Black Cross wwi-1

by Greg Iles

  After what seemed an age to Schörner, Brandt said, “You heard Reichsführer Himmler say that he intends to give the Führer a demonstration of Soman Four?”

  Schörner nodded. “In three days’ time, yes?”

  “Correct. I have just learned that Erwin Rommel will be there as well.”

  Schörner felt a thrill of surprise. Of course it made perfect sense: Hitler had just put Rommel in charge of his Atlantic Wall. It would be the Desert Fox’s responsibility to destroy the Allies on the beaches of France.

  “Is the demonstration still to take place at Raubhammer Proving Ground, Herr Doktor?”

  Brandt sniffed peevishly. “Yes. The test will take place in three days. The Raubhammer engineers claim they’ve finally perfected a lightweight suit that can insulate a man from both Sarin and Soman.”

  Schörner raised his eyebrows. “I would like to see that suit, Herr Doktor.”

  “So would I, Schörner. And we will. They’re sending over three for our inspection.” Brandt took a very thin cigarette from a gold case on his desk and lit it with almost feminine delicacy. “This demonstration will be quite a show, it seems,” he said, leaning back and blowing smoke to the side. “Concentration camp prisoners from Sachsenhausen will be dressed in captured British uniforms and made to charge across a mock beach where Soman has been deployed. SS volunteers defending the ‘beach’ will be wearing the new protective suits. It should really be something to see. A fitting reward after all our hard work.”

  “And well-deserved, Herr Doktor.”

  “Quite so, Sturmbannführer. The Reichsführer believes this demonstration will at last overcome the Führer’s irrational — but quite understandable — aversion to chemical weapons.”

  Brandt held the cigarette between his lips while he examined the manicured fingernails of his left hand. “This will be quite a feather in Himmler’s cap, Schörner. And he knows how to reward loyalty.”

  “I know it well, Herr Doktor.” Schörner waited for further information, but Brandt had lapsed into silence.

  “Will that be all, Herr Doktor?”

  “Not quite, Schörner. This matter of the British parachutes. You have the situation under control? I would hate to think anything might interrupt our production schedule, with the test so near.”

  “Herr Doktor, Standartenführer Beck and myself believe the parachutists had their sights set on the Peenemünde complex. Most of the sensitive rocketry equipment has been moved into Poland or the Harz Mountains to keep it out of reach of the Allied bombers, but the Allies may not know this. Beck has deployed a great deal of his strength between here and Peenemünde. If by some remote chance these commandos are attempting to penetrate our facility, my patrols will catch them long before they get close.”

  “See that they do, Sturmbannführer.”

  Schörner clicked his boot heels again.

  Setting the cigarette aside, Brandt adjusted his reading glasses and looked down at the paper he had been studying when Schörner entered. “One more thing, Sturmbannführer. I understand that you have placed Hauptscharführer Sturm under house arrest?”

  Schörner stiffened. “That is correct, Herr Doktor.”

  “Why?”

  “The Hauptscharführer instigated the incident that resulted in the death of Corporal Grot, as well as that of the kapo of the Jewish Women’s Block, Hagan.”

  “And his motive?”

  “I believe his motive involved some diamonds, Herr Doktor. Sturm has a habit of trying to loot prisoners as they are brought in from the Occupied Territories. I warned him once, but he apparently did not take the warning to heart.”

  “Looting is a serious charge, Sturmbannführer.” Brandt looked up over his glasses. “The Reichsführer himself has mandated the death penalty for profiteers.”

  “The basis of my action, Herr Doktor.”

  “However,” said Brandt, tapping his fingers on the desk, “when I returned from Berlin, I found a note on my desk giving a somewhat different version of events.”

  Schörner felt blood rising into his cheeks. “Was this note signed, Herr Doktor?”

  Brandt smiled, but the effect was more like a grimace. “Yes, it was. By four noncommissioned officers. This note contained some serious charges of its own. Charges leveled at you, Sturmbannführer. Charges relating to infractions of the Nuremberg racial laws.”

  Schörner did not flinch. He knew Brandt was on thin ice himself here. “I am prepared to stand in an SS court on any charges you see fit to authorize, Herr Doktor.”

  Klaus Brandt instantly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “At ease, Sturmbannführer. I don’t think it will come to that. Still, it might be better if you released Sturm under his own recognizance. For the good of the corps. You understand. The last thing any of us want is a pack of SD officers down here turning over every stone and bed.”

  A hot wave of revulsion washed over Schörner. He wouldn’t be surprised if Sturm’s comrades had made some oblique reference to Brandt’s perversions in their letter. He pressed down his disgust. “As you say, Herr Doktor.”

  “I’m sure Hauptscharführer Sturm has seen the error of his ways.” Brandt patted the desk with both hands. “Let us concentrate our energies upon the upcoming test, Sturmbannführer. Destiny is at hand.”

  Schörner fired his boot heels together and marched out.

  Jonas Stern moved swiftly through the trees, his steps almost soundless in the newly fallen snow. He’d moved uphill after leaving the cottage, away from the village of Dornow, toward the power station. Toward the cylinders. Twice he had heard patrols pass within thirty meters of him, but he found it easy to avoid them. Usually the orange light or smell of cigarettes betrayed the SS men. Thirty minutes after leaving Anna Kaas’s cottage, he was standing beneath the tall wooden pylon where the gas cylinders hung.

  He stood in the darkness beside the two great support poles and stared up through the foliage. It took some time for his eyes to adjust, but eventually he made out the silhouettes of the steel cylinders hanging in a neat row from one of the outermost electrical wires. He felt a sudden dizziness when he realized that the heavy tanks were swaying in the treetops. Even without the portable anemometer, he was certain that wind sufficient to move those cylinders was moving faster than the ideal speed for the attack.

  He stomped on the snow around the base of the support leg nearest him. Buried beneath his feet, in a box with the anemometer and the emergency radio and the submarine signal lamp, were the climbing spikes and harness that would carry him to the top of the pylon. Within five minutes he could initiate the nerve gas attack on Totenhausen. The brisk wind might dilute the gas’s effects, but if the British nerve agent worked at all, it should certainly kill some SS men. On the other hand, if he waited for a while, the wind might drop off to nothing.

  As he stood there in the snow, the hum of the nearby transformer station buzzing in his ears, he felt something even stronger than his hatred for the Nazis turning inside him. Something he would never admit to McConnell or the nurse or anyone else. Something he could hardly admit to himself. The visit to Rostock had dredged it up, and the longer he stood there, the more powerful it became until, to his surprise, he found himself moving again. Down the hill, away from the power station. Away from the cylinders.

  He was moving toward Totenhausen Camp.

  31

  “Do you think he will do it this time?” Anna asked. McConnell sat opposite her at the kitchen table, two mugs of ersatz coffee made from barley between them. The brew tasted terrible, but it was hot.

  “If he makes it up the hill alive, he probably will. Do you think he should do it?”

  “Someone must do something,” Anna said. “I don’t know if it’s right to kill the prisoners. But he is right about one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Everybody in that camp is doomed no matter what we do. They’ll never survive the war.”

  “Do you think what he said is true? Do you think I’
m a coward for not helping him?”

  Anna looked into her coffee. “People are different. What he calls courage you call stupidity. What you call courage he calls weakness. Some men are not made for war, I think. And that must be a good thing.” She looked up at him. “Why did they select you for this mission? It doesn’t seem to make sense.”

  “They said they picked me because I’m not British and because I’m an expert on poison gases. I guess the idea was that together Stern and I would make one perfect soldier. A killer with the brain of a scientist. What about you? You’re a civilian nurse?”

  “Yes. They said there was a shortage in the medical corps, but I think Brandt just prefers civilians.”

  “I’m a civilian myself.”

  She nodded. “A chemist, yes?”

  He laughed. “By avocation only. I’m actually a medical doctor.”

  Anna’s face underwent a subtle yet profound change. She seemed to be looking at McConnell through different eyes. “You are a physician?”

  “Yes. Before the war, anyway.”

  “You had a practice?”

  “Briefly.”

  She sat in silence, reflecting on this new information. Finally she said, “Is that the reason you are so hesitant to kill?”

  McConnell hedged. “Part of it, I suppose.”

  “It’s part of the reason I do what I do, too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Anna glanced at the kitchen window. “It’s dangerous for you to be up here. Schörner might order a house-to-house search.”

  “You want me to go down to the basement?”

  She stood up and refilled their mugs, then took the half-empty vodka bottle from a sideboard. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I guess we’re both waiting for the same thing.”

  “What is that, exactly?”

  “The alarms at Totenhausen. If Stern carries out the attack, we will hear sirens, even in the basement.”

  McConnell went down the steps first and lit the gas lamp. They sat on the sofa he’d slept on the night before, half-hidden behind the boxes and old farm-machinery parts.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But I’m curious.”

  She looked at the floor and smiled sadly. “Why do I work against the Nazis? Yes?”

  “Yes. You have to admit, not many Germans have.”

  “Oh, I’ll admit that. The few who had the courage to fight were hunted down early on. The rest fall into two categories: those who love the new order, and those who simply take the path of least resistance. The latter is a highly developed feature of the German political character.”

  “But not of yours.”

  Anna poured a stiff shot of the vodka into her coffee. “It could have been.” She drank. “But it didn’t turn out that way. The funny thing is what changed me. I thought about it a moment ago, when you talked about yourself and Stern. About the two of you making one complete soldier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What made me different than other Germans. It was a man, of course.”

  “A man like myself and Stern? I can hardly imagine a man like that.”

  She laughed. “This man was more like you than Stern. He was a doctor, in fact.”

  “A physician?”

  “Yes. But he was also a Jew.”

  Anna said this with a certain defiance, and it was the last thing he expected. He didn’t know what to say. But he did want to hear the story. “This was in Dornow?”

  “No, Berlin. I was raised in Bad Sülze, not far from here. My parents were rural people. Well-enough off, but very provincial. My sister and I had grander ideas. At seventeen I went off to Berlin to become a sophisticated city girl. When I completed my nurses’ training, I went to work for a general practitioner in Charlottenburg. Franz Perlman. That was 1936. The Nuremberg Laws had been passed by then, but I was a foolish girl. I had no idea how ominous it all was. The restrictions on Jews were being enforced in different fields at different speeds, and many doctors were still practicing. Franz really seemed too busy to notice. He worked from morning till night, and on everyone — Jews, Christians, whomever.”

  Anna sipped from her coffee and stared into the soft light of the gas lamp. “There were three of us: Franz, the receptionist, and me. You can imagine how it happened. It’s not so uncommon a situation, is it? A doctor and a nurse? I was twenty at the time. I’d fallen in love with him by the third week. It wasn’t so hard to do. He was a kind and dedicated man. He tried to discourage me at first. He was a widower, and older. Forty-four. I didn’t care how old he was. I never thought about him being a Jew, either. After about a year he stopped discouraging me. Poor man. I was shameless. I wanted to marry him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wouldn’t even let us be seen together outside the office. Only twice in all that time did he sneak into my flat, and he never allowed me in his.

  “I grew angry at him after a while. About his refusal to marry me, even secretly. I was a fool. One day he pulled the scales from my eyes. He told me about all his friends who had been forced out of business, or who had simply disappeared. I didn’t believe him at first. I lived in . . . in einem Traum. In a dream. Jewish professors had already been badgered out of the medical schools. Franz had received threatening letters. He showed me some. Only then did I understand. It was for my physical safety that he’d kept up the illusion that we had no relationship. He wanted to marry me more than anything.”

  McConnell detected a hitch in Anna’s voice, but she got control of it again.

  “The practice was almost as busy as ever. A few patients stopped coming, but not many. A caring doctor is not so easy to find. Too many worship the scalpel, yes? Or themselves.”

  McConnell smiled. “I’ve known a few of those.”

  “Franz was different. He felt a deep obligation to his patients. That’s why he wouldn’t stop. Finally the Nazis left him no room to squirm. They forbade Jewish doctors practicing at all. The line was drawn. Our receptionist refused to come to work. But not me. Every day for five weeks I did the work of two. And Franz was doing the work of ten. Visiting the old, delivering babies — he was one of the last. The funny thing is, many Aryans continued to see him. And he continued to treat them!” She drew a deep breath. “I apologize for dragging this out. It’s just . . . I haven’t told anyone about this since it happened. I couldn’t, you understand? Not my parents. Not even my sister. Especially not my sister.”

  “I understand, Fräulein Kaas.”

  “Do you? Do you know what finally happened?”

  “They dragged him off to a concentration camp.”

  “No. One fine morning a well-scrubbed SS boy — I mean it, he was younger than I — he walked into the waiting room and demanded to see the doctor. He had four friends with him, all dressed in black with their Death’s Head badges. Franz came into the waiting room wearing his white coat and stethoscope. The SS man informed him that the clinic was closed. Franz said no one had the right to stop him from treating the sick, no matter what uniform they wore. Franz told the boy to go home, then turned around to go back to work.”

  A chill ran along McConnell’s neck and arms. “They didn’t kill him—”

  “The boy pulled out a Walther and shot Franz in the back. The bullet shattered his spine.” Anna wiped tears from her cheeks. “He died within a minute on his own waiting-room floor.”

  McConnell found nothing to say.

  She raised her eyes. “You know what the worst of it was? There were German Christians in that waiting room when it happened. People Franz had treated for fifteen years. And not one of them — not one — uttered a sound of protest. Not even to the boy who had murdered their doctor before their very eyes!”

  “Anna—”

  “And Stern wonders why I hate the Nazis?” She balled her fists. “I tell you, if I weren’t such a coward I would kill Brandt myself!”

  An odd thought struck McConnell then. “How in God’s
name did you end up working in a concentration camp after that?”

  She drank another slug of the vodka-laced coffee. “This really takes the prize. After I came back from the city, depressed and nearly destitute, my older sister took pity on me. And of course, she was in an excellent position to ‘help’ me. Her way of escaping the boredom of country life had been to marry the Gauleiter of Mecklenburg. Can you believe it? My sister Sabine is a rabid Nazi! She got me the job at Totenhausen, and I was in no position to turn it down. Honestly, the first time I toured Brandt’s hospital, it seemed almost like a civilian institution. What a fool I was!”

  It was insane, thought McConnell, but typical of what the war had done to people around the world. “You mentioned courage before,” he said. “Your Franz Perlman had the kind of courage I admire. He had principles. Character. Conviction.”

  “Yes,” Anna said to her coffee. “And now he is dead. In this world we have made, that’s where principles get you.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll take that over capitulation anytime.”

  “What about you, Doctor?” she said. “I gave you my confession. Give me yours. What keeps you from going up that hill and helping Stern?”

  McConnell slid off the sofa and sat on the floor with his back against the leg rest. “It’s simple, really. It was my father. He was a doctor too. He’s dead now. He fought in World War One. Against the Germans, of course.”

  “My uncle, too. He died at the Marne.”

  “My father was gassed at St. Mihiel. Badly burned by mustard. He never really recovered.”

  Anna touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”