Germanica

by Robert Conroy

  * * *

  Ensign Ted Kubiak, USNR, looked on in disbelief as one of his small crew leaned over the side of the boat and donated his lunch to the little fish. The rest of the crew were laughing hysterically.

  “Dalton, you cannot be sick. This is a river and the water is barely moving. There are no waves. You’ve ridden out storms with no problems. What the hell is wrong with you now?

  A very green Dalton stood up. To Kubiak’s disgust he had slobbered down his chin and onto his shirt. “Don’t know, sir. Maybe it’s because it isn’t rough enough. I’d love to stop barfing but I just can’t seem to.”

  The twenty-four-year-old Kubiak shook his head and joined in the laughter. Despite his stomach problems, Dalton was a good guy, a draftee from West Virginia. Like Kubiak, Dalton had never seen combat. He and all the others had missed the landings at Normandy and in Southern France. They’d been scheduled to attack the Japanese island of Kyushu, but the Japanese surrender had put a welcome halt to their preparations for what promised to be a terrible fight against an insane and fanatic enemy. They’d gotten new orders and these sent them to France—and now up the Rhine. “Up the Rhine” seemed strange. Every time he looked at a map he wanted to say down the Rhine, but he was assured that they were going up the Rhine towards its source, which he thought was in Switzerland.

  The long column of landing craft had made it up the Rhine to the Swiss border. There had been multiple stops for the boats to be refueled and the crew allowed time to eat and sleep. Numerous other columns of boats were towed by tugs with the crew simply along as passengers. None of the craft carried any troops, only U.S. Navy crews. Soldiers would come on board at the small German town of Lindau, a few miles away from the Nazi capital of Bregenz. This was assuming that the American forces had taken the city.

  They had been further delayed by the need to ensure that the river was clear of obstructions. Channels had been made through the remains of the bridges that had been destroyed by German demolitions. Buoys had been laid to mark the existence of other potential dangers. Mines were not a major factor, although the possibility of their presence had not been ignored. Minesweepers kept a lookout for them and sharpshooters were constantly present and alert. If a mine was spotted, the riflemen would shoot and detonate the mine.

  There were no problems. And the trip had taken on the feeling of a Rhine cruise vacation. The days were still bright and sunny. Numbers of sailors had stripped to their skivvies and lolled the sun, enjoying the scenic cliffs and historic castles as they passed them by. Heidelberg was pointed out along with the Rock of the Lorelei and everyone was curious about an ugly, squatty little fortresslike thing in the middle of the river. One of the men said it had been a medieval toll booth, which the guys thought was funny. The idea of boats paying tolls had never occurred to them.

  None of them had ever seen the Rhine, and they had been stunned by the steep earthen walls that nature had carved, forming a natural line of fortifications. It was easy to see that the Germans could have held the river line for a very long time and how fortunate the American army was to have taken the bridge at Remagen before it collapsed.

  Earlier in the war there had been problems with a shortage of landing craft. Increased production had partly solved that, while the transfer of the small boats from the now dormant Pacific theater had completed it. Thus, there was an abundance of landing craft of all sizes heading up the Rhine. Their destination was Lake Constance.

  Kubiak’s landing craft was relatively large. It was able to hold one hundred men or a tank and fifty men. Some genius in Cologne had decided that the tank could be shipped with the landing craft and later joined by a crew, so a Sherman tank was tied down in the hull. Scores of other craft had similar cargoes. Nor was the craft totally defenseless. Two fifty-caliber machine guns were mounted in the prow.

  He had written his parents and girlfriend that he’d gotten his first independent command and implied that it was a major warship. He’d then intentionally spoiled the illusion by sending a photo of the squat and homely vessel. The crew had voted to name her Brunhilde.

  Nor were they alone one their journey. On several occasions they’d had to pull off to the west bank of the Rhine and wait while American destroyers surged ahead, like slow traffic on a highway letting faster vehicles go by. Someone joked that the destroyers were going to take on the legendary Swiss navy. Most didn’t think it was funny. The presence of the destroyers simply emphasized the seriousness of their situation and reminded them that their respite was likely temporary.

  Kubiak bit his lip at the thought of taking his men into combat. There was no doubt that the landing would be a difficult one. The Germans were dying and those who were left were the worst of the worst. And what the hell were the rumors about gas?

  Still, they all consoled themselves that they weren’t fighting the crazy Japs. At least most of the Germans were willing to surrender, excepting of course the SS.

  * * *

  Allen Dulles was stern and unsmiling. “Of course we regret the tragedy, but it was an accident of war, nothing intentional. We have apologized and, when the fighting is over, we will make reparations.”

  Swiss General Henri Guisan was equally stern. They were in the lightly damaged Arbon City Hall. Dulles’ nose was running, caused by the lingering scent of burned buildings and living flesh. He was fighting the nausea caused by the several comingled stenches.

  Guisan declined to notice the other man’s discomfort. “More than a hundred Swiss civilians were killed and an equal number injured. Several city blocks have been flattened and burned. We want the guilty parties punished.”

  “I would too, if there was a guilty party to blame. Unfortunately, the pilot and crew of the lead bomber were all killed. I consider it possible that key members of the crew were injured when the plane was hit and went off course as a result. That led other bombers to follow their leader. If you wish to go higher up the chain of command to try to find guilty parties you will get nowhere. Why don’t you pin the blame on the late Herr Hitler who, if memory serves me, started this whole mess? If you want guilt, I would suggest that you nominate yourself and others in the Swiss government.”

  Guisan nearly jumped out of his chair but caught himself in time. “What! That’s preposterous.”

  “Yes, General. If you had cooperated more fully with us and opened your border to German soldiers who wished to surrender instead of turning them back to the SS, it is entirely possible that the Nazi government would have collapsed. In fact, I urge you to do that now. Announce that you will give sanctuary to any German soldier who crosses over and perhaps there won’t be any German soldiers left when the real fighting begins. Wouldn’t you like to see Herr Goebbels walking around Bregenz alone and confused and the world at peace again?”

  Guisan’s expression softened. “I’ll admit the vision has some merit. I will further admit that what happened was indeed an accident. I am, however, required to protest vehemently, but I know that you know that as well.”

  “Then let me make another suggestion. At some point in the fighting, when the moment is appropriate, send the Swiss army across the border to attack the rear of the German forces. This could be done unilaterally by Switzerland without signing any formal alliance with the United States. This would preserve your position of neutrality. You could simply state that it was necessary to protect Swiss lives and property. It would also assure you of the good will of the United States by shortening the war and saving American lives. And perhaps it would save Swiss civilians from further accidents as the fighting gets closer.”

  “You have incredible gall.”

  Dulles checked his watch with dramatic flourish. “Time is short, General. Please think about it. You would not want to find out that your precious neutrality is a fiction.”

  * * *

  Cullen grabbed Tanner’s arm. “I think you should come outside with me.”

  Tanner did as he was told. It was evening and the first thing he notice
d was a distinct chill in the air. It was further evidence that the days of warm weather were drawing to a close. The mountaintops were often hidden by mists. They formed a cover that did not always disappear the next day. In only a few more weeks, serious snowfalls would begin, making campaigning in the Alps a virtual impossibility.

  Cullen again grabbed Tanner. “Quit gawking at the scenery and come with me.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  They came to the tent that housed Father Shanahan’s Catholic chapel. Cullen pushed Tanner inside and closed the flap, leaving him alone. It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw Lena standing by the makeshift altar. She was crying and had an envelope in her hand.

  He ran to her and held her while Cullen tactfully disappeared. “Is something wrong?” he asked and realized it was a terribly dumb question to ask. Of course something was wrong. She handed him the envelope. “It’s a letter that Father Shanahan got. It’s from my father. He’s alive,” she laughed and added, “obviously.”

  “That’s great. How is he?”

  “He says he’s in good health and has been looking for me. Even more amazing, he’s in New York.”

  Tanner laughed. “How on earth did he get there?”

  “He says it’s a long story and he’ll tell me when we’re together. He’s working in a pharmacy and trying to get his doctor’s license back. He says that isn’t going to be difficult once his English improves. He wants me to come to New York as well.”

  “Is that what you want to do?” Of course it is, Tanner thought. There would be nothing for her in Czechoslovakia.

  “Yes, but I’m not going anywhere without you. The army will give me a glowing recommendation to expedite my status as an immigrant. But you have to come with me. You do love me, don’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how much,” he said and they hugged again.

  Lena stroked his cheek. “Once upon a time, you told me that you could get a medical discharge because of your problems with trench foot and pneumonia. Why don’t you do that, and we can get married and go to America.”

  Tanner took a deep breath. “That sounds like the greatest idea I’ve heard in a long, long time. However, I don’t think we’re going anywhere until this war is over or at least this battle has ended. Not only would the army shoot down any request of mine right now, despite what Hagerman says, but I don’t think I could leave without doing my part.”

  “I understand. However, that means you have to do one more thing for me. You have to promise me that you will do everything in your power to stay alive.”

  Sure, he thought as he made the promise. Words are easy. But how would it be on a landing craft headed for the coast of Lake Constance and the German capital of Bregenz? Survival had always been his number one priority, and it was even more important now that he’d met Lena.

  Rather than thinking dark thoughts, they both thought it was best if they spent these precious few minutes holding each other and wishing they had more than a few minutes.

  * * *

  Another betrayal, thought Josef Goebbels as he contemplated the message he’d just been handed. What remained of his intelligence service said that the Swiss were moving large numbers of troops towards the border. This was coming on the heels of their surprising announcement that any deserters from the German army would be welcomed with open arms by the Swiss government and not returned to Germany against their will. Obviously the Swiss had succumbed to pressure from the Americans. Air drops of leaflets proclaiming this had inundated the German lines. So far there had not been a mass exodus towards Switzerland, but he could only wonder when it would happen. More than ever he needed the strong and harsh efforts of his loyal SS.

  That assumed, of course, that they remained loyal. How many would emulate Hahn and try to disappear? How many had false papers and money hidden away, waiting for just the right moment to disappear? Probably most of them, he thought wryly—after all, he did.

  And now the Americans were also littering the place with pamphlets promising death and destruction on a level never seen before if the Wehrmacht did not surrender. The pamphlets hinted broadly at the expanded use of napalm, of an atomic bomb, and, perhaps most terribly, poison gas. Even the dumbest or most fanatic German soldier could tell that the Thousand Year Reich was in its death spasms. A thousand years? Goebbels laughed harshly. It had not lasted two decades. Hitler was dead and Germany was in ruins. Any idea Goebbels had of dying as a noble martyr had long since passed. When the time came, he would do as Hahn and so many others had done. He would cross the border and use the chain of safe houses that had been established for just such a contingency. He had the necessary false papers and the money to get away safely. It was a shame that he was so recognizable. He walked with a limp and his face and nose were not easily forgotten. Perhaps he could disguise himself as a woman, or have a doctor put a fake cast on his leg?

  The sirens went off again. He swore. It was another damn raid by the Americans. What would it be this time, more pamphlets or napalm? He’d just gotten word that the Yanks had taken Lindau, only a few miles up the coast. The Yanks were exerting steady pressure against Vietinghoff’s units to the east. No major frontal attacks, just a constant nibbling from positions of power.

  * * *

  Napalm. The woods were burning. Hummel and Pfister could smell the stench of burning woodland as well as cooking flesh, much of it human.

  Pfister was near his breaking point and wide-eyed with fear. “Do you think there will be a forest fire?” he asked. The thought of a wave of flames overcoming them and scorching them was terrifying.

  “It’s too wet,” said Schubert and both Hummel and Pfister stared. Their shell-shocked companion had been responding to questions more and more lucidly. Maybe he really was on the road to recovery.

  Schubert looked around him and continued. “Where the bomb lands it’ll burn, but there’s little wind and everything is wet. There will be no firestorm like the Americans want to let loose on us.”

  “What should we do?” Hummel asked. Despite what Schubert had said, he’d begun shaking with fear.

  “Stay here,” said Pfister. “But we keep an eye out for signs of a fire coming towards us. If that happens, we run like the devil.”

  Hummel was about to say something when there was an intrusion. “What the hell is going on? What are you cowardly shits up to?”

  It was an SS captain. They didn’t know his name, but they’d seen him before. Their assessment of him was that he was an arrogant prick. He was associated with the SS antiaircraft detachment that had moved in too close to them for comfort.

  Pfister snapped to attention while Hummel and Schubert got to their feet. Hummel noticed that Schubert had gotten his hands on a pistol, which was tucked in his belt. Why hadn’t he noticed that before and where had Schubert found it?

  Pfister answered. “Sir, we are trying to stay out of sight. We believe that your battery of eighty-eights will draw American fire from the lake, or even their planes. Therefore, we will stay hidden until the Americans actually move towards us from the lake. Then we will return to our positions and chop them to pieces.”

  The captain sniffed and then sneered. “I doubt that you will chop anything to pieces. I think you are a pack of cowards. I think you are planning to skulk here until the Americans come close and then you will surrender. You will be of no use to me unless you move closer to where my guns are dug in and waiting to take on the Americans. Now get up and move back to your real positions.”

  Hummel’s mind was racing. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Pfister, however, seemed reconciled to it. “As you wish, Captain,” he said.

  The captain walked over to Schubert who now seemed very confused and shaken. “What is your problem, soldier?”

  “I don’t want to die,” Schubert said and began to weep.

  The SS captain was shocked. “Fucking coward,” he said and smacked Schubert across the face. “I’m going to take you ba
ck and see that you are hanged.”

  “No!” howled Schubert. He pulled the pistol from his tunic pocket and fired point blank at the SS man, emptying the clip into his chest. The SS man fell backwards and immediately began vomiting copious amounts of blood. He tried to get up but couldn’t. He looked around at his killers and then lay back down.

  Pfister checked his pulse. “Dead,” he said with a smile. “Good job, Schubert.”

  “He wanted us to die. I don’t want to die. I just want to go home.”

  “We all do,” said Hummel. He held out his hand and Schubert took it. Hummel spoke gently. “I think you should let me take care of that pistol while we get rid of this man’s body.” Schubert nodded and handed over the weapon. It was a Mauser C96, a weapon that had been issued to the Wehrmacht in the thirties, but was now considered obsolete. Again he wondered just how the devil Schubert had gotten it? Hummel asked and Schubert said he didn’t remember. He also didn’t have any more ammunition.

  “Somebody’s likely to miss the swine sooner or later,” said Pfister as he jabbed the body with his foot. “Speaking for myself, I do not want to get in a gunfight with our own army. We will find someplace safer.”

  “May I suggest we leave him here with his pistol in his hand?” Hummel said. “Perhaps someone will think the obnoxious bastard committed suicide?”

  “Hummel, that is an absolutely evil solution. I like it. However, how would someone shoot himself eight or nine times? No, we will strip him, hide him in the woods and hope he’s an unidentifiable mess by the time he’s discovered. Maybe we can find a place where napalm has started a fire that is still burning, and leave him there?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Captain Charley Ward from the provost marshal’s office was not comfortable. “You know you don’t have to do this,” he said.

  Lena smiled. “But I want to. It’s time to set things straight, if only in my own mind.”

  Gustav and Gudrun Schneider had been swept up by the Americans and been arrested. To her utter astonishment, they’d listed her as someone who could provide them with an alibi and keep them from being tried as war criminals. As the jail where they were being held was only a few miles from where she lived and worked for the 105th, she convinced Tanner to go with her to see them. He wasn’t certain such a confrontation with the Schneiders was a good idea, but she said it would help her get over what had happened to her, and he reluctantly agreed. They also had a candid and somewhat uncomfortable conversation regarding what she would say.