by William Ryan
‘If they stay, they will most likely die. The SS want the camp forgotten. They’ve already erased other camps, further east – nothing left but empty fields. They plan to do the same with the camps here – it’s already started. The camp is being decommissioned, the sub-camps wound down.’
Monika considered this.
‘How long before you have to act?’
‘Not long.’
She stood, walking behind him, leaning down on the back of his chair. He felt her shift her weight and then her hand was on his shoulder. The touch was gentle and it made him blink back tears. He was so tired and the warmth of her hand made him remember it.
‘Unless I have to move sooner, I want to wait until the Russians attack.’
‘What if the army can hold the Russians – push them back, even?’
‘They won’t. They’re building defences near Breslau. We’re two hundred kilometres closer to the Front here. The army knows the Russians are unstoppable – we’ve known for the last two years. It’s why the Volkssturm was formed. It’s why the Gauleiter has sent the mayor plans for a civilian evacuation. It’s why the SS are covering their tracks.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘I saw Hubert.’ There was no physical reaction. Her hand still rested on his shoulder and there was no alteration to its gentle pressure. She must already know. Which must mean she had a way of contacting him, surely?
‘I need civilian papers. For the guards. If I can provide the guards with papers, then they might just help me with the women. Do you think Hubert might be able to assist with something like that?’
Monika tousled what there was of his hair and then walked to the window. She yawned, stretching her arms wide behind her back. The gesture was almost as intimate as her touch.
‘You seem certain I know how to get in contact with him.’
‘I need his help.’
He heard her quiet laugh.
‘You have it all planned out. If you saw him, you must know he shouldn’t be here, that if he were caught he would be shot. That most likely he is with the partisans in the hills. And then there’s you – working for the SS and training the Volkssturm. Surely he would think it was a trap. Wouldn’t you?’
‘I know it’s a lot to ask.’
Monika let her breath out in a sigh.
‘Remember when we were children, how easy it was between us? Who could have thought that it would come to this?’
Monika’s voice sounded hollow, as if she were drained. He found he had no words that came to mind. It seemed as strange to him as it must to her. And yet, here they were.
‘I’m going back to my bed,’ she said, bending down to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray placed on the low table between his mother’s chair and his father’s. He could smell her – a mixture of the cigarette and a warmer, sleepy odour that must be her own.
‘If you did see Hubert, I’m grateful you told no one except me, and I’m sure he is too. In the meantime, what you’re doing at the hut is brave, if insane. I wish you success. More than that, I can’t say yet. But, who knows. I may be able to tell you something soon.’
He listened to her make her way to the back of the house, the floorboards creaking as she moved. Then the soft sound of her bedroom door closing. Outside, the clouds in the night sky had grown darker. The dawn that must eventually come now seemed uncertain.
44
THEY’D BEEN LIVING underneath Galechka for a week now. They’d found an empty house nearby with floorboards and a door that no one had been keeping an eye on so they’d dug the trench deeper, laid the tarpaulin on the ground beneath and used the floorboards and the door for walls. Galechka provided the roof. A small diesel stove hung from the tank’s belly – keeping them warm and Galechka’s engine from freezing. There was plenty of food – tinned meat from America and even chocolate, while the cooks brought hot food round twice a day in a jeep. They were happy enough. They played cards for twigs, listened to the radio and the occasional artillery shell passing overhead, polished the bullets and shells and turned over the tank’s engine from time to time. They waited.
Around them the forest was busy. There were thirty-two tanks in the battalion – all of them gone to ground the same as Galechka, dug in so only their turrets showed. It wasn’t only their battalion, however. There were Siberians, Cossacks, Ukrainians, Mongolians, Kazakhs, Georgians, Armenians and even Poles in the forest, each with a tank to call home. Every tree covered its own tank, as far as Polya could see. And each tank covered its crew. And each tank formation had infantry to go with it, and engineers were carving out new roads each day. More soldiers were arriving constantly. Who knew how many men, and women, were in the woods? Who knew how far the Front extended? Perhaps it was like this all the way to the sea in the north – and maybe even down to the southern sea as well.
It felt as though they were all tiny drops of water in a great ocean wave that was slowly growing in size – as though they were a part of something – something that grew larger with every passing hour. She was afraid of the battle to come, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But when you looked around the forest and saw the thousands of soldiers, tanks and pieces of artillery – well, what did one girl matter amongst so many?
The heavy curtain that served as their little bunker’s entrance – another item liberated from the abandoned house – was pushed aside and Lapshin looked in. Behind him she could see the early morning sun lighting the snow that bowed down the branches of the trees. The glare was startling and she shielded her eyes.
‘Don’t let the heat out.’
She thought she saw Lapshin smile. It was difficult to be certain with the sun behind him.
‘Come on, Little Polya,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
She thought, afterwards, that she should have been less enthusiastic. Maybe she could have yawned, or looked at her German watch. Instead she got to her feet so quickly she nearly split her head open on Galechka’s belly.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked when they had been walking for a little while. They were following a corrugated track that was slippery with ice. It was quiet, considering there were so many nearby. Every now and then she’d see the outline of a tank’s turret or the barrel of a cannon pointing out of a bush but she saw no humans. The soldiers were under orders to keep movement to a minimum during the daylight.
‘To look at the Front,’ Lapshin said. ‘To see what we’re getting ourselves into.’
They walked until the trees began to thin, when Lapshin put his hand on her arm to bring her to a halt. Ahead she could see open country.
‘Let’s take our time. There’s no point in taking unnecessary risks.’
They moved slowly, from tree to tree – almost stumbling into three staff officers who were doing the same as them – looking across the river at the enemy hills. In front of the forest, about fifty metres beyond where the trees ended, were their own trenches. A ruined bridge stood in between, the turgid river swirling around its broken spans. It looked as though it might freeze before long.
‘How do we get across?’ she whispered.
Lapshin pointed to the north.
‘We’re already on their side of the river further over – a few kilometres upstream. We’ll break out from there. In the meantime – here – our infantry will go over in rubber boats. We’ll have bridges across before they know what hit them.’
Polya didn’t like pontoon bridges. They had a habit of coming apart when hit by enemy shells or bombs. And tanks didn’t float. She strained her eyes looking for the Germans.
‘Where are their trenches?’
‘The snow is hiding them but they’re just down from the ridge.’
There was an explosion on the far hill – snow and earth flung into the air, leaving a black scar in the snow behind it. Then another further along the hill’s slope. They watched and waited and, sure enough, less than a minute later, there was the shriek of shells flying high overhead as
the Germans returned the favour.
‘It’s New Year’s Eve, the artillery are exchanging pleasantries.’
45
THE HUT WAS quiet now. The officers from the camp hadn’t returned since the shoot, and no injured men had arrived in the fortnight since. Jäger was still with them – but he was the only one now. It was just as well – Brandt was busy. Neumann had ordered him to make an inventory of the hut’s supplies and contents and then store the listed items in boxes for removal. There had been no more talk about the evacuation – but they were preparing for it. The question that preoccupied Brandt was when it would take place.
‘Is it two weeks already, Brandt?’
Jäger was standing in his usual spot, at the window in the dining room, looking out at the women prisoners clearing the snow and ice from the paths. The tremble in the tanker’s hands wasn’t so apparent now but the doctors from the camp hospital hadn’t passed him fit for the Front as yet. He smoked cigarette after cigarette – the hut still had plenty of them, at least. He played gramophone records that no one listened to except him – and which annoyed the telephonists, who reminded him that the record player was only to be used at the weekends and in the evenings. Jäger didn’t care and, as he outranked everyone, there wasn’t much that could be done about it.
‘Since when, Herr Hauptsturmführer?’
‘Since the shoot.’
‘It’s the tenth of January.’
‘Is it? More than two weeks then. Nearly two months since I first arrived. It’s quiet, isn’t it? Even those people from the camp would be a welcome change.’
‘Obersturmführer Neumann says they are very busy.’
‘I’m sure they are.’
Jäger ran a finger down the window’s glass.
‘The Commandant has been punishing me.’
‘How so, Herr Hauptsturmführer?’
‘He was annoyed with me after the shoot. I don’t know why – I wasn’t the one who shot the prisoners.’
‘You think you annoyed him? The Commandant?’ Brandt said, half wanting to laugh at the SS man.
Jäger managed a smile.
‘Well, perhaps I was at fault. But I said to him – you can get rid of me whenever you want – just have the doctors pass me fit and pack me off to the Front. But he took a different approach. He’s been making me wait.’
So desperate for an honourable death – and thwarted by the Commandant, of all people. It was hard not to see some irony in it. Jäger scowled.
‘That’s enough, Brandt. I don’t find it quite as amusing as you do. God help me, if we had that shoot again, I’d put a bullet through him. By mistake, of course. I’d say I thought he was a Jew.’
Brandt looked around him. He didn’t think they could be overheard – but all the same.
‘I should go.’
Jäger held up a hand to stop him.
‘I apologize. I went too far. Stay a moment.’
Jäger looked at him with such a soft expression – one that didn’t seem to fit his angular face – that Brandt felt obliged to nod his agreement.
‘We’ve lived through strange times, Brandt, don’t you think? Future generations, if there are any, will look back at us and scratch their heads.’ He lit another cigarette, his eyes narrowing against the match’s burn. ‘That will be long after we have achieved the final victory, of course. Which I’m confident will be achieved in the next week or so.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
Jäger’s laugh was more of a series of coughs.
‘Take my word on it. I have it from the highest authority. Goebbels himself was on the radio last night. Apparently we have the Allies just where we want them.’
Brandt glanced once again towards the doors at either end of the room. Jäger shrugged and pointed his cigarette at the women working outside.
‘They must be very dangerous, those prisoners. Two SS men for five starved women.’
Brandt looked up at him.
‘It gives them something to do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The guards. They’re here to protect the hut and its guests – in case the partisans come calling. But in the absence of guests, they guard the prisoners. And the prisoners sweep the snow because there isn’t much else for them to do either, now that our only guest is you.’
Jäger nodded.
‘Do you ever wonder what those Ukrainians must be thinking, Brandt? What must be going through their heads?’ He touched the SS runes on his collar. ‘This uniform won’t do me any favours if I am captured – but the Ukrainians? The Ivans have something special planned for the Ukrainians. We’re fascist murderers – they shoot us, they move on. The Ukrainians are fascist murderers and traitors to the Motherland. The question is, though – what would you do if you were in their position if you knew that? Would you just wait around for the axe to fall?’
Brandt decided it was best to say nothing.
‘The Ukraine is back in Soviet hands,’ Jäger went on. ‘So what do they do now? Do they lay down their lives for Germany? Or do they make a run for it?’
‘Where to?’
He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud – not that Jäger appeared to hear him. His eyes were fixed on the guards.
‘I think they run. We haven’t treated them well, let’s be clear about that. We lied to them and used them – and, if our charming comrades from the camp are to be believed, made them perform the worst of our crimes. They owe us nothing, except perhaps a bullet in the back. If they run now, they might make it to safety. There will be millions of people trying to make their way home when this war ends. It will be chaos. They might have a chance. They’ll need to move quickly, though.’
‘Why?’
‘Because soon they’ll be sent to the Front, and there’s nothing good waiting for them there.’
Brandt looked around once again.
‘Why do you think that?’
‘The camp is being shut down and the men stationed there are being transferred to combat units. The Reich needs more blood to spill, you see. That was the final gathering – our little Julfest dinner.’
It all fell into place. The sense of an ending at the dinner – the times he’d heard officers wish each other luck for the year ahead. They hadn’t been talking about their work at the camp. Even the telephonists knew – that was clear. Only he had been in the dark. He looked out at the women prisoners; they’d nearly finished their work – they would be coming inside soon.
‘And the prisoners? What happens to them?’
The women had on the Soviet quilted jackets he’d persuaded Neumann to allow them to wear. They were several sizes too big for them. They looked like children in hand-me-down clothes.
‘Why go to the effort of destroying the camp and leave witnesses?’
It made sense. Of course it did.
‘So what will you do, Brandt?’
‘I don’t think anyone will want me at the Front, if that’s what you mean.’
Jäger smiled.
‘That wasn’t what I meant, although you’d probably be more use than the likes of Peichl.’
The Scharführer was walking up the lane from the main gate. As he approached he began to shout at the women, pointing out snow they had missed, shoving Joanna roughly towards one pile that hadn’t been pushed far enough to the side for his liking.
‘What do you mean?’ Brandt said, his attention on Peichl.
‘What are you going to do about them, Brandt? The women outside. The ones we’re looking at?’
Brandt found he had no breath in his lungs – not enough to voice a denial, in any event.
‘A doctor will come to see me the day after tomorrow, Brandt. Neumann has just confirmed it. I will soon be gone. If I go in two days then my suspicion is that this place will be shut down soon afterwards. I want to know, before I go, what you intend to do about the women.’
‘The women?’ Brandt said. ‘What should I do about the women?’
‘That is the question. Are you frightened?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Now. By this conversation. I’m an intellectually curious man. I want to know what your emotional state is at this precise moment. Do me the favour of answering truthfully – and I might do one for you in return.’
Brandt thought he saw a flicker of amusement – a warmth behind Jäger’s eyes. He looked inside himself and found, to his surprise, that he felt nothing. Not fear, anyway. Regret perhaps, and even that wasn’t for himself.
‘I think, Herr Hauptsturmführer, that if you were to tell Obersturmführer Neumann of your suspicions, whatever they might be, then I should feel fear. But I don’t feel anything much these days.’
Jäger nodded, his thoughts unreadable. Brandt waited. Eventually, the SS man smiled.
‘I’ve left you a small gift in the washroom. Look in the third cubicle from the door – in the cistern. Just in case you might need it. This place is already living on borrowed time. Keep an eye on the Ukrainians, Brandt. I’m not sure they’re going to keep playing by the rules. That could work for you, or against you.’
Brandt wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Don’t look so glum – your heart still beats, Brandt. And so do theirs. For the moment.’
Jäger had turned his attention to the scene outside and something in his voice warned Brandt to follow his example. Peichl had taken off his belt, the buckle shone as it whirled through the air. Blood leapt from Agneta’s cheek. Brandt turned to leave – to make his way outside – to put a stop to it. But Jäger held him back.
‘Not you, Brandt. Not this time. Another small favour I’ll do for you. And myself perhaps.’
46
AT FIRST Peichl had been merely exasperated – disappointed with the standard of their work, more than anything. But the women knew Peichl and they knew how his irritation could quickly turn into something much more dangerous. They could smell, even here – outside in the cold – the alcohol on him. And they could hear, in his slurred words and his disjointed sentences, that he was still drunk from the night before. And they knew – he was famous for it, their Scharführer Peichl – what he could do with just his fists, should he choose to. So they hurried to do his bidding. They kept their eyes low, tried to make themselves invisible – rounding their shoulders, bending their knees, shrinking themselves. Wishing they could disappear into the ground itself. Praying that they wouldn’t.