Panzer Soldier c-4

by Barry Sadler

  "But have no fear, we will meet again. It may even be possible that I may be able to salvage something out of the defeat and take control of Germany again. I shall remain in the country to the end to see if that's possible. If it is not, then I too shall die. But the Brotherhood will not. We are in every country in the world preparing for the next round. Like you we have time on our side. What matters a few centuries so long as the desire is achieved?"

  Casca cleared his throat, face grim. "And what is that?"

  Himmler rose from behind his desk and touched one of a series of buttons on the corner. . . .

  "Why, to establish a state church of the world which we will control. That's why it is necessary to break down all existing structures. Britain is finished as a world power. Her foreign empire will not long survive the death of Germany. The Catholic Church is in a state of complete ineffectiveness and that will continue until it will be something people will pay no more than lip service to. And the Jews ..." For the first time venom accented his words. "We are not finished with them either. Anywhere you find anti-Semitism you find us close by, whether it is the Ku Klux Klan in America or the Spanish Inquisition, we will destroy them. Even now plans are being made for the use of other groups and races to aid us in the great work, and they like you will be only tools, never knowing they are merely puppets and dancing to the tugging of their strings by the Brotherhood."

  His dialogue was interrupted by a short rap on the door. Himmler gave permission to enter, and the door opened. Zeitsler stood in the entrance with two guards behind him. "It's time to go. Elder, your plane's waiting."

  Himmler sighed, and remarked, "No rest for the weary. You will remain here until I send for you. General Zeitsler, he will be your direct responsibility. Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Longinus."

  The two guards stepped forward, tough, cold-looking men. One on each side, they left the Reichführer's office. Turning he took one quick look at the man who had thrown the world into turmoil. He had returned to his desk sitting there. Mild mannered, unobtrusive, someone you would never look twice at on the street. Wiping the lenses of his glasses gently with a clean white handkerchief, murmuring softly to himself.

  The closing of the door shut him out.

  The guards escorted him back through the maze of corridors and halls downstairs, deeper into the bowels of the mountain. Guards were everywhere. There was none of the normal slack discipline that usually occurs when one has been out of action at a safe job for too long. These men were not bored, they were deadly in their intensity and devotion to duty.

  He was shown into a room without windows, large enough that he wouldn't bump into himself, but that was about all there was except for a comfortable-looking single bed, a night stand, and a small table with a marble top that he presumed was what he would eat on.

  When Langer inquired as to the length of his captivity, Zeitsler would merely say, "Patience, my dear man, what's a few weeks to you?" "I believe I know what the Elder"—he referred to Himmier in this manner when they were alone—"I believe the Elder has some definite plans for you that will require your leaving soon. Personally, I'll be glad when you do. I'm really not cut out for the role of a jailer. Once you leave I can return to my troops and at least be able to participate in the final struggle. Ah, death, where is thy sting?"

  Several times medical personnel visited him to take blood and tissue samples. What they found out, he didn't know. Perhaps they were trying to learn why he was what he was. He really didn't know or care, but Zeitsler more than once upon reading the analysis of his examinations had whistled softly between his teeth, a thing he did only when he was truly amazed or surprised. February gave way to March and the war raged on again after its brief respite. This was the final blow. Germany would be once and for all completely destroyed, to never rise from the ashes they would leave her in.

  A thousand bomber raids by the Americans followed by the huge night raids of the Royal Air Force pounded the major cities from the air while victorious armies swept in prisoners by the tens of thousands, men without weapons or fuel to resist the overwhelming logistical and material superiority that engulfed them. There were isolated victories in small actions for the Germans, but these only delayed the inevitable by minutes.

  The SS continued to fight fanatically, usually to the last man or bullet. They knew full well what awaited them if they were taken alive, especially by the Russians. When they fought the Americans or British to the last bullet they would often surrender. When they fought the Russians to the last bullet, they saved it for themselves.

  Breslau, Torun, and Poznan were surrounded and held out for a few weeks. But by the end of February, the Russians had a firm front in depth on the Oder River less than forty miles from Berlin.

  Bulgaria, Romania, Poland, and most of Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia were firmly under their control as well as part of Austria.

  In the west, the Americans of General Hodges's 1st Army crossed the Rhine after capturing the Re-magen bridge intact. The Netherlands, Belgium, France and Luxembourg were clear of German forces.

  Langer waited out the weeks impatient, yet helpless, to do anything about it. One thing, though, that he had always had on his side was time. On 18 April, Zeitsler came for him with the word that he would be leaving. A Feisler Stroch had flown in and would be taking him to the field at Templehof in Berlin. Himmler would be awaiting his arrival. There was a special event about to occur and he didn't think Herr Langer would want to miss it.

  The passenger seat in the light reconnaissance aircraft had been fitted with a special hookup to keep its passenger chained while in the aircraft. The flight was bumpy if uneventful until they neared Berlin. They had flown low, dipping in and out of the valleys until they hit the plains, and then stayed low to the ground, often flying at no more than four or five hundred feet. The pilot was good and took every measure to avoid the possibility of encountering American or Russian fighters. Night was approaching as they flew onto the field at Templehof. The smoke of the burning city could be seen for a hundred kilometers, but the full impact didn't hit until they made their approach onto the runway, passing over the gutted shell of the city that once housed millions. The Stroch touched down and quickly taxied into a protected concrete hangar.

  Four members of the A.H. Leibstandarte awaited his arrival. They hustled into a Mercedes staff car and raced through the streets. Twice, Russian fighter bombers flew overhead and halfheartedly fired off a few rounds at the car and went on to easier, less mobile targets. A hospital off Wilmersdorf received their attentions and four hundred men burned alive in their beds. It was a hospital that specialized in the treatment of para- and quadraplegics.

  The Mercedes had to make repeated changes to avoid streets that were blocked by the rubble of destroyed buildings until they could finally reach Wilhelmstrasse leading to the Reich Chancellery. From there, they parked the car in the shelter of the Reich Chancellery basement.

  What the Soviets would call the Battle of Berlin had begun officially for them two days before. Thousands of guns pounded the city endlessly, one every thirteen feet around the perimeter.

  Ivan was content for now to let the long range of his guns do the greater part of the killing. They knew that thousands of them would die in the street fighting. Let the guns do as much as they could first, they were in no hurry.

  Following a passage, his escort led him down to a lower basement where a number of facilities were established. One in particular was guarded by tough professionals from the front. Entering, he once more led into the presence of Reichführer Himmler. In full uniform he rose from behind his desk and advanced to meet his visitor. "Free him." The order surprised Langer, but naturally he made no protest. Himmler ushered him to an overstuffed chair that had once graced one of the anterooms of the chancellery. "Sit," he called and an orderly brought Langer a glass of Black Forest Kirschwasser. Silent, he waited and sipped the cherry-flavored drink.

  "It is so good to see you again, Herr Longinus. An
d now perhaps I will have time to fill you in on what is going to be happening to you while you are our guest. First, I have removed your bonds, for as the Elder Dacort knew, we know that it would not serve our purpose to have you confined or in chains. One never knows when the messiah may come again, now does one? And we have certainly done our best to create the conditions described in Revelations. But if he is going to come I fear he must hurry or it will be all over."

  This then was to be his home until the Reichführer determined to what use he could be put. The only one permitted to speak to him was Zeitsler. The general kept him posted on the progress of the war.

  Germany was almost at the end of its tether. The winter offensive against the Americans in the Ardennes had failed. The weather and stubborn resistance had slowed the German forces down until they had literally run out of fuel.

  The Russians had, by the end of January, pushed the Germans back to the west side of the Oder and stood on the doorstep of the Reich itself. The next step would be the invasion of Germany, once supply lines and logistical support had caught up with the advance. Right now there would be another pause until the Russians could resupply and prepare for the final act.

  Zeitsler was always courteous and well mannered if a little cynical Langer wondered at a man of his intelligence being part of the mad order of the Brotherhood.

  The general merely smiled and answered with a trace of humor. "Haven't you ever heard, Langer, if I may still use your German name—it's easier for me than Longinus—haven't you heard that there is no way to reason with religion or politics? It is enough that I believe in the mission of the Brotherhood as did my family for over three hundred years. Not quite as long as you have been around, to be sure, but still a long history of devotion and service that I quite agree with. A man, after all, has to live or die for something, doesn't he?"

  He caught himself and laughed again.

  He saw Himmler again the following day in the same office. The steady thumping crunch of artillery rounds landing was a constant reminder that war had come to Berlin. Dust fell from the ceilings in a steady thin mist covering everything with a powdery film. Only thirty thousand garrison troops were available for the defense of the capital, but the Russians knew the street fighting would be fierce, so they stood back and pounded.

  The city was a gutted shell of its former glory, but all this meant little to the gentle-mannered man behind the desk. He had more important things on his mind.

  Smiling, he looked up from some papers. "Well, now it's time to have a little chat. The reason I have brought you here is you are to be my birthday present to the Führer tomorrow. I know that you would not wish to miss such an important occasion, and he has requested that you be present. You understand, one man of destiny to another, that sort of thing. And it is still to my benefit to oblige him in these small matters.

  "From your files, I see that you have given the Russians almost as much trouble as you did our people. Why?"

  Langer explained his reasons the same as he had told Deborah in the hut.

  Himmler bobbed his head in agreement. "I thought it would be something like that. Your character is somewhat predictable, you know. Where in all these centuries did you develop a sense of morality?"

  Langer thought over the question for a few moments. "I don't really know. I do know that nothing I will ever do makes any real difference. But still if I must go on at least I can have the satisfaction of not degenerating into a child-killing animal like you."

  Himmler wiped his glasses. "Insults will serve no purpose, since I really have no concern about your attitudes toward us. But understanding you as I do, I have given orders that you are to be released from your house arrest and issued weapons." Langer sat stunned.

  "Why?"

  Himmler smiled a secret smirk. "It's simple. Give me your word th&t you will not use the weapons against me personally and I will set you free to do what you have always done best, fight.

  "Surely now, at this place and time the best thing you could do would be to kill Russians. Everyone you eliminate saves a helpless person some misery. There are no Jews in Berlin for you to rescue. Hitler will die by his own hand shortly, and I will be done before you're permitted to have any weapons. So it amuses me to give you your freedom. But don't worry, we will be watching and will most certainly keep track of your movements in the future. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some matters to take care of."

  The following morning, Casca was issued a new uniform, complete with his rank badges and decorations for service to the Reich. Casca attended the party in the company of SS Reichführer Himmler. The reception was being held at the Chancellery Ehrenhof, the traditional spot for the occasion. Casca thought about the word Ehrenhof, place of honor. Bullshit.

  He received a number of strange looks from the assorted guests, but Himmler made no introductions and did not allow him to converse with anyone. Inside for the first time were the orchestrators of the war and their own disaster. The ministers who gave Hitler legal authority over the fate of millions.

  Hermann Göring sailed through the guests, an overweight ship bemedaled and dressed in one of his elaborate parade uniforms, smiling and wishing everyone well on this auspicious occasion. The official affair lasted about an hour and there was no liquor served. The Führer was a teetotaler and a nonsmoker.

  Langer watched the master of Germany move around greeting first one then another of his ministers, his face, drawn and haggard, looking more like that of a tired old man who should have been in a rest home rather than the leader of the victorious German legions.

  Himmler checked his watch. "Time for me to go." Casca looked at him questioningly. "One moment, please." Himmler signaled to a Lieutenant of Führerbegleitkommando, Hitler's personal bodyguard from the SS.

  Clicking his heels, the junior officer stood at rigid attention.

  Himmler made the introductions.

  "Stabsfeldwebel Langer, may I present Obersturmführer Joachim Wolff, a member of my personal staff now assigned to the FBK during these trying times. He will a little later present you to the Führer and afterwards see to your being given weapons and whatever gear you may desire.

  "I will now go and present my felicitations to the Führer and take my leave of his happy celebration. Herr Wolff knows only that he is to do as I have said. He knows nothing of you or of your history. Please do not try to enlighten him in any way, it would do no good. After you have met the Führer you may be off and about your business as I will mine." Himmler gave a short smile, clicked his heels in a half bow and left to join Hitler.

  The SS lieutenant addressed himself to the sergeant. "You will please stay close to me until after the presentation." Langer grunted his assent. The whole feeling of this was weird, the atmosphere of forced cheer. Most of the ministers had already packed and would be on their way out of Berlin before nightfall. Politicians always covered themselves, and transport was standing in wait for them.

  Their loyalty as such to their leader was that they would leave him to face the future alone. Several already had their escape routes out of Germany prepared along with documents giving them citizenship in different countries, though neutral Switzerland was the favorite.

  Langer and his escort followed the Führer outside. There Adolf Hitler disappeared for a while inside the entrance to his bunker. Langer and the officer smoked a cigaret during his absence.

  There was no conversation. The officer had evidently been ordered to refrain from any familiarity, though he did give his companion a number of questioning looks. Why would the Führer wish to see a common enlisted man from the army at this time? Steeling his mind he mentally disciplined himself for the unspoken infraction of his orders.

  An hour passed and Wolff led Langer to the barren garden just outside the bunker, checked his watch, straightened his tunic and stood ready. He butted out his smoke and adjusted the visored cap with the Deathshead and Reich adler insignia.

  Hitler made his appearance just as twenty m
embers of the Hitler youth were led into the garden and placed into a single rank. They had come from the fighting in Berlin. The oldest was sixteen, the youngest was thirteen. All of them were children that the state had taken control of when their parents had died or been killed from either the bombings or the Russians. They were from Dresden and Breslau. Hitler wore an ordinary gray coat which looked too large for his stoop-shouldered frame. He moved from one to the other passing out the Order of the Iron Cross. He stopped at one youth and patted the child's cheek with a grandfatherly gesture, sighed deeply and moved on to the next. These were the last of his Thousand-Year Reich. Children called in to fight in the great battle, children who still believed the myth of their leader.

  Two of the boys had knocked out Russian tanks with bazookas the day before in the street fighting. Others had manned the barricades and fought the Asiatics of Russia with the ferocity that only those who believe in fairy tales could muster. Killer children died on the streets of Berlin. If they died fast, they did so with the thought that they had served their leader well and died as did the heroes of the Nordic myth. If it took a little longer for them to expire, and the pain was great, they called for their mothers.