White Rose Black Forest

by Dempsey, Eoin

  “You deserve to know,” he said, and put the napkin down. “I was never meant to be here. My drop zone was a few miles outside of Stuttgart. We mapped out the safest route to get us there, avoiding the major cities where we knew the ground-to-air fire was concentrated. I don’t suppose they anticipated the installations around Freiburg. They must be new.”

  “They were installed after the bombing raid that killed my father. The city hadn’t suffered too much before then. It was only a matter of time before Freiburg joined the other German cities the Allies have flattened.”

  “I’m sorry about your father. War has a habit of victimizing innocents.”

  “He was in bed when the bombers came. I don’t suppose he ever knew what hit him. He never knew who murdered him.”

  “Your father’s death was unfortunate,” John said, immediately regretting his choice of words.

  “Unfortunate? He was the last person I had in this world, and you took him from me. And now you’re asking for my help?”

  “The Nazis are your enemy, not the Allies. The bombers who came to Freiburg that night had no idea—”

  “Are you going to tell me that they had no idea they were bombing civilians? What about the raids on Hamburg, Cologne, or Mainz? Thousands of innocents have died in firebombing raids.”

  “As thousands have died in London, and Birmingham, and throughout the occupied territories.”

  “But you imply that the Allies are the just cause? How can you justify the murder of hundreds of thousands of German civilians?”

  “War is a foul beast. To tell the truth, I don’t think the lives of German civilians matter to the generals who send those bombers, just as the lives of British or Soviet citizens don’t matter to the Germans.”

  “What about to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do they matter to you, John? You lived here once.”

  “Franka, I see the newsreels of German citizens yelling allegiance to Hitler. Everyone back home did. The Allied bombing campaign is designed to break the will of the German people to fight.”

  “Don’t you realize that the will of the German people doesn’t matter? The Nazis subjugated the will of the German people years ago. The phrase doesn’t hold any meaning anymore.”

  “That may be the case, but the Nazis started this. They started the indiscriminate bombing of Warsaw and London before the US even entered the war. If the Nazis are using the German people as a shield, then that’s a pity, but that won’t hinder the Allied efforts to win.”

  “Would you help me if German bombers had killed your father?”

  “I don’t see how that could be possible.”

  “But what if it did happen? What if your loyalties were torn between government and people? Would you go against the will of your government for the good of the people they’re meant to serve?”

  “That could never happen.”

  “No one thought it could happen in Germany—a modern industrial nation. A bastion of science and the arts.”

  “If you’re asking me if I’d maneuver against my own government like you did, under pain of death, then the answer is that I don’t know.”

  “Would you help a foreign agent against the apparent will of your own people?”

  “If everyone I loved was dead because of them, and if they had warped the things that made America great, and noble, and just—yes, yes I would.”

  “Robespierre said, ‘No one loves armed missionaries.’”

  “I am not your enemy, Franka. You wouldn’t have saved my life and kept me here these past days if you believed I was. There’s a reason you took me in. Perhaps one day the German nation will grow to appreciate the efforts of the Allies.”

  “If there’s a German nation left to consider the past.”

  “It may seem ironic, but the Allies are the only hope left for Germany. Use me, Franka. Give me the chance to help rid this country of the Nazis on your behalf.”

  Franka snatched the tray off his lap. A fork clattered onto the floor, and she had to bend down to grab it.

  “I hate the Nazis. I don’t want to feel that, but it’s with me every day. I think about what they’ve done—”

  John’s voice was sharp as he interrupted her. “Leave the hatred behind. Do something for the future of the German people, for your father, and Fredi.”

  “I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”

  “Something simple. Something almost any adult could do.”

  “I need some time.”

  She went to the kitchen and set the tray on the table. Her heart felt like a stone. She dipped her hands in the water pooled in the sink before bringing them up to rinse her face. She thought of all the people she’d known who’d been swept up and seduced by the National Socialists and their lies. She wasn’t like them. She was a criminal, a convicted enemy of the state, and now she was harboring another enemy. She couldn’t be any less of a Nazi. It was impossible. Turning him in wasn’t an option—she would rather die. So what then? She could let him go his own way and keep her silence as he slipped secretly into the belly of the Reich, but where would she go then? What would she do? Would she go back into the woods to finish what she started the night she found him? Or would she just do her best to survive the war? This man offered more.

  “Continue your story,” she said as she walked back in. “Tell me why you’re here. If you want my help, I need to know everything.”

  “The flak hit the plane I was in, and I bailed out over the mountains. Then you found me.” He paused for a long two seconds before continuing. “My mission is a man,” he said. The tension seemed to evaporate with every word. “His name is Rudolf Hahn. He’s a scientist—one of the most brilliant minds in the world. He’s pioneering work in a new field of physics, which could change the war in Germany’s favor. One of our German agents infiltrated his laboratory and made contact with him. Hahn agreed to defect to America. I’m here to get him out.”

  “Why couldn’t the agent that contacted him do it?”

  “He’s a diplomat, and not suited to the more dangerous elements of the task. The Gestapo seemed to be onto him, so he had to melt into the background. Hahn is still in place. They haven’t arrested him yet.”

  “So how did you plan to get him out of the country?”

  “Let’s slow down a minute.”

  “You need my help, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You can’t do anything, because he’s a hundred twenty miles from here, and you’re stuck in that bed with two broken legs.”

  John reached for the glass of water beside the bed and took a sip.

  “So you want my help but still don’t trust me enough to tell me everything,” she said.

  “Can you learn to trust me, and to agree with what I stand for?”

  His question was met with silence.

  “We were planning on traversing the Alps south of Munich and getting into Switzerland because the mountain passes offered the most secret way to cross the border. Although getting there would have been no easy feat. We had a guide, and the OSS trained me in mountain climbing, for all the good that’s going to do me now.” He looked at his legs and ran his hands over the casts that encased them.

  “How is this scientist going to change the course of the war for Germany? What’s he working on?”

  “I can’t meet him myself,” John said, ignoring her question.

  “What’s he working on?”

  “You’re going to force me to tell you, aren’t you?”

  “If I’m going to risk my life for you, and your cause, I want to know why. I want to know what’s at stake.”

  “Professor Hahn and his colleagues have been working on a new technology called nuclear fission. They published a paper in 1939 about the new process, and the Allies have been trying to monitor their progress ever since.”

  “And what’s so special about this nuclear fission?” She fumbled the words.

  “I woul
dn’t tell you even if they’d told me, but I believe it’s enormous and that it could turn the tide of the war. Without Hahn, the project will die. He’s the brains behind it. The Nazis don’t realize what they’re on the cusp of. The project has been underfunded and almost ignored by the hierarchy. Hitler’s obsessed with jet-propulsion engines. They’re more focused on that end.”

  “So why has this Hahn decided to turn?”

  “He’s not happy with the treatment of the Jewish population by the regime. Many of his friends and colleagues before the war were Jews. The Nazis excluded all Jews from the work on account of their race. Many of them are dead, or in exile now. We’ve taken some in ourselves. He’s also frustrated with the lack of funding. The United States realizes how important his work is. He’ll receive all the funding and support he could ever need once we get him back to the States.”

  “So the Americans can develop this new technology themselves?”

  “We need to develop it before the Nazis, or even the Soviets, get their hands on it. It’s a race that could determine the outcome of the war. If the Nazis realize what they could potentially have on their hands, it could change everything. That won’t happen if Hahn disappears. We need his knowledge and expertise. If they’ve made a breakthrough, we need to know about it.”

  “Where do I come in?”

  “The arrangement was that I make contact with Hahn, gain his trust, and then spirit him across the border into Switzerland.”

  “You want me to get him across the border?” Franka said, wide-eyed.

  “No, I just need you to meet with him, to tell him what happened to me, and then . . .” It was hard to fathom it had come to this.

  “What?”

  “Then bring him back here so I can take him across the border myself once I recover.”

  “It’s going to be a month before you can walk again, and you certainly won’t be climbing any mountains then.”

  “Let me worry about the details.”

  “I would say that’s more than a detail. You want me to go to Stuttgart to meet this man, don’t you?”

  “I can’t see another way.”

  “I’ve no training in espionage. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “It’s just the matter of meeting someone, hearing him out, and delivering a message.”

  “What if he won’t speak to me, or if I get caught?”

  “I don’t see how you could unless you turn yourself in, and I’ll give you the code words that will force him to listen to you. Will you do it? Will you help me?”

  “I don’t know—it seems like a lot . . .”

  “It’s much simpler than it seems. You can do this. You can make a difference.”

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes closed.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking her elbow. It was the first time they’d ever touched without reason, and she felt a chill from it. It was ridiculous.

  “The arrangement was to meet him in the public park. He was to sit on a bench reading the newspaper.”

  “In this weather?”

  “He was to be there for a short time, between five fifty and six p.m., and only one day a week—on Mondays. He was there earlier today waiting for me.”

  “Will he be there next week? Should I go then?”

  “With Christmas coming on Saturday? I don’t think so. It’s likely he’ll go home to Berlin for the week. I think it’s best if we go the week after, on January third. That way I’ll have some more time to heal, and you’ll be better prepared. You won’t have to do anything too spectacular, just meet the man and tell him what happened to me.”

  “How will he know I’m not Gestapo?”

  “The code words. Once he hears them, he’ll know you’re with me. You’ll just need to make contact with him and perhaps give him the option of coming here once I’m better, but we can decide that later. We’ve plenty of time.”

  “Two weeks,” Franka said. “I’ll need to get you some crutches. No use in having you confined to that bed. You’ll start to develop sores. The best thing for you is to get up and moving. I need to go into town to get some food tomorrow. I’ll pick some up there.”

  “They’ll have crutches in the store with the rationing going on?”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so, but I have some connections in the medical center there. I’ll get them for you.”

  Morning came with a scythe of cold as always, but this one felt different. Sleep had been a long time coming the previous night. Many questions were still left unanswered. No need to bombard John now. They had other waters to navigate. They needed food first. She picked up the ration coupons John had given her. She knew they were forged, but would the shopkeeper notice? Without them, they would have only hers to rely on. It wouldn’t be enough. They’d starve. She held his coupons up to the light, examining each letter printed on the paper. It seemed convincing enough, although upon close inspection the lettering looked wobbly and unsure in parts. She would try. The only other option would be to buy the food on the black market. The best food was available to those willing to pay for it, but that might attract attention from the police. It was too great a risk to take.

  John was awake when she brought him breakfast.

  “Good morning, Fräulein.”

  “I trust you slept well.”

  “I did. The best I’ve slept in a long time. How are you feeling about what we discussed?”

  “Nervous. Bewildered. I feel I’ve been given a great responsibility.”

  “I wouldn’t have told you about this if you weren’t capable of it. I know I made the right decision.”

  She sat with him as he ate the breakfast of cheese and dregs of the stew from two nights before. She didn’t tell him that there wasn’t enough food for them both to eat. They spoke about the weather, the journey she was to make that day, and his health. There seemed nothing else to say about who he was, or his mission. The night before, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t press him.

  Franka went to the front door and pushed it open before stepping outside. No new snow had fallen in two days, but the previous weeks had brought so much that her car was still buried, the road impassable. Her breath plumed out in front of her. The cold sun shone down, good for nothing more than reflecting off the white of the snow below, and she slipped on her sunglasses.

  Daniel Berkel’s shadow hung over Freiburg. Her hometown was too dangerous. Even if she didn’t run into him, there were too many people who could recognize her, too many people happy to help the Gestapo. There was no need to go to the pharmacy in the city like last time. Sankt Peter was just a couple of miles away. It was a small town but had a grocery store and a medical center. It would do for their needs this time. She strapped on her skis and set out. Franka thought about John Lynch, and what Philadelphia must have looked like. She thought about Rudolf Hahn, and what she was going to say to him.

  She saw no one until she reached the line outside the grocery store. She joined at the back, resting her skis against the wall. No familiar faces gawked at her. Most of the people she knew from here were away at war or dead already. It was a relief to be anonymous. She mixed her ration coupons with the ones John had given her so the fakes wouldn’t stand out. It worked. The shopkeeper didn’t notice. She hid her elation as she left the store, her rucksack as full as her collection of ration vouchers allowed.

  The narrow streets of the small town of Sankt Peter were deathly quiet. Franka kept her head down as she trudged along the sidewalk, all the way to the medical center. A teenager with his arm in a sling glanced up at her as she pushed the door open. Beside him sat two young men missing eyes and arms, one in a wheelchair, the other on crutches. The war had penetrated every inch of German society. No one was immune. A gray-faced old woman sat behind a drab wooden desk covered with papers. Franka went to her and waited her turn behind a mother with a baby in her arms. Once Franka’s turn came, the woman behind the desk peered up at her with tired eyes.

  “I’m
here to see Martina Kruger; she’s a nurse here.”

  “What’s your business with Nurse Kruger?”

  “I’m an old friend—it’s of a personal nature.”

  “Nurse Kruger is busy, why don’t you—”

  “It won’t take more than a few minutes,” Franka said.

  The woman grumbled under her breath.

  “Perhaps she’s due a break.”

  “Give me one minute.” The woman disappeared through a door behind her.

  Two minutes passed before the door opened again and Martina smiled, throwing her arms around Franka. They had known each other since they were children, had met in kindergarten and gone through school together. Martina had been in the same troop in the League of German Girls. Franka hadn’t seen her since she’d left for Munich in ’39. She looked almost the same, pretty, with long brown hair and shining green eyes. The woman glared at Martina, who scowled back before leading Franka outside. She lit a cigarette and offered one to Franka, who shook her head. They talked about Martina’s family for a couple of minutes. She had two daughters, and a husband stationed in France. Franka trusted her, not enough to ask her for morphine, or anything she might get in trouble for—but surely a pair of old crutches wouldn’t be missed?

  “What are you doing back here?” Martina said.

  Franka wondered how much she knew—probably everything.

  “I came back to hear the reading of my father’s will.”

  “I was so sorry to hear that he died. I saw his name in the paper. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Thank you. It seemed so random in a city that has hardly been touched.”

  “The bombs are coming. It’s only a matter of time before the Allies try to murder us all.”

  Franka ignored the comment, although she felt a sharp pike of anger stab through her.

  “I’m sorry not to see you for so long and then ask you a favor, but I need something.”

  Martina lit up another cigarette. “Of course, what is it?”

  “I’m staying in my parents’ old cabin in the mountains. You remember it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m there with my boyfriend.”