“What an insulting thing to say to a comrade,” Werner shot back, standing up and making ready to leave.
“Come on, men, take it easy,” Orlovski said. “We have enough enemies without turning on our own.”
Bagrov growled, “Easy for you to say, for the shot comrade wasn’t your brother.” A shocked silence ensued and Werner feared the man could look right through him and find out that he’d been there. He hadn’t personally told on the now-dead soldiers, but he hadn’t prevented Georg from doing so. Either way he was as good as dead should Bagrov ever find out.
“I swear I’ll tear the informer apart with my bare hands. Collaborating with the Americans to shoot our war heroes.”
“To move forward, we might find something to learn from this incident,” Werner said, though he knew he should probably retire for the night on the excuse that he was exhausted, which he was. Physically and mentally.
“Learning from a cold-blooded murder?” Bagrov was getting heated again.
“The Americans have found a way to endear themselves to the German population by stopping the crimes and taking the local side,” Werner said, keeping his cool and trying to explain his point of view to the drunken men. “This strategy works for them nicely, while we are hated more every day. Can’t you see there is a lesson to be learned in this?”
“We must have no witnesses?” said Petrov, further dumbed down by the amount of alcohol he had consumed.
“This is the problem with intellectuals, they think too much,” Bagrov said and the army officers burst out laughing. “Böhm, you should leave the problem to the army and stick to what you are assigned to do. Let’s hope you can manage that well enough.”
Werner was relieved from giving an answer by the appearance of the beautiful Fräulein von Sinnen. She nodded in Orlovski’s direction and the captain made his excuses to leave with his lady-love in tow. Werner got up as well, figuring he had spent enough time with these witnesses to ensure his defense.
Chapter 13
Dean was on his way to the Kommandatura, hoping General Sokolov was in an agreeable mood. The general suffered from peptic ulcers and on the days they were tormenting him, he returned the favor by abusing the other attendants at the Kommandatura meetings even more than usual.
Sometimes Dean wished he could solve the issue in the good old-fashioned manner with a blow to Sokolov’s chin. But alas, the war was over and physical violence was frowned upon, at least in the US Army.
The first point on the agenda was the refugee problem. Berlin was in a shambles as it was, food scarce and housing hopeless. The influx of hundreds of thousands of German refugees expelled from Russia, Poland, and Czechoslovakia, along with returning Wehrmacht soldiers further aggravated the food situation, and also the public-health problem. Many of the people arrived full of lice, sick of typhus, typhoid fever, tuberculosis and other contagious diseases.
Especially the soldiers were a pathetic sight, and Dean’s heart constricted every time he saw one of them. He’d been enraged at the despicable treatment of his compatriot prisoners of war by the Nazis, but what the Russians had done to the German prisoners of war was on par with the Nazi treatment.
Wretched, dirty, hollow-eyed, and scraggy men trudged into the capital wearing filthy, tattered uniforms, their only belonging – a tin cup – wrapped around their necks. And those were the healthy ones. The wounded, sick and injured hobbled on wooden splints and had grimy bandages wrapped around their heads, arms, or legs. Shoes were a rare sight and many of the soldiers tied old newspapers, rags and wooden planks around their feet. Never in his life had Dean seen more dejected, defeated and desolate soldiers. Abysmal despair.
Dean had a few ideas what could be done to discourage people from coming to Berlin and trying their luck in the less crowded smaller towns and villages instead.
The first measure of not issuing staying permits had not been very successful. He’d already talked to his French and British colleagues that they needed to do something drastic. And now he hoped to convince General Sokolov to agree on a joint effort using a press and radio campaign throughout the Soviet zone, urging the refuges to stay away from Berlin and warning them that disease and hunger would be their only welcome.
But as he arrived at the Kommandatura, the refugee problem was brushed aside by a livid Sokolov insisting to address a more pressing immediate emergency. The cold-blooded murder of two of his men in the American sector the afternoon before.
Dean inwardly groaned. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last if those bloody Russians didn’t start to discipline and control their troops. He glanced at his deputy Major Gardner, who’d already requested the police report and caught Dean up on the topic. An attempted rape, a German informer, two American military police coming to aid the girl, and two insolent Russians who’d threatened them with a gun.
It would be long day.
Sokolov began with his usual hateful tirade against the Western imperialists and then demanded satisfaction by handing over the murderer to Soviet jurisdiction. Obviously, everyone in the room knew this was an absolute no-go, but Sokolov probably used it to make his point: the lack of cooperation from the Americans to dispense justice.
“General Sokolov, I’m afraid your facts are entirely wrong,” Gardner said and began reading the details of the incident from the police report. Sokolov’s face became increasingly convulsed with anger and Dean secretly hoped he’d burst asunder in the midst, gushing out his bowels.
“So maybe they had a few drinks and stepped over the line. That’s no reason to shoot our men,” Sokolov conceded.
“We usually don’t shoot your men either, but in this case the Russians drew their weapons first and threatened our people,” Gardner said.
Sokolov looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “Well, you should know that this was only symbolic, they never intended to actually kill your men.”
Dean had difficulties to suppress a laugh. He’d recently come to the conclusion that this was the fundamental difference between the two armies. In an altercation with the Western Allies, the Russians usually drew their weapons to threaten or impress, and often fired warning shots, if they fired at all. An American soldier, though, only drew his weapon to shoot, and if he fired, he did it to kill.
“General, you must agree that our men couldn’t know this and fired in self-defense,” Gardner replied.
“Your people shouldn’t have interfered with our business in the first place,” Sokolov raged.
Dean had heard enough. He stood and said, “With all due respect, General, but what happens in our sector is our business. You can’t expect us to allow your people to rape, loot and shoot without wanting to stop them.”
There wasn’t much that Sokolov could bring up against Dean’s argument. Despite the quadripartite ruling of Berlin, each power had full control over her respective sector. And the Russians were the first ones to tell the others to keep their noses out of the Soviet sector.
“The British have never shot one of our soldiers,” Sokolov accused.
The French commandant entered the discussion, “That’s because the British much prefer to beat your people to a pulp.”
“See, the British know how to deal with insolent soldiers, while you Americans always have to use excessive violence.” As always, Sokolov must have the last word. At least he dropped the issue and agreed to work on the meeting agenda.
Dean just hoped that the Russians would understand that anyone caught murdering, looting or raping in the American sector might end up in a coffin and thus preferred to do their ugly deeds in their own sector from now on.
Chapter 14
January 1946
Georg was delighted at the opportunity to continue his studies at the recently opened Berlin University. He still worked at Dr. Ebert’s hospital during his free hours and never missed a chance to tell Marlene about the joys of being a student again even though he had to burn the midnight oil to keep up wi
th his busy schedule.
“Why don’t you enroll in classes, too, Marlene,” said Georg often enough to make the young woman sigh deeply.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “The last time I hit the books was before...well, it was quite some time ago. I’m quite happy at what I do.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Georg protested. “Don’t you have ambitions? You told me yourself that you’d love to become a lawyer instead of carrying law cases from one room to the next.”
That much was true. Marlene had worked as a legal secretary for a family lawyer throughout the war and once upon a time it had been her wish to study as well. “I would love to, but where’s the time, Georg?” she moaned. “I’m exhausted as it is. And how will I earn money when I’m studying all day? No, that ship has sailed.”
“Believe me, it was difficult for me in the beginning too, but now that I’ve organized my time, everything has fallen into place. I’m not saying it’s easy, but the thought of getting my degree means the world to me. There’s going to be a huge demand for skilled people and I want to be there to take my pick of opportunities.”
“I’ll think about it,” she promised just to stop Georg badgering her. She well remembered a time when she once had dreams too, before the chaos of war had altered her life and shattered her hopes.
“The opening ceremony is held a week from now,” Georg said excitedly. “As chairman of the newly formed student board, I am allowed to give a speech. Please will you be my guest?”
“Of course, I’ll be there. I’m so proud of you.” She gave him a sisterly hug, looking forward to a festivity that would interrupt the dullness of her life. The winter so far had been surprisingly mild, compared to the years before, but that only alleviated the worst of the problems. People were still hungry, cold, dull and desperate.
The inauguration of the Berlin University a week later was just as impressive as the Russians had planned. Marlene almost got the impression there was no shortage of food or other goods in her city. The first speech was held by Lord Mayor Arthur Werner, a respectable man with white hair and the most impeccable appearance. He’d run a private technical college until the Nazis forced him to retire in 1942. Every Berliner liked him and valued his genuine interest in helping his fellow Berliners.
Marlene listened to Lord Mayor Werner’s speech only with half an ear. It was widely known that he wielded little power. Installed as Lord Mayor because of his conciliatory conduct, the real power in the administration belonged to his deputy Karl Maron, a German communist from the Moscow-trained Gentner group. He was an intelligent, but unscrupulous man who never thought twice to force Moscow’s views onto the Berliners.
The next speaker was Werner Böhm, the rising star in the Berlin administration, newly appointed head of the Agitation and Propaganda department that not only controlled the press, but also the education system. He’d been the driving force behind the reopening of the university.
His pale face with the short blond hair constantly appeared in the newspapers and he always had an austere, even cantankerous air about him. She scrunched up her nose, because she still hadn’t forgiven him for shutting down Dr. Ebert’s hospital last summer to make room – as she later found out -- for a radio station, even though the move had turned out to be a godsend. The new building was much larger with more amenities, and it stood under the protection of the Americans, who actually cared for the well-being of the Berliners.
Böhm’s sonorous voice completely enthralled her and she found herself glued to his voice listening to every one of his words. Much to her surprise, he emphasized not only the great friendship between the Soviet and German people, but also his ambition for a first-class education system that included academic freedom and prolific political discourse. That was a clear deviation from the usual Soviet directive.
She studied his face and found it looked much friendlier than she remembered it, attractive even. His piercing eyes weren’t the ones of a stone-hearted career politician, but of a staunch agent for a better future filled with health, wealth and freedom.
His speech launched a definite and contagious optimism in the air and Marlene felt a twinge of envy at not being a part of this brave new generation trying to ensure bright prospects ahead for themselves and their country.
Wasn’t it her duty to help rebuild her nation from the ashes? Shouldn’t she bury the hatchet and step up to the task? If Herr Böhm could change, so could she. Because if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that a great part of her reluctance to enroll at university had been the very existence of Werner Böhm – the man she’d called a monster.
The last speech of the day was Georg’s. A fervent plea for peace among the nations and academic freedom for students who sought to rebuild the country. When he finished, students, faculty and inescapable military personnel alike applauded frantically.
People came up to congratulate him on his words, and Marlene beamed with pride to see how far her friend had come on the road to fulfilling his dreams for the future. When the crowd around him thinned, Georg scanned the room for Marlene and as soon as his eyes met hers, he made his way across the hall to greet her. Just a few steps away from her, Werner Böhm caught up to him.
“Well done,” the tall, handsome man shook Georg’s hand. “I have high hopes for you.”
“You are too kind, Werner,” Georg said modestly. “It is your support and encouragement that got me to where I am. I thank you for your attention and remain forever in your debt.” Turning to Marlene, Georg said, “Marlene, this is my good friend Werner Böhm. Werner, this is Marlene Kupfer.”
Marlene’s mouth gaped open and she couldn’t believe her own ears. The two men called each other by their first names? Did Georg expect her to call the Soviet puppet by his first name, too? Thankfully, Böhm took the decision out of her hands.
He greeted her with a perfect kiss on the hand and his deep voice attracted her more than it should, “Fräulein Kupfer. It’s my pleasure to meet such an attractive woman.”
It wasn’t her pleasure, though. “Herr Böhm, I was impressed by your speech today. Say, have the Soviets changed their official directives and suddenly support academic freedom?”
Georg gasped at the affront, but Böhm broke out in a chuckle. “I see you haven’t forgiven me for my unfortunate role during our last encounter. I was only the messenger and I’m still heartbroken,” he put a hand across his chest and looked at her with the most intense eyes, “at your calling me a vicious monster.”
Now she felt like the worst person in the room. How did he do that?
But his ensuing smile betrayed his true feelings and despite herself, her heart warmed when he asked, “Please, how can I prove to you that I’m not the vicious monster you think I am?”
Marlene swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed her inner turmoil, when Georg raised his voice. “Actually, I have tried to persuade Marlene to enroll for a degree, maybe you could convince her to do so, Werner?”
“I would gladly do so, the university lacks severely in intelligent and quick-witted young women, such as you. As you know, the Soviets foster the equality of all people, and strive for giving women the same rights as men.” Werner cast her the most charming smile and for a moment she swayed in her opinion. The handsome Herr Böhm behaved in such a considerate, charming and authentic way, could she have misjudged his character that badly? “Please, will you put in an application, and I promise I’ll examine it myself.”
“I…I’m really not sure…” she stammered, shrinking under his intense gaze. Considered attractive with her long brown hair and vivid blue eyes, men had always looked at her with leering eyes, but Herr Böhm’s gaze was different. He seemed to actually be interested in her, and not only in her appearance. Nonsense , she scolded herself. He simply wants you to enroll to reach his women’s quote .
“What subjects are you interested in Fräulein Kupfer?” He persisted, his eyes holding her captive and reaching deep inside of her, into a
part that she’d closed off after the Russian soldiers had taken what they considered their rightful reward for the hardships of war.
“Law,” she replied, shrugging off the discomforting emotions attacking her, “I worked as a legal assistant for the past three years.”
“As it happens, we are opening four more faculties, one of them law,” Böhm smiled. “It would be a shame if you turned down such an opportunity to be on the front seat of history rebuilding your country. We need the likes of you, caring, unerring women who only answer to the law and honestly want to help their fellow compatriots. Your friend Georg and I will support you all throughout the journey. What do you say Georg?”
“Absolutely,” Georg replied, eagerly. “I’ll get the forms for you to fill out, Marlene.”
“Will I have to take a test?” Marlene asked, nervously. Herr Böhm might consider her straightforward and courageous, but in truth she was shy and had always taken a back seat to her more assertive friends or brothers. An obedient daughter, she was at her best caring for others. Being cast into the spotlight frightened her and she longed to return to the familiarity and anonymity of Dr. Ebert’s makeshift hospital.
“There is a screening process, but I’m sure any friend of Georg’s won’t have a problem,” Böhm said, encouragingly. “We look for Nazi affiliations and criminal backgrounds. We also check for political attitudes and activities. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Seeing her hesitation, he turned to Georg and said, “Help the lady out and see that she makes an appointment with my secretary for the screening as soon as possible, the classes are filling up faster than we anticipated.”
A man in a Soviet military uniform beckoned to Herr Böhm and he gave a quick nod, before taking Marlene’s hand into his to put a kiss on the back of it. “Duty calls, but I hope to see you soon, schönes Fräulein .”
Marlene reeled from the compliment. Beautiful, he’d called her. He truly was a well-educated and charming gentleman, so unlike the other Russian brutes. But then, he was a born German, although his parents had emigrated to Moscow when he was but ten years old.
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