BERLIN: Reaping the Whirlwind (The Schultz family story Book 2)

by Paul Grant

  Maria felt a nudge in her back and half turned, knowing it was Helmi.

  ‘Did you hear about Frau Lutz and her two girls?’

  Maria narrowed her eyes trying to recall the name. She swore the lack of food was responsible for the short-term memory loss.

  ‘You know, the one that ran off with the U-Boat man?’ Helmi pressed on.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Maria vaguely remembered.

  ‘They found her in the bath, wrists cut. Her two daughters had taken poison.’

  Maria started to work on the pump, barely making an impression on the level in the bucket as the rumble of distant thunder reminded them of the battle closing in.

  ‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Helmi.’

  ‘I know some of it is gossip and the newspapers are propaganda, Maria...’ Helmi looked over her shoulder then turned back and whispered, ‘but people believe it, true or not.’

  Goebbels had seized on the stories emanating from East Prussia with glee. Who really knew if the nun had been defiled fifty times by Russian troops? For once, refugees arriving in the city from the East, Germans at that, were confirming the authorities’ stories. Some women in Berlin had already made the ultimate sacrifice to avoid such a fate at the hands of the vengeful invading armies.

  An explosion further up the street made the two of them flinch. Maria, her own buckets full, took Helmi’s and redoubled her efforts on the pump. Another shell landed further down the street. As she worked, Maria could see one or two people starting to leave the queue. It wasn’t a thing one did easily.

  ‘Get on with it you two,’ came a shout from the line.

  The last bucket was half full, and Maria was tiring on the pump. The next shell started to whistle, heading for its target like a homing pigeon. Before Maria could continue, Helmi grabbed two buckets and started to run. Instinctively, Maria followed in her wake, making for the shelter of the nearest doorway. The shell struck the building opposite. Maria pressed herself hard against the wall, feeling the rough concrete scratch her cheek, then the blast of displaced air followed. She turned and saw only fallen masonry and glass where the queue at the pump had been. Through the dust and chaos she could see limbs separated from their bodies. Her first thought was to assist the wounded, but the shells were still falling. Besides, those who had remained in the queue looked beyond help.

  Above the thunder of the guns, Helmi shouted hoarsely, ‘Let’s go, Maria. Come on!’

  Maria forced herself up, instinctively grabbing her buckets. In spite of the threat, buckets were a vital part of life in the city. She scuttled after Helmi, admiring how a woman of her age could move so quickly. Maria kept moving, even though the cries for help had started, as they seemed to be in the sights of the gunners. Every minute was about survival and Maria was a survivor.

  They made it as far as their apartment block, pausing momentarily at the bottom of the stairs to gasp for air. They looked at each other their hair encrusted in dust, and then down at their full pails. Maria couldn’t help bursting out laughing. It was a nervous, relieved laughter, but that’s the only kind there was these days. That and the gallows humour Berliners were learning quickly.

  Up in the kitchen, Helmi tried the gas and yelped in delight as the flame spluttered into life. ‘Let’s be thankful to the Führer for small mercies,’ Helmi said sarcastically.

  Maria flopped down on one of the chairs at the table. The adrenalin rush now past, she could feel the hunger pangs returning. The coffee pot running, Helmi took a chair opposite Maria.

  ‘When you stop and reflect on things like that, you do wonder if we’ll ever make it through,’ Maria said.

  ‘Don’t stop and think.’

  Maria smiled. ‘We’re getting blasé about everything around us; the bombs, death. We’re slowly becoming brutalised.’

  Helmi leaned across and touched her hand. ‘Hang in there, girl. It’ll soon be over.’

  Maria marvelled at the strength of the woman. She was always on hand to help her, yet her own son had been killed in the fighting and her husband had been recently drafted into the Volkssturm.

  ‘We’ve all given so much, Helmi, yet they still want more.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said, resignedly. ‘You know, I saw Haupt’s lad yesterday. You can’t believe it, Maria. His uniform was so big on him it was billowing like a bloody parachute. He’s only fourteen for God’s sake.’

  Maria felt a stab of anxiety. With the Russians so close, she’d still managed to keep Ulrich out of the reaches of Holz and the HJ. Ulrich had eventually accepted her version of events over the episode with Reitsch. However, she’d done her utmost to keep the Gestapo man onside without going too far. He was becoming increasingly persistent. She was treading a fine line and she knew it.

  Helmi went on, ‘He was riding his bike with two Panzerfausts fixed to the handlebars. Can you believe it?’ She stopped, sensing she’d hit a sensitive subject. ‘I am sorry, is Holz still on to you about Ulrich?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘I think he’s got his hands full, don’t you? I just wish we could have rid of these bastards for good.’

  ‘They’re past desperation now. I heard the Golden Pheasants are partying day and night. Drunks and sex-crazed people all over the place.’

  Maria had heard the stories of excess as the Russians closed in. It wasn’t only the Nazis. The fear of mortal danger had made the people of the city lose their inhibitions; it was as if there were to be no tomorrow.

  ‘Anyway, be careful what you wish for, young Maria. I can’t imagine the Russians will be any better.’

  Maria shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Have you given any more thought to getting out of the city?’

  ‘I can’t. There’s little enough for us to eat here, but at least we have a home. I couldn’t possibly walk with Eva. We’d just be like the millions of others.’

  ‘But you can reach the American lines, Maria.’

  They’d been through the argument before.

  ‘You are young. You should get out while you can.’

  Maria shook her head, ‘It’s too late.’

  Helmi pressed on, ‘He’ll find you when he comes home. Don’t worry about him.’

  Helmi knew her too well. The pain was still evident even after two years without word of Klaus.

  ‘I can’t leave, Helmi. I just can’t!’

  Helmi seemed to give up for the moment. Getting up and crossing to the stove, she poured the coffee, careful not to spill a drop.

  She pushed a cup in front of Maria, ‘Here drink some of this.’

  The smell of real coffee filled Maria’s nostrils. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose.

  Maria savoured the taste. Another shell landed close by, sending specs of dust down from the ceiling. Both women instinctively put their hands over the coffee, oblivious to the dust falling on them.

  ‘Well if you’re not going to leave, then you need a plan, a hiding place when they come.’

  They were back on that dark subject, the connotations of a word every woman in Berlin dreaded but couldn’t bring themselves to utter. Maria tried not to focus on it. She was only worried about Ulrich, and about Reitsch. Besides, they had to go on, to be here for Klaus when he returned.

  Helmi wasn’t giving up, ‘Maria, you’ve got to think about this.’

  ‘I’ll hide in the cellar with the others.’

  ‘They search the cellars with torches. You’ve heard the stories from East Prussia.’ Helmi was getting exasperated.

  ‘I can’t stay hidden the whole time. Who will look after Eva?’

  ‘Ulrich will help you. I will help you.’

  ‘And what about you, Helmi? Where will you hide? According to Goebbels the Russkis aren’t too picky when it comes to older women.’

  ‘Maybe not, but they won’t come for me first. They will come for you.’

  Helmi jumped up, ‘Well it’s a bloody go
od job I’ve come up with a plan.’ She went through to the small bedroom and returned with stack of old clothes. She dropped them on the table, ‘You can start by wearing these if you go out.’

  Maria lifted the clothes with a dubious finger. ‘Where are these from Helmi? They are the clothes of an old man.’

  ‘They were my Dad’s,’ she said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Try them on. And here, take these.’ Helmi handed her what looked like a bundle of rags. ‘Fatten yourself up, girl and dirty up that pretty face a bit.’

  Maria shook her head, but Helmi wasn’t having any of it. ‘Maria, look at me!’ she demanded. Her eyes were pricked with tears, ‘My boy has been killed. The war has taken my husband, and Ivan has taken countless women along the road from Moscow to the edge of this city.’ She pointed outside for effect. ‘I am damned if they are taking you as well. I couldn’t bear it.’ Helmi’s voice cracked before she finished.

  Maria had never heard Helmi talk like this before, let alone get upset. It unsettled her. Frankly nobody knew what fate was in store for them, the women of Berlin. She’d not really considered what she would do once the Russians actually arrived on their doorstep, in their homes.

  Helmi was hunched over the table sobbing now. Maria went to comfort her, but Helmi shrugged her off, ‘No, Maria, if you do anything, if you do one thing, you listen to me and you do what I tell you. Get yourself prepared and do anything, and I mean anything, to protect yourself. If you think this is bad now, you wait until the Russians get here!’

  CHAPTER 25

  APRIL 1945, BERLIN

  As rank as the smell was in the cellar, Maria had got used to it. There were no dentists left in Berlin, as they’d all left for the front; apparently Hitler wasn’t the only one suffering from halitosis. She envied old man Hause, who seemed to fall asleep the moment he fell into his chair next to the cellar door, oblivious to the whine and crack above ground. There were different sounds now. There was no heavy bombing. The shelling had even stopped yesterday. It was small arms fire now, the vibration of tank tracks, the odd thump of a gun. You didn’t have to be a front-line veteran to know it was nearly all over.

  There were other signs the end was near. Two days previously, the butter and meat ration had been suddenly tripled. The authorities were handing out the, until now, at least, well-guarded stocks of food to the population. The few optimists said it was because the battle would be long and fierce. The pessimists said it was to stop the Russians getting their hands on it first. The realists had left Berlin long ago.

  There were around twenty of them in the cramped space of the block cellar. They had learned to live with each other’s doings and sayings. There had been arguments, of course, but now it had all settled down. The focus was on the enemy outside, closing in. Even Ina Stinnes was quiet these days. Maria pitied the woman. She’d preferred the nattering busybody of before to the shell of a woman sitting on the steps staring with glazed eyes into space. Since Horst had marched off to the front there’d been little behind those normally scheming eyes; no spark, no spirit. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost all hope.

  Maria was grateful it was nearly all over, whatever the Russian occupation may bring. She’d managed to keep Ulrich away from the fighting and for that she was truly grateful. There were so many stories of boys going off to fight somebody else’s war, like lambs to the slaughter; she knew Ulrich had literally dodged a bullet.

  She looked at her watch. Ulrich had left the apartment to pick up some last rations an hour ago. She’d told him to leave it, but he’d done it a hundred times before. If he hadn’t, they would have been even more malnourished. They’d all taken risks among the bullets and explosions. She knew he’d come straight down to the cellar when he returned, especially when he saw the apartment was empty.

  Eva stirred on her lap. Her eyes opened wide suddenly. ‘Mama, I forgot dolly.’

  Maria stroked the hair back from her forehead. ‘She’ll still be there when we go back up to the apartment.’

  ‘No, Mama, it’s dangerous up there. The Russians might get her.’

  The others in the cellar laughed at that one. Eva started to cry. Maria continued to shake her head. Every person in the cellar had gone back to the apartment during a raid in the past, to turn off the gas, or turn off a tap. In fact, there was now little danger from the fighting.

  Eva looked at Maria, the tears filling those big blues eyes. Maria rolled her eyes and decided to go up to the apartment. What harm could it do? Anyway, she wanted to look out for Ulrich.

  Maria got up and made her way to the cellar door tiptoeing over the stretched-out arms and legs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Helmi asked.

  ‘I need to get something from the apartment. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Are you kidding? You don’t know who’s lurking up there.’

  ‘I’ll be two minutes.’

  Helmi shook her head. ‘You must be mad, girl.’

  ‘It sounds quiet. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘We’re not down here hiding from the bombs anymore. Ivan could be sitting on your couch when you get up there. It’s not worth the risk just for a doll.’

  One or two others murmured in agreement.

  Maria shook her head and unbolted the cellar door.

  ***

  Ulrich Schultz wished he’d listened to his mother. He was too late for the last rations. By the time he’d got around to Horch’s the place was deserted. It appeared everybody had already battened down the hatches, knowing the Russians were so close. By chance he’d run into Günther who had been trying to reach the flak tower at Friedrichshain Park, but he’d turned back when he saw T34 and infantry heading down the street close to the town hall.

  The two of them were hiding just off the street. They sought refuge on some steps leading down to a delivery hatch. They were able to pop their heads up every now and again to see what was happening up above.

  ‘We could see everything last night from the tower, Uli. You should have been there,’ Günther said in awe.

  ‘I was happy in our cellar thanks,’ he said, sarcastically.

  ‘They hit the warehouses on our side of the Teltow Canal with a mass of artillery, Katyusha rockets. Boy, do they shriek.’

  In the background there was a constant boom of big guns; close by, the thump of a tank firing made them flinch.

  ‘After a couple of hours, the Russian infantry swarmed over the Canal. There were thousands of them. We’ve got no chance, Uli.’

  ‘I’ve been telling you that for the last two years.’

  ‘I’ll not be making it to the flak tower now. It’s surrounded. The Russians just by-passed it.’

  ‘Is your dad still up there?’

  Günther nodded forlornly.

  They ducked on hearing the blast of another tank salvo being fired on the street. Ulrich considered taking a look out, but the cackle of machine gun fire close by made him stay where he was.

  ‘You need to get out of that uniform,’ Ulrich said.

  Günther looked worried. His uniform had seen better days, but it still marked him as a combatant and thus a target.

  ‘You’ll end up in a camp in Russia if you don’t.’

  Just as Günther was considering Ulrich’s words, they heard the sound of running boots and voices just above them. They cowered as machine gun fire stoked the wall over their head, showering them in masonry chippings.

  A soldier appeared, taking shelter on the steps above them. Ulrich saw the SS runes on his sleeve with a flag. The man noticed them and came down the steps to their level. He was young, early twenties. There was a scar under his chin. He put a finger to his lips. Ulrich saw the flag on this sleeve was the French tricolore.

  Ulrich heard the squeaking chains of tank tracks passing by. Beads of sweat ran down the man’s forehead as the three of them waited in silence for the threat to pass. Ulrich noticed the man look at Günther’s uniform and his eyes narrowed slightly.<
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  After a minute or so, the soldier popped his head up. Apparently, he felt it was safe to move out. He turned to the two of them, ‘Come on!’

  Ulrich looked at Günther, unsure they should go anywhere. Günther made up their mind by following the man up the steps and out of their hiding place. They kept low, mimicking the soldier’s every move, expertly skirting the rubble in a crouched run. Ulrich didn’t think too much about where they were going, as long as they were heading out of danger.

  The small arms fire was in the distance after five minutes or so. They came across a square where there were other soldiers and a number of Hitler Youth. There must have been fifty of them in all. The Frenchman they’d followed made a report to an SS Hauptstürmführer. The other troops rested, some cleaned their weapons. Standing separately were three men, without weapons, looking worried.

  The Hauptstürmführer was immediately interested in Günther.

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  ‘I’m part of the flak attachment from Friedrichshain tower.’

  ‘Why are you not there?’

  Günther started to look nervous. ‘I...I tried to get to my attachment but the Russians...’

  ‘You ran from the enemy, you mean?’ The Hauptstürmführer almost looked bored. Ulrich could see many of the Hitler Youth staring at Günther with growing interest. He was becoming worried for his friend. He turned to the young soldier who they’d followed, imploring him with his eyes to help Günther in some way.

  The soldier stepped forward, picking up a Panzerfaust. He thrust it into Günther’s hands.

  ‘I am sure he wants to prove himself, Hauptstürmführer,’ he said, prodding Günther into a response.

  ‘Of course,’ Günther added quickly.

  The officer looked at his soldier, then at Günther and, finally, nodded his head. The young soldier pushed Günther towards the other Hitler Youth boys. Ulrich barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief.