He grinned and winked. She turned away and walked just a little faster.
* * *
When Ernie Janek presented himself to the Marine guard at the U.S. embassy in Bern, he expected to be told to wait. The summons from the old man in the park had been simple—be at the embassy at ten in the morning. To his surprise there would be no waiting. He was immediately ushered into a small room with a card table and two chairs. Not impressive, was Ernie’s first thought.
The old man entered and took a seat. A servant brought coffee and cakes and left. There was silence while they enjoyed the coffee. Switzerland might be neutral, but good, real coffee was still rare and the cakes were excellent. Even better, from Ernie’s perspective, they were free.
“My name is Allen Dulles, Captain, and I am in charge of all the OSS activities in the area. I won’t be more specific for security reasons and the fact that my job seems to change every day, if not every hour. Just for the record, you do know what the OSS is, don’t you?”
“Yes sir. OSS stands for Office of Strategic Services and it involves all kinds of spying and espionage activities. For the record, I wouldn’t mind doing something more useful like that than taking up space in a cheap Swiss hotel.”
Dulles took out his pipe, stuffed some tobacco, and lit it. He drew deeply and a blue cloud of smoke rose to the ceiling. “You were a fighter pilot. How many Germans did you shoot down?”
“Eight.”
“You were a fighter pilot and all fighter pilots are congenital liars. That means you actually shot down four. Is that correct?”
Ernie shrugged and grinned. “Guilty. One more and I would have been an ace, but I guess that’s never going to happen, is it?”
“Not in this war. Tell me, do you speak German or any other language and do you have any skills that might be useful in my line of work?”
“No sir.” Aw shit, he thought. Was he going to turn me down?
“What about Morse code? Do you know judo or karate?”
“I used to be good with Morse when I was in the Boy Scouts, but I know nothing about Judo and I don’t even know what karate is.”
Dulles’ next comment allayed his fears. “No matter. So many of my agents started out as willing amateurs and you are already way ahead of them. You’ve been in combat and you’ve faced down death. But you have always killed at a distance. Could you kill someone who was staring at you and was only a few feet away? If you had to, could you kill with a knife? Could you strangle a man? Could you kill a woman if you had to?”
“I don’t know but I think so.”
“Good. If you had told me you were certain you could, I would have thought you were a fool as well as a liar.”
“I hope I am not a fool, sir.”
Dulles ignored the comment. “What you will now do is go back to that hotel and gather up all your belongings and return here. You will be living and training in the embassy until something appropriate comes along. We will issue you diplomatic credentials which give you a great deal of legal immunity and you will not abuse them.”
“Understood, but won’t the Swiss notice that I’ve gone from the hotel?”
“Probably not, Captain. I hate to tell you this, but you are simply not that important. And if anyone does notice, a few discreet comments will satisfy them.”
Dulles stood and held out his hand. “Captain Janek, welcome to the OSS.”
* * *
The P51 Mustang was arguably the finest propeller-driven fighter plane in the world. It was powerful, durable and, with drop tanks, had enormous range, which enabled it to fly as an escort to bombers as they attacked far into Germany. With the right pilot at the controls, it could hold its own against Germany’s best and that included their vaunted jet, the ME262. The German jet was vulnerable during take-off and landing and required a long runway. Thus, American pilots learned to tail the jets back to their bases and, if they could not actually kill them while landing, damage the runways so they could not be used until repaired. Not only was the P51 a great plane, but there were thousands of them, something that could not be said about the German jets, which maybe numbered in the hundreds. Overall also, American pilots were much better trained then their German counterparts, who were poorly trained because of chronic fuel shortages and a lack of safe places for training.
Lieutenants George Schafer and Bud Sibre were bored. They hadn’t seen a German plane in days. This afternoon they flew their birds over southern Germany and were looking for prey on the ground. While George searched the roads below, Bud scanned the skies for Germans. They were not having any luck. The skies were empty and so too were the roads. The only traffic was clearly civilian and they’d been told to not attack civilians, even if they were Germans and doubtless Nazis.
“We know there are Krauts down there, so where are they?” said George over his radio. He was frustrated. They both were. Every briefing said the Germans were moving by night and hiding during the day. On a few occasions they’d shot up some hayfields and barns or some woodlands, especially if they saw tracks that might mean Nazi activity. Aside from destroying some farmer’s livelihood or mutilating some trees, it wasn’t clear that they’d accomplished anything.
“We need to be able to see in the dark,” said Bud. There were rumors that the military was actually working on something that could sense heat, thus enabling a pilot to “see” in the dark. They were not counting on getting it during this war.
“Convoy,” said George. The two planes swooped down. Three vehicles were parked by the side of the road. Red Crosses were plainly visible on their sides and tops. “Damn it,” he added. They had seen a number of ambulances in the last few days and all were displaying the symbol of the Red Cross.
The military and their own sense of morality told them they could not strafe an ambulance full of wounded even though they were doubtless Nazis. For all they knew, the Germans could be hiding Adolf Hitler in one of the vehicles, but they would not intentionally fire, which was why ambulances often drove in daylight. Less of a chance of an accident, was the reasoning. Nor was there any firing at them from antiaircraft guns.
They flew low and swept over the ambulances. “Somebody’s in the road,” said George. “I’ll check it out.”
“Roger.” Bud would watch out for any danger to his friend and eliminate that nuisance if it occurred.
“Hey, it’s a nurse,” George chortled. “And, damnation, she’s a blond.”
“You wanna land and have her check your blood pressure along with the pressure behind your dick? Or why don’t you signal her to show you her tits.”
George ignored him. “She’s waving and smiling and there’s a doctor in front of one of the ambulances. I guess we should play nice.”
The two pilots again flew over the ambulances. The waved from their cockpits and wagged their wings. They flew off to their base in France where their planes would be fueled and ammo reloaded. Down below, people were dying in cold and mud and filth. While death in the air could be just as violent and ugly, this night they would eat warm food and sleep in beds.
* * *
“Fucking American bastards!” screamed Magda Goebbels as she waved at the American planes. She’d yelled in English even though the two pilots couldn’t possibly hear her. The smile was frozen on her face as the planes disappeared.
Despite himself, the “doctor,” Josef Goebbels, laughed hugely. “I hope they can’t read lips.”
They’d decided to heed advice and hide in plain sight. Americans wouldn’t shoot up ambulances, they’d been told, and so far the advice had proven right. Despite those assurances, each time American planes looked them over, there was the real fear that a killer pilot would make a small and intentional mistake and strafe them, later saying he couldn’t see the Red Crosses. So sorry, he would say. He would apologize, have his wrist slapped, and be forgiven. Each ambulance had a driver and a guard. The Goebbels family occupied two of the ambulances while the third was filled with what remained of thei
r personal possessions. It was galling that they’d been reduced to being able to put all of their possessions into one ambulance.
“Did you learn to swear like that when you visited the United States?” Josef asked. As a young woman Magda had spent a number of months in America and spoke English fluently.
They had stopped by the road so the children could answer calls of nature and had been shocked when the two fighters had suddenly appeared. But now they were gone and the danger was over. She called the children who ran and laughed as they got back into the ambulances.
Josef Goebbels was pleased with their progress. Another day or two would see them at Hitler’s mountaintop retreat at Berchtesgaden, the Eagle’s Nest, where there had been happy memories of the glory of the Reich. Not enough memories, he thought sadly. The war had interfered with mountaintop festivities. From there they would go deeper into the mountains, and safety in the Redoubt.
During their travels they had seen the stark and brutal evidence of Germany’s demise. Roads had been cratered by bombs. Destroyed vehicles and burned out tanks were everywhere. It was impossible to ignore the stench of burned and decaying bodies still inside them. While they traveled during the day, they were able to see camouflaged tanks and troop carriers. They were hiding and waiting until the dark when they could sneak down a road a few more miles to wherever was their destination. Josef Goebbels wondered if many of them were headed south towards the Alps and the Redoubt. He also wondered if many of the other ambulances headed towards the Redoubt would make it.
Even this day, as the American planes had zoomed past, they felt hidden eyes on them. The German soldiers watching them must have wondered who they were to have commandeered the ambulances. Perhaps some of the soldiers had recognized the Goebbels family from the numerous photos taken of them and published throughout the Reich. If so, Josef Goebbels wondered if they thought he was a coward for hiding behind the Red Cross and instead of being in Berlin with the Fuhrer. He decided he didn’t care.
* * *
“Where the hell is Remagen?” yelled General Evans. He raced across the office and started pawing through maps.
There was a flurry of activity while his staff pored over maps of Germany. “Got it,” said Tanner. “It’s a small town north of here on the Rhine.”
Evans grinned wickedly. “And I’ll bet the map shows it’s got a bridge, doesn’t it? Well, as of a few hours ago, that bridge became ours and Bradley’s First Army boys are pouring across it into the heart of Germany. Hot damn! We’re in and ahead of that son of a bitch Montgomery.”
Cheers exploded in the large tent that was the division’s temporary headquarters. If the Rhine had been crossed anywhere, it meant that it would probably be easier for the next force across to exploit. Maybe the German armies on the other side would indeed collapse. Maybe pigs would fly, Tanner thought. On the other side of the Rhine was a defensive line called the West Wall or the Siegfried Line. No one knew how strong those works were and how well they were manned.
Tanner decided to be bold. “General, if you look at the map, Remagen doesn’t do anything or go anyplace. It’s just a little town with a bridge and one rail line heading east. If we’ve now got a base in Germany proper, it looks pretty accidental. I just wonder how it can be exploited. And what does that do to Montgomery’s planned big jump?”
“That’s for Ike and Bradley to decide, just like it’s going to be up to Devers to figure out how to get his army across. When that happens, maybe we can cut off at least some of the German army heading to the Alps. You know damn well that Patton is chomping at the bit to cross and now that we have this Alpine Redoubt to worry us, I’ve got money that says we’ll be crossing just as quickly as possible.”
Montgomery’s planned massive combined forces jump across the Rhine was code-named Operation Varsity Plunder. Critics of the British general’s plans held that Varsity Plunder was overplanned and overlarge. It even included massive airborne assaults that had, in the past, resulted in heavy casualties.
Evans waved grandly to his grinning staff. “The Seventh Army and this division are going to cross that damn river. And when we do, we’re going to smash that Alpine Redoubt and then be on our way home.”
There were more cheers. Tanner decided he needed some fresh air and stepped outside. As usual, the weather was damp and foggy. He decided that Germany in the winter wasn’t the most wonderful place in the world. South of them and closer to the Alps was supposed to be great ski country. Too bad he didn’t ski.
Mitch Cullen, a captain and another member of the division’s G2, or intelligence section, joined him and shrugged. “Crossing the Rhine sounds like a fine opportunity to get shot at.”
“Are you criticizing our beloved general?”
“Horrors, no. It’s just that Evans is a lot more enthusiastic about invading Germany than a lot of people, and that includes me. I just want to get this over, get out and go home.”
“Pretty much my idea, too.”
Sergeant Hill emerged from the tent and joined them. He didn’t salute. Nobody did. Even though the area was supposed to be safe, there was always the risk of a sniper. Saluting identified the person being saluted as someone important. Saluting, therefore, was prohibited, particularly by those who were important.
“Captain Tanner,” said Cullen, “you missed the best part. General Evans had already gotten a change in orders from Ike. We are to cross that river as soon as possible. In particular, Captain Tanner, he wants you to find and gather as many small boats as you can find.”
“Captain Cullen, did someone tell our general that the Germans had either taken or destroyed all the boats along the Rhine?” Tanner asked. He had three weeks’ time in grade as a captain. This made him the senior of the two.
“General Evans said he knows that and that he believes you are a very resourceful officer who will solve your part of the problem and do so without getting your feet wet.”
“Shit,” Tanner muttered while Cullen laughed.
Hill smiled. “It gets better, or worse depending on your perspective. I’m supposed to help you.”
CHAPTER 4
Tanner looked through his binoculars at Germany. He was in the upper floor of a two-story hotel located outside the village of Vogelgrun and on the west side of the Rhine. He could see the mist-covered river and Nazi Germany beyond it. The scene looked peaceful, but it was deceptive. Just past the Rhine lay the Siegfried Line. It was said that the wall was obsolete and that the troops manning it were second and third rate, but no one would know for certain until the river was crossed and the defensive line attacked. Tanner had the terrible feeling that the blood price would be very high, regardless of any obsolescence or lack of training.
He handed the binoculars to Cullen. “What I would highly recommend is lining up every artillery tube in the world and pounding the crap out of everything within five miles of the river for a week or two and then sending a thousand bombers over the place to finish the job.”
Cullen nodded. “Sounds like an effective use of military resources to me. Unfortunately, it ain’t gonna happen. Did you happen to notice that there’s not much to see on the other side of the Rhine? Like that bridge at Remagen, the Germans don’t seem to think this part of the Reich is all that important. There’s nothing out there but farmland and that little town of Briesach just to the north.”
Tanner disagreed. “Don’t you wonder just how many of those farmhouses and haystacks are pillboxes and bunkers in disguise? And how many machine-gun nests could be hidden in a field? Give me a bunch of Boy Scouts with water pistols and I could raise hell with anyone trying to cross. The Krauts didn’t help matters by destroying the only bridge in the area. Even if we do get troops across, it’s going to take a long time to rebuild it. In the meantime, we’d have to use small boats and pontoons. And did you notice that the river is running high and fast? And oh yes, the water coming down from the mountains is very, very cold. And unless I’m wrong, those are chunks of ice floa
ting in it.”
The bridge that had once spanned the Rhine was in ruins. The center span was gone, dumped into the river by German engineers. Germany was so unreachable it might as well be on another planet.
“Answer me a question, oh Professor Tanner,” said Cullen. “Are we in Germany or France?”
“Son, this is land that has been shot, fought over, and pissed on for centuries. It was mainly France up until 1870 when the Germans took it. The French got it back in 1918 and then lost it in 1940. I think it’s safe to say that right now the fair city of Vogelgrun is predominantly French. Any Germans who lived there are either running for their lives or keeping their heads down and maybe learning French. There may be a number of Swiss in the town since the border and the city of Basel are so close. And we do want to keep the Swiss happy.”
Despite all the changes in nationhood, Vogelgrun had been spared much of the devastation of war. Only a few buildings had even been damaged. Some collaborators had been beaten and a few hanged, but there had been no orgy of destruction. Nor did they see more than a couple of cases where women who’d fraternized with the Germans had been punished by having their heads shaved or having “whore” painted on their bare breasts.
If it weren’t for the number of armed American soldiers in the streets, Vogelgrun and the neighboring towns could have been quaint tourist destinations. The American army had been greeted enthusiastically and an entire regiment of the 105th had taken up positions fronting the river. Wine and brandy had flowed freely and young French women and even some older ones had been generous with their bodies. Sergeant Hill happily informed them that he’d gotten laid twice. Tanner hadn’t yet been so fortunate. Sometimes he wished he’d kept in touch with his ex-girlfriend back in the States. At least he’d have someone to write to and get letters from. But that relationship had just faded away.
“I just want to keep General Evans happy,” Cullen said as he squinted through his own binoculars. “He wants to cross here and we’re supposed to find boats while he scrounges up a pontoon bridge. Better, he should find a whole lot of pontoons since they have an annoying habit of getting smashed by enemy artillery. I know I don’t see any enemy at all, but you know they are hiding out there and watching us.”
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