George agreed. “Of course, we could have gotten into the navy but their pilots run the same risks as we do. And our base here is not likely to sink. Did you ever wonder how many sailors lived for how long in the bowels of the Arizona or the Oklahoma until their oxygen ran out? How many ships do you think went down with living crewmen screaming for help they were never going to get?”
Bud lit up a cigarette. “They say these’ll kill you too. I guess there’s no real good way to die, just some that are worse than others. What’s the old joke? Oh yeah, I want to die of a heart attack while getting laid at a hundred and ten. Only problem is, nobody wants to die. So what do we do?”
George smiled grimly. “I suggest we have another drink.”
Chapter 10
Staff Sergeant Billy Hill half lifted and half dragged the trembling and writhing young Nazi into a windowless room and seated him on an uncomfortable chair. He was tied to the arms of the chair but Hill did remove the blindfold.
“How long do you want me to keep him like that, Captain?” Hill asked after leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
Tanner thought for a moment. “Maybe until after I get done with a few things. Maybe I’ll go to lunch. That ought to be enough to get him thinking. According to his papers, he’s fourteen and lived in Stuttgart. He may think he’s tough, but I’ll bet he’s scared shitless. My bet is that he’ll tell us everything we want to know about the Werewolves without much prompting.”
Hill grinned. “Sir, you telling me I can’t pull out his toenails?”
“Not without first getting his mother’s permission.”
An hour later, Tanner and Cullen entered the room and sat across the table from Gruber. Hill stood behind him. At a signal, Hill yanked Gruber’s blindfold off. Gruber gasped and blinked in the sudden light. He was wide-eyed and looked around in growing desperation. The two American officers were seated in higher chairs and looking down on him, which was intimidating.
Tanner spoke first. “Hans Gruber, you are a Nazi war criminal and you will either be shot or sent to a Russian prison camp.”
“I’m a soldier,” Gruber blurted. “I’m not a war criminal. And you can’t give me to the Russians.”
Cullen moved beside the boy. “First of all, Gruber, you were not in anything resembling a uniform, which means you are a terrorist, a franc-tireur. German soldiers shoot people like that without even a trial. You are nothing more than a bandit or an assassin and you will be treated as such.”
Hans Gruber looked frightened. “I did have a uniform. I wore an armband. They said it would be sufficient if I was caught.”
Cullen waved a piece of cloth in his face. “You mean this shitty little rag? This is not a uniform and besides, I never saw it.” With that he threw it into a wastebasket and Gruber moaned.
Tanner laughed harshly. “Do you like Jews, Gruber? Of course you don’t. Jews are the scum of the earth. They are pigs who don’t eat pork. Your dead Hitler said that Jews weren’t even human and you believed him. You were told that Jews cheat real Germans and that they murdered Christ, weren’t you? How many Jews did you beat up? How many did you kill?”
Gruber gasped at the last question. Tanner and the others caught it. “So you have killed Jews. How wonderful. Did they fight you or did you just shoot them in the back?”
Gruber had begun to sob. “It was just one and I had to do it. General Hahn made me. He said I had to do it to prove I was a real Nazi. Besides, the Jew was dying.”
Tanner suppressed a shudder. “I’m sure you did, but before we send you to the Reds, the U.S. Army has a special job for you.”
He slid a number of eight-by-ten photos across the table. Gruber’s hands were untied so he could pick them up. The photos showed men in German uniforms handling mangled and half-decayed corpses. Some of the men handling the bodies wore uniforms with SS insignia.
When Gruber tried to look away, Tanner pushed the pictures into his face. “Do you remember the Nazi joke that the only good Jew is a dead Jew? Well, these were taken at Dachau and most of them are good dead Jews. The German prisoners you see are going to spend the next few months digging up dead Jews, some very long-dead Jews whose rotting flesh stinks to high heaven. They will be identifying them and then burying them with respect. When we leave here and before you go to the Reds, that is what you will be doing. And you will be working for other Jews who will beat you if you slack off. Does the thought of handling dead Jews make you happy?”
“No,” Gruber gasped.
“Rachel, come in,” Tanner ordered.
A young woman in a nondescript uniform with a white star of David on an armband entered and stared coldly at Gruber. “Is this the little shit who’s going to be helping us? Herr Gruber, I’m with the Palmach, the Jewish Army, and we’re going to make you work with dead Jews, eat with dead Jews and sleep with dead Jews. You will forever stink of dead Jews. And do you know why?” She rolled up her sleeve and showed him the numbers tattooed on her arm. “I spent a year in a death camp watching Germans kill my people, and now it’s my turn. I managed to survive but you will not. You are going to suffer for being a Nazi, you stinking little shit.”
The woman glared at him. “Have you ever had a woman, ever had sex with something other than your left hand?” When Gruber whimpered and shook his head, she laughed. “And I’ll bet you’re not circumcised either. Well, you will be when we get our hands on you and you can bet that your virginity will last forever. You can’t get up what you no longer have.”
Now Gruber was sobbing openly. “Please don’t. What can I do? Please don’t let that happen to me? I’ll tell you anything. I just want to go home.”
“How many Werewolves are there?” Tanner asked.
“There were supposed to be fifty, but a lot of them have deserted. Now there can’t be more than twenty and General Red Star is angry.”
Tanner was puzzled. “Who or what is General Red Star?”
Gruber sensed an opening. “If I tell you, will you protect me?”
“Talk and keep talking.”
“His name is SS General Alfonse Hahn and we call him General Red Star because he has a birthmark like a red star on his cheek.”
Tanner drew in his breath. Could this possibly be the man who had murdered Tucker and Peters so many eternities ago? It had to be. “Where is this General Hahn?”
Gruber was looking hopeful, like a kid who thought he had just passed a surprise test. “He’s deep inside the Redoubt, probably in Bregenz. They say he’s an important aide to Minister Goebbels himself,” he added proudly.
“I need fresh air,” Tanner said and walked outside into the still-cold air. Cullen nodded. He would complete the interrogation. There wasn’t that much more that a fourteen-year-old boy could tell them about the inner workings of the German Army.
Tanner saw Lena using a cloth she’d dipped into a bucket to wash her arm. “Will it come off?”
Lena smiled softly. “These numbers came from a pen and I wrote them lightly and they’ve almost completely disappeared. I’ve seen too many whose numbers were real tattoos and that represented horror. I’ve been very fortunate.” She angrily threw the cloth into the bucket. “I’ve never spoken like that to anyone, anytime, much less to a stupid child. And I never thought I would feel so good doing it. I don’t know whether to hate myself or be proud.”
“Be proud. You were very helpful in there. I thought you would want to help bring down the Nazis if you could.”
“You’re right. And please call on me again, and again, and again if I can help.” She took up the cloth again and looked at her arm. The numbers were gone. “What are you going to do with that boy?”
Tanner noted that she had referred to him as a boy, not a Nazi murderer. “We’re going to find him a German uniform and send him off to be a prisoner of war. With a little luck, he’ll be allowed to go home, if he has a home, in a year or so. As to the Jew he shot, he’s going to have to live with that. Hopefully, the handful of ot
her Werewolves out there will somehow get the same message.”
“It sounds just. Incomplete and imperfect, but as good as it’s going to be.”
“Now let’s change the subject to something a little more pleasant, Lena. Have you ever had the pleasure of eating in an army mess hall?” Ordinarily, she and the other foreign nationals working for the division either ate field rations where they worked or food was brought to them. It was highly unusual for a foreign worker to eat with the soldiers.
She laughed and he realized that she had a very nice laugh. “How’s the food?”
“Generally pretty bad, but I’ll bet it’s better than what you and the other clerks have been getting.”
“Sounds good. If that’s an invitation, I accept.”
* * *
Small world, thought Ernie. The two thugs who’d jumped him in Bern and whom he was afraid he’d killed were sitting in a café along the waterfront of Arbon. They were sipping beers and had a fine view of the lake and couldn’t see him approaching from behind. Despite the apparent prohibition against private boats on the lake, a handful of white sailboats were enjoying the day. He wondered if Winnie would have liked going on one. It wasn’t going to happen. Word had come from Allen Dulles that they were not to go out on the water again. Nor were they to venture too close to the now reinforced and sealed German border.
With three heavily armed countries now having access to Lake Constance and two of them at war with each other, the lake had just become very dangerous. Ernie sometimes wondered if he should again talk to Dulles about getting back to the air force and becoming a pilot again. The last time he’d brought up the subject, Dulles had calmly reminded him that he was doing an important job in Arbon by keeping tabs on the Nazis just across the border. He’d closed his comments by telling Ernie that the Luftwaffe was almost nonexistent; therefore, who would he fly against? He might not even get a plane. He might be stuck at some base on Iceland doing clerical work instead of intelligence and spying for the USA. Ernie had agreed.
Dulles had then suggested that if Ernie was serious about getting back into the war he could arrange for him to be sent to the Pacific. “I still couldn’t guarantee you’d get a plane or, if you did, that there would be any Japs left to shoot at except those fools who want to kill themselves and others. I could, however, assure you of jungle rot, stifling heat, and boredom. Of course you would likely never see Winnie again.”
A contrite Ernie said he would love to remain in Switzerland and with the OSS.
But nothing had been said about what to do if he saw Nazis in Arbon. Should he assume that they too had diplomatic immunity? If so, then Germany’s diplomatic corps was going to hell. Still, he wondered what the two thugs were up to.
The Nazis got up and paid their bill. He could see that they didn’t leave much of a tip. The new Reich must not pay very well. Ernie waited until they were well clear of the café and began to follow them. There weren’t many people on the streets so he was careful not to be seen. When the two men turned down a side street, he picked up the pace. They might lead him to where they were staying and perhaps using as their own espionage headquarters.
He’d barely turned the corner when he went flying. He slid forward on his hands and knees. He tried to get up, but he got a kick in the ribs that knocked the wind out of him. He managed to see the two Germans standing above him, smiling. He couldn’t get up. He was helpless as more kicks struck his chest, back, and head. I’m going to die here, he thought and his world spun. He could hear the Germans laughing.
Finally, one of them grabbed him by his now bloody shirt and yanked him to his knees. “You thought we were stupid, didn’t you? You got us one time, but not a second.”
With that, they began hitting him again. He could hear screams and shouts in the distance. One of the Germans swore and they let him drop to the pavement. One more time he tried to get up and failed. His world was spinning and he decided to let it.
* * *
Ernie awoke to find himself in his bed at the warehouse. He tried to get up but fell back. The pain in his chest was too much. He wondered if his ribs had been broken. He checked the rest of his body and everything was pretty much there, just a lot of it was swollen and painful. So how the hell had he gotten to his bed?
After several tries he did manage to sit up and swing his legs onto the floor. He realized that he was fully clothed and bloody. He heard footsteps and his OSS landlord, Sam Valenti, approached.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said.
“How long?”
“Just a few hours. Some passersby heard the fight and the police came right away. It’s been recorded as an attempted mugging, but nobody believes that. Dulles has been notified and he’s not too happy.”
“Is he mad at me or the Germans? The Germans, I hope.”
“Both of you, I presume. Winnie’s not too thrilled either. She was in earlier and left crying. Anyhow, this is for you,” Valenti said as he handed over a package.”
Ernie opened it gingerly. It hurt too much to stretch. Inside the package was a German Luger and two clips of ammunition. “Dulles said there’s one clip already in the gun, so you should be set.”
“I thought guns were illegal in Switzerland?” Ernie said.
“They are, so don’t get caught with it.”
“Ah, did Winnie say where she was going or when she would be back?”
“She’ll be gone for a couple of days, pal. Dulles has her off to Bern as a courier. He said she’ll have a gun too.”
* * *
The last time Tanner had seen so many tanks was that terrible day in December when scores of German Panzers had erupted from their hiding places and overwhelmed the men of the outnumbered and outgunned 106th Infantry Division.
This time it was different. The tanks were American Shermans and he counted forty of them leading an infantry attack on German positions near the entry to the Brenner Pass. Accompanying them was about the same number of M3 halftracks carrying infantry. That was just what he could see. Plans called for three full divisions to attack the German lines with two more in reserve. They were positioned to exploit the expected breakthrough.
Bombers and fighters had worked over the area where the German defenses were supposed to be the strongest. A long and thunderous artillery bombardment had followed the planes and preceded the tanks. The ground had shaken and the locations where the Germans were presumed to be had been enveloped by smoke and fire. The force of the explosions could be felt where he was with the division’s command.
“Pity the poor bastards,” muttered Cullen.
“Ours or theirs?” asked Tanner.
“Anybody who had a mother,” he answered.
No one was saying that the attack would be a cakewalk. The Germans were well dug in and well camouflaged. The 105th wasn’t the most experienced division in the Seventh Army, far from it, but even the most inexperienced soldier knew that the Germans would be difficult to pry from their fortresses.
Hell erupted. Seemingly out of nowhere there were flashes of light and blasts of thunder as German guns opened fire on the tanks. The main German antitank weapon was the almost legendary 88mm antitank gun, which was capable of easily destroying an American Sherman as it now began to prove. As they watched, two American tanks were struck and began to burn. One lone crewman emerged from a tank. A few seconds later a third tank was killed and then three more.
Occasionally, an American would manage to escape from the hell that was erupting inside a burning Sherman’s hull, but not too often. Even then, a number of the soldiers were wounded or on fire. One poor GI had lost his foot and hopped frantically towards the rear. Tanner urged him on, but to no avail. He collapsed and lay still. A medic finally got to him, checked him over, and left him. Tanner felt sickened.
The halftracks were within range of the German guns and it was their turn to begin to die. Adding to the horror were well hidden machine guns that raked the lightly armored vehicl
es. Men tumbled from them and tried to advance. When the bullets struck them, they went to ground and stayed there.
“Son of a bitch!” yelled General Evans. “Where the hell are our planes?”
On cue, P47 and P51 fighters began to strafe where spotters on the ground told them the Germans were hiding. The German guns kept firing, with some of them shooting at the planes, forcing them to jink and juke. One was hit. It cartwheeled into the ground and exploded. More planes dive-bombed, this time with napalm. Fires billowed, killing any life beneath or nearby.
“Why the hell didn’t we do that sooner?” asked Cullen.
“Probably against regulations,” Tanner answered. “Let the infantry suffer before doing anything that makes sense.” General Evans glared at him but did not disagree.
The attack was stalling. Even with the Germans pounded by planes and with searing flames from napalm leaping high, the American casualties were too many. The armor was the first to give up. The tanks moved in reverse to keep their more heavily armored front facing enemy fire. It was a vain hope, as three more tanks exploded. The remaining Shermans then simply turned and raced for safety. More 88mm shells followed and the Germans increased their range. Shells began to fall in and around the area where Tanner and the others now lay on the ground and tried to make themselves very small.
The earth shook and they cowered before they realized their best chance to survive was to get out of sight and far enough away to be out of range of the German guns. “Damn it, I thought we were safe,” said Cullen.
“The eighty-eights got a maximum range of nearly forty thousand feet and that’s damn near eight miles,” said Tanner. “If it can see us, it can kill us.”
“Now you tell me,” said Cullen as another shell shrieked overhead and smashed into the ground behind them.
General Evans had been quiet. All of the planning for the attack was down the drain. The area before the German lines was littered with smashed and burning vehicles and dead American soldiers. It was beginning to dawn on the American commanders that cracking through the Brenner Pass and connecting with Fifteenth Army Group soldiers fighting up from Italy was going to be a very tough and bloody proposition.
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