Germanica

by Robert Conroy

  “You’re right, of course,” she said sadly. “Like you say, it would be foolish, dangerous and likely futile. But it is so frustrating waiting here.”

  “If I may comment, you seem even more at peace every time I see you.”

  “Thank you and you’re right. I’ve even learned to trust people.”

  Shanahan grinned wickedly. “Who is he?”

  She returned the grin. “An American, Father, what else?”

  “And what are your plans?”

  “Our plans are quite simple. We want to survive this war and then think about whether we have a future together.”

  “But he will go back to the States. What will you do if you haven’t found your father and he wants you to go with him?”

  “Do you want me to say wither thou goest I will go? I will if you like, and yes, I would go with him and continue searching from wherever we doth goest. Of course, he hasn’t asked me yet. I will work on it.”

  “Your English has improved also. It was always good, but now it is excellent.”

  “I’m surrounded by Americans. It’s hard not to get better. My big worry is some flagrant obscenity working its way into my casual vocabulary.”

  “Have you forgiven the Schneiders?”

  “No, and I never will. Nor will I ever forget. They enslaved me, hurt me and humiliated me. I’ve survived, and maybe they won’t, and that would be a wonderful punishment. Whatever happens, I won’t worry about it. They may be punished here in this life or not. I will not lose sleep over them. They are beneath me.”

  “Lena, would you like a glass of sacramental wine or would you want me to pray for you?”

  “Both, Father.”

  * * *

  Harry Truman fought the urge to ask Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov if he would like a cocktail. He did wonder if the personal envoy of dictator Joseph Stalin had a sense of humor. Molotov was a survivor. He had lasted through several purges and was now one of the most important men in the Soviet Union. Rumor had it that Molotov had to tread lightly. He didn’t want to be perceived as too important and a rival to Stalin. Stalin’s rivals had a way of disappearing into Moscow’s dreaded Lubyanka Prison and never emerging again.

  They spoke through translators. While Molotov’s English was acceptable for casual conversation it was not good enough for diplomatic conversations where nuances were extremely important. Truman’s Russian language skills were nonexistent.

  Drinks were served. Truman had his bourbon on the rocks while Molotov had some American-made vodka that he clearly did not like. Truman smiled to himself. He had ordered that bad liquor be served to make the communist a little uncomfortable. It was petty, but he enjoyed it. The Soviets had been such pricks lately.

  Molotov put down his glass. “My country’s position is quite simple. We want the deserters from the Red Army handed over to us as we agreed upon.”

  “And we would like the Red Army out of Poland so that the Polish people can have their own free nation and a government of their choosing.”

  “The two are not related,” insisted Molotov. “The Russians you have in your custody are traitors and justice demands that they must be punished and, yes, that punishment will likely include their execution.”

  “And that is barbaric.”

  “Not to us. We still have anti-Russian partisans fighting our efforts to bring peace to that area. People are already dying and will continue to die. We must see to it that those traitors do not cause further mischief.”

  Truman sipped his bourbon. Unlike Molotov’s vodka, it was the best. “We have it on good authority that many of Vlasov’s soldiers are shot the moment they are taken by the Red Army. That does not sound like justice to me.”

  “It is our justice. You may think it is rough, but you have to remember the massive wars and upheavals that my country has endured in the last few decades. Any hint of rebellion must be crushed.”

  “Minister, at Yalta your country promised free and fair elections. We even sent members of the exiled Polish government that had been in London to Moscow after you promised that no harm would come to them. We now understand that they are all dead, executed by your secret police. We are willing to negotiate the return of those who wish to go back to Russia, but we will not force anyone to return to Stalin’s clutches.”

  Molotov winced at the insult to Stalin. He looked around, half expecting to be arrested for simply being in the room where such comments were made. The arm of the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, was long.

  Molotov switched topics. “Stalin is concerned that your actions regarding the traitors presages the possibility of the United States negotiating a separate peace with the Nazis, in particular, the vermin holed up in the Alps.”

  “You can tell Premier Stalin that he has nothing to worry about on that score. We will not negotiate a separate peace with those people you so accurately refer to as vermin. We might negotiate where and when they will lay down their arms, but lay them down they will. Josef Goebbels is deluding himself if he thinks we can be deterred by the mountains and winter and anything else that might stand in our way. If he survives, Goebbels will go on trial with all the other Nazi sons of bitches we hold.”

  Molotov seemed satisfied, even smiled. “Premier Stalin will be pleased. You might inform the government of Argentina that the Soviet Union will be watching them and how they try to assimilate the Russian traitors. As I said, the NKVD has a very long arm.”

  “I’m sure the Argentines can take care of themselves. Now, and along the lines with Poland, when are your troops going to end their illegal occupation of Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia?”

  Molotov smiled grimly. “There is nothing illegal about our forces being in those countries just as there is nothing illegal about your soldiers being in Germany. We require buffer nations to protect us from future German aggression and our troops will leave those nations when we are confident that they are stable. There will doubtless be mutual defense treaties between those nations and the Soviet Union that will guarantee that peace.”

  The Russian took another sip of the vodka and grimaced. “Did I not hear a rumor that the U.S. was contemplating breaking up Germany into little nations much like it was less than a hundred years ago?”

  “That was never seriously discussed,” said Truman. “Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau proposed it, but it will not occur.” With that, Molotov and Truman thanked each other for their courtesy and Molotov departed.

  Truman made himself another drink. Son of a bitch, he thought. The Russians are going to be a real pain in the ass. And how could Roosevelt have thought he could get along with Uncle Joe Stalin? Roosevelt must have been a lot sicker than he and everyone else had thought.

  * * *

  Winnie sat on a folding chair she’d brought so she could watch the front of the Goebbels compound. With rumors that the war would encompass the area around Arbon, people were moving out and she’d picked up the chair for pennies. Once more, Magda and the children were moving, this time for the greater security of Zurich. After that it was rumored that the group would somehow get to Portugal where they would take a ship to Brazil. Their ultimate destination was presumed to be Argentina. Both she and Ernie had wondered just how many Nazis and former Nazis, their families and their sympathizers Argentina could handle before exploding.

  She decided she didn’t care. What she wanted now was for all the Nazis in Arbon to disappear, and if the earth swallowed them up she didn’t care if that happened either. She saw Helga walking towards her with a very uncomfortable guard behind her.

  “We’re leaving again,” a grim-faced Helga said. “And once again it’s all your fault. My father says you are going to bomb everything so we have to leave to be safe. Why do you have to do that?”

  “Maybe it’ll end the war.”

  “Why don’t you leave us in peace?”

  Winnie decided to be blunt. “I would be happy to leave you and your brothers and sisters in
peace, but not your parents. They have to answer for the crimes they’ve committed, especially your father.”

  Helga’s eyes glistened. “But he’s done nothing except try to help and protect Germany and the German people from the Jews and other enemies.”

  Winnie decided it was pointless to argue. “I think we have to let other people decide that. I do hope you find safety and peace,” she said, surprising herself by meaning it.

  Helga smiled winsomely. “I hope the same for you and the man who’s watching us. Too bad you’re not lovers yet. You are a very nice lady, even if you are an American. Oh, you’re not Jewish are you?”

  “Would it matter if I was?”

  Helga thought for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose it would, at least not under the current circumstances.” She surprised Winnie by leaning over and giving her a hug. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

  “May I take your picture?” Winnie asked. Helga thought for a moment, smiled and nodded yes. Winnie took her camera, a very expensive Leica she’d bought in Zurich with her father’s money when she’d arrived in Switzerland. She even had color film in it. Helga smiled again and posed herself. It dawned on Winnie that the girl must have had many pictures taken of her. She took a couple and the guard sullenly took one of the two of them. Helga laughed and ran off.

  Good luck, Winnie thought. What will your life bring? she wondered. Would you be able to live with the knowledge that your parents—your father in particular—was a war criminal. If he was executed for his crimes, could you handle that? Would you have a good life or would you become embittered? She found herself hoping that the child would grow up to be a human being.

  * * *

  A short while later, a column of trucks and busses departed Arbon. They would travel by road to Bern and then by train to Marseilles. From there they would take a ship to South America.

  Dulles entered the compound accompanied by a handful of Swiss police and soldiers. After a short while they emerged. The Swiss left and Dulles signaled for her and Ernie to come with him.

  As they looked around the compound, both hers and Ernie’s conclusions were that the Nazis had lived a Spartan life. The house was two stories high and made of cement blocks. It looked shabby and run down and badly needed painting. At least it was large, they agreed.

  Dulles checked his watch. “Some other agents will arrive tonight about ten, which is about six hours from now. I want you to stay here and watch the place. There should be no incidents. The Swiss are entirely on board with our taking over the facility. Who knows, we may make it our permanent base.”

  Ernie shook his head. “Not if the bombs are going to be falling close by.”

  “Good point. I’ll have to think about another alternative. In the meantime, stay out of trouble and don’t break anything. If you need food, call and someone will send in some sandwiches. The phones are working.”

  After Dulles left, they wandered about the building and grounds. The Goebbels family had left numerous articles of clothing and many items with swastikas on them. Ernie liberated some monogrammed handkerchiefs and Winnie took some towels, agreeing that they would make wonderful souvenirs. Ernie added a couple of ashtrays and a cigarette lighter to the pillowcase he was using as a swag bag.

  The phone rang and Winnie answered it, simply saying hello. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her eyes widened. “Yes, Reich Minister, everyone has safely departed.” she finally said in German.

  Ernie grabbed a pad and paper and wrote “Goebbels?” Winnie nodded. She was talking to the head of what was left of the Third Reich. Winnie continued and smiled broadly. “Yes sir, I am part of a detail assigned to protect your property.”

  There was more from Goebbels. Ernie tried to get close enough to hear what he was saying, but all he could hear was a nasally voice.

  “Will that be all then, Reich Minister Goebbels? Good. Then perhaps I should inform you that I am not Swiss or German. I am an American and I work for the OSS. Ta-ta, Herr Scheissen.”

  Winnie hung up and threw herself down on the couch, doubled over in laughter. When she finally got control of herself she took out a cigarette, looked at it and decided against it. She sat back and looked at Ernie. “This will be something to tell our grandchildren.”

  “Ours?”

  She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, Ernie, ours. Remember what I said about my brother being entombed in the Arizona? Well, the Japs have been defeated and Germany is about to fall. Therefore, I have decided to start living again. For a while after he died, I went a little wild and crazy, actually more than a little bit. My brother was everything to me. My father was gone much of the time and my mother was too busy reading the society pages, so he took Dad’s place. He was the one who taught me how to shoot and fix cars. I thought about joining the women’s army, navy or Marines, but that wouldn’t put me anywhere near the Japs. The only way I could strike back at his murderers would have to be indirectly, so I used Dad’s influence to meet Colonel Donovan and he got me in. Working with the OSS has helped ground me.” She took a deep breath and smiled warmly. “I know you’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Well, I’m in love with you too.”

  She took his hand and led him to the master bedroom. The bed was huge, twice the size of a normal double bed. There was a huge red and black swastika on the blanket. “Get undressed,” she commanded and he complied.

  Very quickly they were both naked and they soaked in the sight of their bodies. Her breasts were small but firm, and her belly was as flat as any he’d ever seen, and Ernie was happy he’d worked out and stayed in shape. “You really do like me,” she said, laughing as she saw how aroused he was. They fell onto the bed and made love quickly. The second and third times were more passionate yet more delicate.

  Finally sated, they lay on the bed and shared the cigarette Winnie had started. “Will we tell our grandchildren that we consummated our love on Goebbels’ bed?” Ernie asked.

  “When they’re old enough to understand or we’re too old to care. I just wonder if they’ll believe it or if anyone will remember who Josef Goebbels was. By the way, Ernie, you will have fun with my father. He’s loud and pushy but he already respects you. I wrote about you and told him that you were a fighter pilot and now a spy. He never saw action in the first war. Like this one; he’s a civilian expert and stuck behind a desk and he hates it. Whatever you do, be firm with him. He despises weak people. By the way, when was your name changed to Janek?”

  “I understand,” Ernie said and yawned hugely. Three times with this woman who was a tiger. She had wiped him out. “My grandfather did it shortly after his family landed at Ellis Island. It had been Janikowski and he felt it was too Polish. Sometimes I wish he hadn’t made the change. I think you should be proud of your heritage and, besides, I like Polish food.”

  “So do I, or at least a lot of it. And when we’re back home and after we’re married, I want to go to Hawaii for our honeymoon. The government is going to make the Arizona a permanent grave and memorial. There will be no attempts to recover bodies. Too dangerous, I was told. And there’s likely not much to recover after all this time. Still, I would like to visit my brother’s grave.”

  “We will do exactly that,” he said and yawned again.

  He pulled her over and she rested her head on his shoulder. In a moment, his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. She slid out of the bed, padded across the room and got her camera from her purse. She smiled as she arranged a corner of the blanket to cover his exhausted manhood. She took his picture sprawled across Josef Goebbels’ bed with the swastika in plain view. Then she set the camera and the timer so she could be part of the scene, again discreetly arranging the bedding. She kept taking pictures until she was out of film. She would develop the pictures herself. It was another skill she’d mastered in Allen Dulles’ spy school. She almost giggled as she thought about sending copies to Josef and Magda Goebbel
s.

  Winnie felt Ernie shift and his arm fell across her belly. “Just so you know, I really wasn’t asleep.”

  * * *

  Anton Schneider put his rifle in a closet and slammed the door. “Father, I don’t feel like dying for a lost cause. You can if you wish, but neither my friends nor I want to commit suicide. Let’s face it. Germany has lost the war and National Socialism has gone down the toilet.”

  Gustav Schneider stood and barely controlled himself while his wife gasped. “How dare you say that? Yes we have suffered reverses, but we will prevail.”

  Anton laughed harshly. “Reverses, Father. If these are reverses I’d like to know what you consider a real defeat. We’ve lost everything including all of Germany—or have you forgotten that where we are was Austria until only a few years ago. We have no friends, no money, and we are now living in a fucking cave.”

  This time an outraged Gustav did swing his beefy arm, but a more agile Anton ducked under it. “Do you see what’s left, Father? Old men like you and boys like me. We have no modern weapons and no real training. When the time comes to fight the Americans we will be like lambs to the slaughter. We should be arranging our affairs so that we can either leave this godforsaken place and go to South America or surrender to the Allies and throw ourselves on their mercy.”

  “He has a point,” said Gudrun. “For the last few years it’s been nothing but defeat after defeat and promises of wonder weapons that are never fulfilled.”

  “We pledged to defend the Fuhrer,” Gustav said.

  “Father, have you noticed that he’s dead? That ugly cripple Goebbels is not my idea of someone I would die for.”

  “If we are captured by the Americans we will be punished severely,” Gustav said. “You might get away with a few years in prison because of your youth, while I would be executed as a war criminal.”

  Anton was intrigued. “For what? You were a clerk, a bureaucrat. You had no real authority. What could you have possibly done to be considered a war criminal?”

  To Anton’s surprise, his father looked genuinely saddened. “There are many reasons. I ran a ring of informers who told me who was being disloyal. I either accepted bribes from those cowards or sent them to concentration camps where they doubtless died. I stole food from government warehouses so we could eat better than others. And don’t forget, I did rape and enslave that Jewess, Lena. If she’s still alive, she could testify against me.”