Winter of the World (Century Trilogy 2)

by Ken Follett

  The military police were on the streets, stopping people and demanding papers. They worked in threes, forming summary courts, and were mainly interested in men of fighting age. They did not bother Carla in her nurse’s uniform.

  It was strange that in this blasted cityscape the apple and cherry trees were gorgeous with white and pink blossoms, and that in the quiet moments between explosions she could hear the birds singing as optimistically as they did every spring.

  To her horror she saw several men hanged from lamp posts, some in uniform. Most of the bodies had a card hanging around the neck saying ‘Coward’ or ‘Deserter’. These had been found guilty by those three-man street courts, she knew. Was there not already enough killing to satisfy the Nazis? It made her want to weep.

  She was forced to take shelter from artillery bombardments three times. On the last occasion, when she was only a few hundred yards from the hospital, the Soviets and the Germans seemed to be fighting only a few streets away. The shooting was so heavy that Carla was tempted to turn back. Hannelore was probably doomed, and might already be dead: why should Carla add her own life to the toll? But she went on anyway.

  It was evening when she reached her destination. The hospital was in Iranische Strasse, on the corner of Schul Strasse. The trees lining the streets were in new leaf. The laboratory building, which had been turned into a transit camp, was guarded. Carla considered going up to the guard and explaining her mission, but it seemed an unpromising strategy. She wondered if she might slip inside from the tunnel system.

  She went into the main building. The hospital was functioning. All the patients had been moved into the basements and tunnels. The staff were working by the light of oil lamps. Carla could tell by the smell that the toilets were not flushing. Water was being carried in buckets from an old well in the garden.

  Surprisingly, soldiers were bringing wounded comrades in for help. Suddenly they did not care that the doctors and nurses might be Jewish.

  She followed a tunnel under the garden to the basement of the laboratory. As she expected, the door was guarded. However, the young Gestapo man looked at her uniform and waved her through without questioning her. Perhaps he no longer saw any point in his job.

  She was inside the camp, now. She wondered whether it would be as easy to get out.

  The smell here was worse, and she soon saw why. The basement was overcrowded. Hundreds of people were packed into four storerooms. They sat or lay on the floor, the lucky ones having a wall to lean against. They were dirty, smelly and exhausted, and they looked at her with dull, uninterested gazes.

  She found Hannelore after a few minutes.

  The doctor’s wife had never been beautiful, but she had once been a statuesque woman with a strong face. Now she was gaunt, like most people, and her hair was grey and lifeless. She was hollow-cheeked and lined with strain.

  She was talking to an adolescent who was at the age when a girl can seem too voluptuous for her years, having womanly breasts and hips but the face of a child. The girl was sitting on the floor, crying, and Hannelore was kneeling beside her, holding her hand and speaking in a low, soothing voice.

  When Hannelore saw Carla she stood up, saying: ‘Good God! Why are you in here?’

  ‘I thought maybe if I tell them you’re not Jewish they might let you go.’

  ‘That was brave.’

  ‘Your husband saved many lives. Someone ought to save yours.’

  For a moment, Carla thought Hannelore was going to cry. Her face seemed about to crumple. Then she blinked and shook her head. ‘This is Rebecca Rosen,’ she said in a controlled voice. ‘Her parents were killed by a shell today.’

  Carla said: ‘I’m so sorry, Rebecca.’

  The girl did not speak.

  Carla said: ‘How old are you, Rebecca?’

  ‘Nearly fourteen.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be a grown-up now.’

  ‘Why didn’t I die too?’ Rebecca said. ‘I was right beside them. I should have died. Now I’m all alone.’

  ‘You’re not alone,’ Carla said briskly. ‘We’re with you.’ She turned back to Hannelore. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘His name is Walter Dobberke.’

  ‘I’m going to tell him he must let you go.’

  ‘He’s left for the day. And his second-in-command is a sergeant with the brains of a warthog. But look, here comes Gisela. She’s Dobberke’s mistress.’

  The young woman walking into the room was pretty, with long fair hair and creamy skin. No one looked at her. She wore a defiant expression.

  Hannelore said: ‘She has sex with him on the bed in the electrocardiogram room upstairs. She gets extra food in exchange. No one will speak to her except me. I just don’t think we can judge people for the compromises they make. We are living in hell, after all.’

  Carla was not so sure. She would not befriend a Jewish girl who slept with a Nazi.

  Gisela met Hannelore’s eye and came over. ‘He’s had new orders,’ she said, speaking so quietly that Carla had to strain to hear her. Then she hesitated.

  Hannelore said: ‘Well? What are the orders?’

  Gisela’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘To shoot everyone here.’

  Carla felt a cold hand grasp her heart. All these people – including Hannelore and young Rebecca.

  ‘Walter doesn’t want to do it,’ Gisela said. ‘He’s not a bad man, really.’

  Hannelore spoke with fatalistic calm. ‘When is he supposed to kill us?’

  ‘Immediately. But he wants to destroy the records first. Hans-Peter and Martin are putting the files into the furnace right now. It’s a long job, so we have a few hours left. Maybe the Red Army will get here in time to save us.’

  ‘And maybe they won’t,’ Hannelore said crisply. ‘Is there any way we can persuade him to disobey his orders? For God’s sake, the war is almost over!’

  ‘I used to be able to talk him into anything,’ Gisela said sadly. ‘But he’s getting tired of me now. You know what men are like.’

  ‘But he should be thinking of his own future. Any day now the Allies will be in charge here. They will punish Nazi crimes.’

  Gisela said: ‘If we’re all dead, who’s going to accuse him?’

  ‘I will,’ said Carla.

  The other two stared at her, not speaking.

  Carla realized that even though she was not Jewish she, too, would be shot, to prevent her bearing witness.

  Casting about for ideas, she said: ‘Perhaps, if Dobberke spared us, it would help him with the Allies.’

  ‘That’s a thought,’ said Hannelore. ‘We could all sign a declaration saying that he saved our lives.’

  Carla looked enquiringly at Gisela. Her expression was dubious, but she said: ‘He might do it.’

  Hannelore looked around. ‘There’s Hilde,’ she said. ‘She acts as a secretary for Dobberke.’ She called the woman over and explained the plan.

  ‘I’ll type out release documents for everyone,’ Hilde said. ‘We’ll ask him to sign them before we give him the declaration.’

  There were no guards within the basement area, just at the ground-floor door and the tunnel, so the prisoners could move around freely inside. Hilde went into the room that served as Dobberke’s underground office. She typed the declaration first. Hannelore and Carla went around the basement explaining the plan and getting everyone to sign. Meanwhile Hilde typed the release documents.

  By the time they finished it was the middle of the night. There was no more they could do until Dobberke showed up in the morning.

  Carla lay on the floor next to Rebecca Rosen. There was nowhere else to sleep.

  After a while Rebecca began to cry quietly.

  Carla was not sure what to do. She wanted to give comfort, but no words came. What did you say to a child who had just seen both her parents killed? The muffled weeping continued. In the end Carla rolled over and put her arms around Rebecca.

  She knew immediately that she had done the rig
ht thing. Rebecca cuddled up to her, head on her breast. Carla patted her back as if she were a baby. Slowly the sobs eased and eventually Rebecca fell asleep.

  Carla did not sleep. She spent the night making imaginary speeches to the camp commandant. Sometimes she appealed to his better nature, sometimes she threatened him with Allied justice, sometimes she argued from his own self-interest.

  She tried not to think about the process of being shot. Erik had explained to her how the Nazis executed people twelve at a time in Russia. She supposed they would have an efficient system here too. It was hard to imagine. Perhaps that was just as well.

  She could probably escape shooting if she left the camp right now, or first thing in the morning. She was not an inmate, nor a Jew, and her papers were perfectly in order. She could go out the way she came in, dressed in her nurse’s uniform. But that would mean abandoning both Hannelore and Rebecca. She could not bring herself to do that, no matter how badly she longed to get out of here.

  The fighting in the streets outside continued until the small hours, then there was a short pause. It began again at dawn. Now it was close enough for her to hear machine-gun fire as well as artillery.

  Early in the morning the guards brought an urn of watery soup and a sack of bread, all discarded parts of stale loaves. Carla drank the soup and ate the bread and then, reluctantly, used the toilet, which was unspeakably dirty.

  With Hannelore, Gisela and Hilde she went up to the ground floor to wait for Dobberke. The shelling had resumed, and they were in danger every second, but they wanted to confront him the moment he arrived.

  He did not appear at his usual hour. He was normally punctual, Hilde said. Perhaps he had been delayed by the fighting in the streets. He might have been killed, of course. Carla hoped not. His second-in-command, Sergeant Ehrenstein, was too stupid to argue with.

  When Dobberke was an hour late, Carla began to lose hope.

  After another hour, he arrived.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said when he saw the four women waiting in the hall. ‘A mothers’ meeting?’

  Hannelore replied: ‘All the prisoners have signed a declaration saying you saved their lives. It may save your life, if you accept our terms.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said.

  Carla spoke up. ‘According to the BBC, the United Nations has a list of the names of Nazi officers who have taken part in mass murders. In a week’s time you could be on trial. Wouldn’t you like to have a signed declaration that you spared people?’

  ‘Listening to the BBC is a crime,’ he said.

  ‘Though not as serious as murder.’

  Hilde had a file folder in her hand. She said: ‘I have typed release orders for all the prisoners here. If you sign them, you can have the declaration.’

  ‘I could just take it from you.’

  ‘No one will believe in your innocence if we’re all dead.’

  Dobberke was angered by the situation he found himself in, but not confident enough just to walk away. ‘I could shoot the four of you for insolence,’ he said.

  Carla spoke impatiently. ‘This is what defeat is like,’ she said. ‘Get used to it.’

  His face darkened with anger, and she realized she had gone too far. She wished she could take back her words. She stared at Dobberke’s furious expression, trying not to let her fear show.

  At that moment a shell landed outside the building. The doors rattled and a window smashed. They all ducked instinctively, but no one was hurt.

  When they straightened up, Dobberke’s face had changed. Rage was replaced by something like disgusted resignation. Carla’s heartbeat quickened. Had he given up?

  Sergeant Ehrenstein ran in. ‘No one hurt, sir,’ he reported.

  ‘Very good, Sergeant.’

  Ehrenstein was about to go out again when Dobberke called him back. ‘This camp is now closed,’ Dobberke said.

  Carla held her breath.

  ‘Closed, sir?’ There was aggression as well as surprise in the sergeant’s voice.

  ‘New orders. Tell the men to go . . .’ Dobberke hesitated. ‘Tell them to report to the railway bunker at Freidrich Strasse Station.’

  Carla knew Dobberke was making this up, and Ehrenstein seemed to suspect it too. ‘When, sir?’

  ‘Immediately.’

  ‘Immediately.’ Ehrenstein paused, as if the word ‘immediately’ required further elucidation.

  Dobberke stared him out.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ll tell the men.’ He went out.

  Carla felt a surge of triumph, but told herself she was not yet free.

  Dobberke said to Hilde: ‘Show me the declaration.’

  Hilde opened her folder. There were a dozen sheets, all with the same wording typed at the top, the rest of the space covered with signatures. She handed them over.

  Dobberke folded the papers and stuffed them in his pocket.

  Hilde placed the release orders in front of him. ‘Sign these, please.’

  ‘You don’t need release orders,’ Dobberke said. ‘And I don’t have time to sign my name hundreds of times.’ He stood up.

  Carla said: ‘The police are on the streets. They’re hanging people from the lamp posts. We need papers.’

  He patted his pocket. ‘They’ll hang me if they find this declaration.’ He went to the door.

  Gisela cried: ‘Take me with you, Walter!’

  He turned to her. ‘Take you?’ he said. ‘What would my wife say?’ He went out and slammed the door.

  Gisela burst into tears.

  Carla went to the door, opened it, and watched Dobberke stride away. There were no other Gestapo men in sight: they had already obeyed his orders and abandoned the camp.

  The commandant reached the street and broke into a run.

  He left the gate open.

  Hannelore was standing beside Carla, looking out with incredulity.

  ‘We’re free, I think,’ said Carla.

  ‘We must tell the others.’

  Hilde said: ‘I’ll tell them.’ She went down the basement stairs.

  Carla and Hannelore walked fearfully along the path that led from the laboratory entrance to the open gate. There they hesitated and looked at one another.

  Hannelore said: ‘We’re frightened of freedom.’

  Behind them a girlish voice said: ‘Carla, don’t go without me!’ It was Rebecca, running down the path, her breasts bouncing under a grubby blouse.

  Carla sighed. I’ve acquired a child, she thought. I don’t feel ready to be a mother. But what can I do?

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘But be ready to run.’ She realized she did not need to worry about Rebecca’s agility: the girl could undoubtedly run faster than either Carla or Hannelore.

  They crossed the hospital garden to the main gate. There they paused and looked up and down Iranische Strasse. It seemed quiet. They crossed the road and ran to the corner. As Carla looked along Schul Strasse she heard a burst of machine-gun fire and saw that farther up the street there was a firefight. She saw German troops retreating towards her and Red Army soldiers coming after them.

  She looked around. There was nowhere to hide except behind trees, and that was hardly any protection at all.

  A shell landed in the middle of the road fifty yards away and exploded. Carla felt the blast, but she was not hurt.

  Without conferring, all three women ran back inside the hospital grounds.

  They returned to the laboratory building. Some of the other prisoners were standing just inside the barbed wire, as if not quite daring to come out.

  Carla said to them: ‘The basement stinks, but right now it’s the safest place.’ She went inside the building and down the stairs, and most of the others followed.

  She wondered how long she would have to stay here. The German army must give up, but when? Somehow she could not imagine Hitler agreeing to surrender under any circumstances. The man’s whole life had been based on arrogantly shouting that he was t
he boss. How could such a man admit that he had been wrong, stupid and wicked? That he had murdered millions and caused his country to be bombed to ruins? That he would go down in history as the most evil man who had ever lived? He could not. He would go mad, or die of shame, or put a pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger.

  But how long would it take? Another day? Another week? Longer?

  There was a shout from upstairs. ‘They’re here! The Russians are here!’

  Then Carla heard heavy boots clattering down the steps. Where had the Russians got such good boots? From the Americans?

  Then they were in the room, four, six, eight, nine men with dirty faces, carrying submachine guns with drum magazines, ready to kill as quick as look at you. They seemed to take up a lot of room. People shrank away from them, even though they were the liberators.

  The soldiers took in their surroundings. They saw that they were in no danger from the emaciated prisoners, mainly female. They lowered their guns. Some moved into the adjoining rooms.

  A tall soldier pulled up his left sleeve. He was wearing six or seven wristwatches. He shouted something in Russian, pointing at the watches with the stock of his gun. Carla thought she knew what he was saying, but she could hardly believe it. The man then grabbed an elderly woman, took her hand, and pointed to her wedding ring.

  Hannelore said: ‘Are they going to rob us of what little the Nazis didn’t steal?’

  They were. The tall soldier looked frustrated and tried to pull off the woman’s ring. When she realized what he wanted, she took it off herself and gave it to him.

  The Russian took it, nodded, then pointed all around the room.

  Hannelore stepped forward. ‘These people are prisoners!’ she said in German. ‘Jews, and families of Jews, persecuted by the Nazis!’

  Whether he understood her or not, he took no notice, but just pointed insistently at the watches on his arm.

  Those few who had any valuables that had not been stolen or traded for food handed them over.

  Liberation by the Red Army was not going to be the happy event many people had been looking forward to.