“Take off your uniform and boots.”
Wally whimpered and complied. He had heard the slight click of the safety releasing. He was in grave danger. He also realized that the boy had somehow gotten out of his handcuffs. Damn. The boy had said they were too tight and one of the officers had loosened them. Damn.
“Lie down,” Wally was ordered, and now crying openly, he obeyed.
“I don’t want to die,” he sobbed. “I want my mother.”
“Coward,” Hans Gruber said as he hit Wally in the head with the stock of his carbine. Wally tried to speak, but his world had become dark.
* * *
“Captain Tanner I presume.”
Tanner laughed. They were outside a former school that had been designated as a hospital. “Doctor Hagerman, are you following me? Are you that concerned about my keeping my feet dry that you came all this way?”
The two men shook hands warmly. “No, I did not travel all the way from Belgium to see how your feet are doing. I got tired of treating GIs with penicillin for the clap and wanted to do some real doctoring.”
Tanner pretended to be puzzled. “Clap? How on earth could our innocent soldiers get the clap since Ike has forbidden any contact between our horny GIs and equally horny German women?”
“Ike is doing as well with his nonfraternization rule as King Cnut did in trying to keep the tide from coming in. There are tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of German women who would like to make an arrangement with an American to provide them with food, shelter, and other basics. And so what if it means having sex with a stranger, or even several strangers? Does desperation make a woman a prostitute? I don’t know. I’m not terribly religious, but I think I’ll let God figure that out. Talk to a woman who would otherwise starve or her child would die if she didn’t have sex with a GI, and then try to judge. I don’t think anyone has a real idea how destitute the German people are, and many who do just don’t give a damn.”
“Obviously, you really feel strongly about this.”
“Yes, and one last thing—When the savages from Russia rolled in, they gang-raped several million women. Most were German but the Reds really didn’t care where they were from. Now, many of them are suffering from venereal diseases or unwanted pregnancies. I don’t do abortions myself; they are illegal after all. But some of my associates do, and I’m not going to turn them in or criticize them.”
Hagerman took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes I get worked up and I shouldn’t. I understand that Ike is going to rescind that stupid and unenforceable nonfraternization policy. At any rate, you came here to see Private Oster, didn’t you?”
The two men went down a hallway and into a ward where a curtain had been drawn around a bed. “Is he going to make it?” Tanner asked, suddenly worried. He’d been told that Oster had been wounded, but giving him such a degree of privacy was unusual if the wounds weren’t grievous.
“He should recover nicely. His physical wounds aren’t that serious. He’s got a mildly fractured skull, if there is such a thing and, ah, one other problem.”
Hagerman pulled the curtain and the two men stepped in. Oster was awake and looked at them in confusion. “Why are you here now? Did I do something else?”
There was a bandage wrapped around Oster’s skull. “He doesn’t need all this bandaging, but we’re going to keep his head wrapped until we solve his problem. Private, I am now going to shift the bandage so Captain Tanner can see.”
“No, I mean, no sir,” Oster said.
“Yes you will,” said Tanner, “but first tell me what happened.”
Oster started to tear up. “I don’t really know. One minute I’m walking with the prisoner and the next he’s got my rifle and I’m on the ground. Then he hits me and then I wake up here and I’ve been cut.”
Tanner thought he understood. The young Werewolf was still a Nazi fanatic. He either changed his mind, or something had changed it for him, or he’d been lying all along. Lena would not be happy at this turn of events. She had put so much emotion into changing the boy.
Of course, a big mistake had been made in giving this slow-witted American soldier any responsibility whatsoever. Now the Werewolves had an American uniform and an M1 Carbine along with at least one clip of ammunition.
Hagerman put his hand on Wally’s shoulder. “Private Oster,” he said firmly, “I am now going to pull off the bandage and show Captain Tanner what happened.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
They two men solemnly assured Wally that they wouldn’t. Hagerman carefully pulled back the first bandage and exposed a second one covering a large patch of Oster’s forehead. The young private was whimpering and not from pain. Tanner thought he knew what was coming next.
The second bandage was carefully pulled back, exposing a neatly gouged swastika in the middle of Wally Oster’s forehead. Neither man said a thing. After a few seconds, Hagerman replaced the bandage. He thanked Wally, and the two men went outside where Hagerman lit a cigarette.
“Jesus, Doc, how are you going to get rid of that ugly thing? He can’t go back with that obscene badge in the middle of his forehead.”
“He won’t have to. There’s such a thing as plastic surgery. Good techniques were introduced in World War I, and there have been many improvements since then. He’ll have a couple of minor operations to remove the swastika and then he’ll have a small scar in the middle of his forehead that he can wear as a badge of honor showing that he’d been wounded in action. He’s going to get a Purple Heart and maybe a trip home. I think I can convince some people that retarded boys who can barely read and write their own name should not be drafted and get him sent back home to West Crotch Rot, Texas. Who knows, maybe he’ll thank me. What I would like to do is find out just who beat the crap out of the German.”
“What?”
“Ah, something else you didn’t know. Two guys came down from Seventh Army with permission from General Patch to question the prisoner after you were through with him. I understand that the questioning turned into interrogation and then torture to get him to give them information a fourteen-year-old kid probably didn’t know in the first place. General Evans is absolutely livid and has complained upstream to Patch. It won’t make a bit of difference since Patch is sick and going to be replaced. But at least we have some idea why our Werewolf recanted.”
* * *
Staff Sergeant Billy Hill loved hunting. As a kid back home in Alabama, he’d take a rifle and hunt squirrels or rabbits. Back then he had a .22, and killing a squirrel was about all it would do. When he joined the army as a young adult he was already a highly skilled shooter with just about any kind of rifle or shotgun made.
Now what he really liked to do was hunt Germans. He had his own modified Garand M1 and it was fitted with a telescopic sight. He showed up at Sergeant Higgins’ outpost unannounced but not unexpected. The two men had been friends for years and, since Hill’s elevation to division staff, Higgins had extended an open invitation for Hill to go Nazi-hunting.
The crafty Higgins had his men build him a bunker that was well sited and camouflaged. “Do the Germans know about this place?” Hill asked.
“Not yet and I don’t want them to. If you’re gonna go hunting, don’t draw attention to here.”
“What are you worried about? One more attack on the German lines and they’ll collapse like a house of cards.”
Both men laughed harshly. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” said Higgins. “One more attack like the last one and this corps will be ruined and maybe the entire Seventh Army will cease to exist.”
The 105th Infantry had recently been joined with the newly and partially arrived Tenth Mountain Division to form the Twenty-Fifth Corps. No commander had been designated so it had temporarily fallen on General Evans.
Hill grinned amiably at the handful of soldiers in the bunker. “Any of you brave men want to come with me?”
All but one looked away or lowered the
ir heads. That one stared at him and shook his head. “What about you?” asked Hill, directing his question towards the man who was staring at him.
“No thank you, Sergeant. I’m not crazy.”
Hill stiffened. “You implying that I am?”
The soldier, a PFC, wasn’t intimidated. “Didn’t mean that. I don’t know what you’re thinking and why you want to go out there and shoot people. I just don’t. All I want to do is what’s required of me and get home to my wife and kids.”
Hill blinked. Kids? He’d known that fathers were being drafted, but this was the first time he’d run across one. No wonder the guy didn’t want to volunteer. But that was just too bad. The guy was a soldier. “Are you saying you wouldn’t obey a direct order to follow me out there into Nazi-land?”
“Of course I would. Just don’t you go looking for any enthusiasm or any gung-ho and ‘let’s charge the machine gun’ crap. First time somebody shoots at me, I go to ground and call for help.”
“How old are you, Private?”
“Thirty-four and I want to reach thirty-five and be back home in Illinois when it happens.”
“The Germans are our enemy, Private.”
“With respect, Sergeant: says who? I’m part German and so is my wife. Some of the people you’re going out to shoot could be my relatives. Fortunately, we don’t have any Jap relations, so killing them’s okay. My point is, Hitler’s dead. Let’s send in the diplomats and let them talk and end this thing.”
“What about the Jews?”
“What about them? They’re already dead and nothing can be done about it. Fact is, I don’t totally believe all the bullshit they’re feeding us about death camps and all that. I saw Dachau and it was a terrible place, but it still won’t bring back anybody the Nazis killed. And if I get killed going out with you as some dumb volunteer, nobody’s gonna bring me back either.”
Angrily, Hill took his rifle and snuck out. He was perplexed by the man who didn’t want to fight. Higgins had told him the password and countersign and pointed out the path through the barbed wire. Warnings about mines were also conveyed. The front had stabilized since the failed American attack.
It took hours of slow moving before Hill thought he was in position to catch himself a German. He was covered with leaves and twigs and lay in a hollow part of ground. He would fire one round and then depart through a path he’d already figured out. In the meantime, he would simply be patient. He had no real choice. Haste didn’t make waste. Haste could get a man killed.
He’d been waiting almost two hours and was beginning to think there would be no hunting today when, there it was. He saw a flicker of motion. A German soldier had stuck his head over his foxhole and was looking around. Hill thought that the poor boy’s officer had probably told the soldier to see if any Americans were in sight. No, but they were within range.
Hill preferred killing officers, but none were around. He aimed at the soldier’s exposed head and gently squeezed the trigger. The enemy soldier’s head jerked back and disappeared. One more, thought Hill.
Seconds later, he was moving quickly through his escape route while machine guns and mortars fruitlessly sought him out. Another hour found him back in Higgins’ bunker. That same older soldier looked at him. “Make a kill?” he asked.
“Damn right.”
“Take his scalp, too?”
Hill turned red with anger. “Look, you little asshole, I’m out there fighting while you’re in here hiding.”
“Great, Sergeant, but tell me why we’re fighting. We’ve got ninety percent of Germany, so who cares about this piddling little part called Germanica? The way I see it, the only real enemy we’ve got left is Japan. Germany didn’t bomb Pearl Harbor, the Japs did. I say we pull out of here and let the few Nazis left do whatever they want while we get rid of the Japs.”
“Private, are you saying you don’t want to fight the Germans?”
“That’s pretty much it, Sergeant. Are you gonna have me court-martialed? Maybe you’d like to see a picture of my kid. I want to be there when he grows up. I just don’t want to die for something stupid and unnecessary.”
Hill didn’t answer. He took his rifle and headed back to the division’s headquarters. He needed to talk to people about what he’d been told. Yeah, he had made a kill and he was proud of it. Or he thought he was. It was his fifteenth that he could confirm. It was a good kill. So why the hell did he feel so depressed?
CHAPTER 11
The sight of German soldiers marching down a street might not have shocked many people in Nazi-occupied Europe, but this was Arbon, Switzerland, not Poland or what had been Vichy France.
Ernie had been told to sit tight in Arbon, do nothing to aggravate anyone, especially the Nazis so close across the border, and observe. This morning he was sitting with Winnie and enjoying a coffee. She had just returned from another junket to Bern where she had met with Allen Dulles. He knew better than to ask why. Someday, he thought wryly, he’d have secrets to hold tightly as well.
She had also given up wearing her fat outfit, at least for this day, and was stylishly dressed in very modern slacks and a jacket, and Ernie greatly appreciated the fact. It was she who first saw the column of soldiers approaching.
“Ernie, look. Are they Swiss? They don’t quite look Swiss.”
Ernie turned and saw the coal-scuttle helmets. He tried to remember if the Swiss wore them as well. After a moment, it didn’t matter as the swastikas on the sides of their helmets became obvious. All he and Winnie could do was sit and stare in disbelief as the column marched by. The residents of Arbon were just as shocked. A few Germans tried to look stern but most of them were clearly enjoying themselves.
“Should we follow them?” Winnie asked. Ernie nodded and they let the column lead them to the very small train station that serviced Arbon. In recent weeks, a couple of spurs had been added and these led to fields just outside of town.
Along with a number of other people, they tried to get closer to where a locomotive pulling a number of freight cars had pulled up on one of the spur lines. Swiss police and German soldiers kept them at bay. Whoever or whatever was on the train was not for public view. The two of them pushed to the front of the crowd and presented their credentials proclaiming them as accredited diplomats. The Swiss police were adamant.
“Those documents will keep you from getting arrested, but not from being detained if I feel you are disobeying my lawful instructions,” a police corporal said. When Winnie tried to say something, the policeman silenced her with a steely glance and a reminder that women in Switzerland were third-class citizens, and had not even risen to the level of second class. They could not vote and many jobs were closed to them.
“Will you stop me from taking pictures?” she asked.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” said the Swiss cop, “but I suppose I can’t stop everyone.” A number of Arbon’s residents were taking their own photos of the incredible sight.
Ernie looked over the column of Germans and estimated their number at at least two hundred. “Is Switzerland being invaded?” he facetiously asked.
The policeman actually smiled. “I like to think it would take more than this to conquer my country.”
A column of trucks was heard approaching. They arrived and pulled alongside the parked train. The doors on the freight cars were opened and the soldiers began unloading crates. Ernie always carried his binoculars and used them to see what was being moved. He also tried to see if any of the Krauts at the train were the ones who’d beaten him. He looked for any senior officers. When he thought he saw one, he pointed the person out to Winnie who snapped him with her telephoto lens.
The crates appeared to be carrying canned food and nothing more suspicious. Another freight car contained reasonably fresh produce and that was thrown into trucks.
“I have a question,” Winnie asked. “Why did they make the soldiers walk here instead of letting them ride on the trucks?”
The police corporal paused
for a moment and then laughed. “Because they’re Germans, that’s why. Germans always do things the difficult way.”
* * *
The meeting between Allen Dulles and Alain Burkholter, the unofficial representative of the Swiss government, took place in a house in Arbon the next day. As usual, Burkholter was urbane and poised while Dulles was clearly agitated. They had before them a number of the photographs that Winnie had taken.
“We have nothing to hide,” Burkholter said. “We said all along that we would support the Germanica government with those supplies needed to maintain their basic needs. We said that we would send them food and that is exactly what we are doing. Your photos show nothing in the way of military supplies. There were no rifles, no machine guns, no ammunition, and certainly no tanks. You would find, if we were to permit you to inspect these shipments, quantities of medical supplies as well.”
Dulles smiled. “Are you saying that you would let us inspect the shipments?”
“Absolutely not. You read too much into my comment.”
“But what if we were to somehow find that weapons and such were being shipped in? What would your government’s stance be then, Mr. Burkholter?”
Burkholter simply shrugged. “I believe that I already stated the dilemma the Swiss government finds itself in. We dare not enrage the savage animal that is just outside our door. We have only a few planes and absolutely no tanks, so we cannot give the Germans any. But if they were to forcibly demand ammunition and small arms to include antitank and antiaircraft weapons, we would be hard-pressed to deny them.”
“That and the fact that many citizens of Switzerland support the Nazis would also make it difficult to say no, wouldn’t it?”
“I won’t argue the point. By the way, if you are thinking of having your OSS people use their considerable skills at sabotage to stop or delay the shipments, please don’t. We would be exceedingly angry, especially if Swiss citizens were either killed or injured. We would protest vigorously and consider taking very harsh action against the perpetrators.”
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