt?” asked Goebbels. He was clearly annoyed that he didn’t have this information in the first place.
“The Fuhrer will be getting recommendations from Field Marshal Keitel. It is obvious that military exigencies will pay a large part in making that decision. Generals Schoerner, von Vietinghoff, and Rendulic are strong possibilities. They too have the advantage of being in the south, which means they could be appointed safely.”
“Yes,” said Goebbels drily. “It wouldn’t do for the new leader of the Alpine Redoubt to be killed en route to his new assignment.” Quietly, he approved of Schoerner commanding the armies in the Redoubt. Schoerner was a friend and a supporter.
The irony was lost on Bormann. He didn’t change expression while Speer turned away. “Schoerner will probably be selected. Hitler likes him and Schoerner is slavishly devoted to him. I believe he will soon be promoted to field marshal. Whoever it is, Herr Speer, it will be up to you to provide for a very large army.”
“Not too large,” said Speer.
“What do you mean?” asked a surprised Bormann.
“Any army that goes to an Alpine Redoubt will have to confront various realities. That army will need food, shelter, clothing, weapons, and ammunition, and the Alps will have none of those. Right now, that area imports much of its food from Austria, which is about to be overrun by either Devers’ Sixth Army Group or the Soviets. If we send too many men to the redoubt, they might just starve to death. Similarly, I have identified a number of areas where large amounts of weapons and ammunition can be stored, but nothing that could sustain a large army in combat for more than a year or two.”
“How large an army could be sustained?” asked Goebbels.
Speer shrugged. “Perhaps a quarter of a million, and don’t forget that there will be thousands of Party elite sent to the Redoubt along with their families.”
Goebbels was shaken while Bormann paled. A quarter of a million soldiers was a drop in the bucket. The Russians and Americans, along with their French and British allies, each had more than ten times that number.
“Then we will make do with what we have,” Bormann said softly. “But it must be done and done quickly. And painful though it will be, we must limit the number of civilians and party functionaries no matter how loyal they have been. So too with very high-ranking military officers. We cannot have a rump state that is top-heavy with generals.”
Goebbels nodded. The last time he had seen his beloved Fuhrer, the great man had been pale and sickly. His arm had shaken uncontrollably and Goebbels had wondered if Hitler was dying. He was only in his mid-fifties but looked decades older. Clearly, the stress of running the nation and the war had overwhelmed him. Goebbels had urged Hitler to rest for a few days, but had been waved off. He had faith in his personal doctor, Theodor Morrell, a man whom Goebbels considered a quack. Morrell treated Hitler with concoctions containing narcotics. If Hitler died, Goebbels would try to have Morrell prosecuted for murder. Or perhaps he would just have him shot.
But that was for the future. Now he and Magda and the children would have to get out of Berlin and south to the Alpine Redoubt. There they would set up a bastion that would ensure the survival of Nazism. If they were forced out of the mountains, they would cross into neutral Switzerland and wait for the proper time to go elsewhere, probably South America.
“One last thing,” said Bormann. “The Fuhrer is adamant that at least a couple of his wonder weapons programs be shipped to the Alps. Of primary importance is the nuclear bomb being designed by Doctor Werner Heisenberg. He and a number of his fellow physicists will travel south as well, along with what equipment can be moved. He has assured me that he is on the brink of a major breakthrough.”
Of course he would say that, Goebbels thought. To tell Bormann anything else would guarantee a trip to Dachau. Well, we shall see what comes of his nuclear bomb.
* * *
When Lena Bobekova looked in a mirror in her small room in the Schneider house, she did not see the attractive and vivacious young woman who once had dreams of being a ballerina. That Lena Bobekova died several years earlier when German tanks and troops rolled through her native Czechoslovakia and ended her life. The Germans had taken her parents, her brother, her first and so far only lover, and her home.
She was a slave.
Physically there was little difference between the Lena of today and the previous young woman. She was a little thinner perhaps, but food rationing had put everyone in Germany on a diet. Even though she’d been assigned to work in the house of a Nazi functionary, there was still only so much food to go around. Gustav and Gudrun Schneider and their two children, Astrid and Anton, did not care that Lena was always hungry. Why should they? Lena was a slave because her grandmother had been a Jew. Lena’s light brown, almost blond, hair was still attractive. She washed and bathed as often as she could. Water was one thing that was not in short supply.
Lena knew she was lucky to have been assigned to the Schneiders. She could be in a factory in the process of being worked to death, or, worse, shipped off to Poland to those places of death that not even the Schneiders were certain existed. They talked of them in hushed voices, forgetting that even slaves have ears. Instead of dying in Poland, she was in a large house in a small village about fifty miles north of Innsbruck in what once had been Austria.
Nor was there any serious sexual burden imposed on her. Herr Schneider had entered her room on the first night at their house. He’d ordered her to strip and lie down on her bed. She’d complied without hesitation. He had fondled her in a perfunctory manner to arouse himself, placed her on her hands and knees and then mounted her. He muttered that he did it that way so he didn’t have to look in the face of a Jewess while he was fucking her. He’d hurt her and she’d whimpered. Schroeder had misunderstood and thought that her moans meant she was being pleasured.
After finishing, he’d been emphatic that a good Nazi would never lower himself to fuck a Jew, even one who was only fractionally Jewish and who had never practiced her religion. Before the Nazis arrived, Lena had never even known that her grandmother was Jewish. Herr Schneider said that he’d forced her to have sex with him to prove to her that her life was entirely in his hands. He’d even worn a condom. He said that he didn’t want to take the chance of her getting pregnant and bringing another Jew, if only a fractional one, into the world.
Herr Schneider coldly assured her that he had no intentions of requiring her to take him in her mouth.
When he left, the Schneider’s housekeeper, a nearly toothless old Pole named Olga came and helped her. “They are pigs,” she said. “But you will survive. You don’t have a choice.”
For several nights after that she’d slept on the floor, unable to sleep in the bed where she’d been humiliated and violated. After those few days, common sense returned and she realized that the only person she was hurting was herself. The senior Schneiders simply didn’t give a damn about her or where she slept. She returned to the bed.
This was not the case with the Schneider’s two children.
Astrid Schneider was a chubby and unlovely sixteen years old and wondering whether she liked boys or girls. On a couple of occasions, she had climbed into Lena’s bed and insisted that they play what Astrid called “games.” Lena went along. A bad word from Astrid might send her to a long slow death in a factory. And besides, it wasn’t all that much different than the games she and one of her girlfriends had played during sleepovers during happier times. It was endurable. And it made Astrid happy.
The problem was going to be Anton. He was fourteen and getting bigger and stronger. He was also getting very curious. She’d caught him looking at her smallish breasts and watching how she moved her body. On occasions, he’d contrived to pass her closely in a hallway and brushed up against her. Once, his hand had strayed across her bottom. She’d stopped him with a glare, but she was certain he would try something again. She was reasonably certain that his father had told him that he could not profane his pure Aryan Nazi body by copulating with a Jew, but what else might his father permit? And would an oversexed Anton pay any attention to his father’s rules? She tried to dress and behave in a manner that was sexless, but that was not practical. Anton was at the age where everything was sexual.
Lena did not cook for the Schneiders. Perhaps they didn’t want to accidentally eat something kosher, she’d thought with amusement. Olga prepared the food. That woman was a servant, not a slave, although she complained that she rarely got paid. Instead, Lena did all the cleaning and any chores assigned to her.
The house in which they lived had belonged to a Jewish merchant who had fled to England before the war. It was very large, opulent, and even had a wing for the servants. Thus, Lena had her own room. Her bondage might have been light, but it was still slavery.
Thanks to her father’s insistence on her getting an education, she was fluent in English as well as Czech and German. She recalled someone, possibly Abraham Lincoln, saying that to the extent a man is not free, he is a slave. Well, she was not free and she was always terrified. Not only were the Schneiders capable of turning on her like animals, but the Allied victories in the war represented a threat as well. What would happen to her as the Americans drew closer? Would the Schneiders take her south to the mountains like they were talking about or would they turn her loose to fend for herself? She didn’t think the Americans raped and murdered like the Russians did, but she wasn’t certain. And the French were known to take vengeance on German women for what the Nazis had done during their occupation. That she was Czech and not German would have no meaning to them.
And if the Schneiders took her with them, then she was condemned to that much more slavery along with the ever-present threat of death.
No, what she wanted to do was run and hide until the tide of war passed over. Then she would emerge and try to begin a new life.