‘Yes Uncle I am still waiting.’
He hoped that his ‘uncle’ was not actually in the building. All the time his little finger placed strategically on the phone prevented any possible connection being made. When the official was just a few steps away Franz said into the phone, ‘Do you want to speak to him or shall I just have him arrested, Uncle?’ He held out the receiver as he spoke. The official went ashen faced.
‘I am afraid you are out of luck. The boy in question is not here. He is at Anhalter Bahnhof ready for transportation,’ he said. ‘The train departs in half an hour.’ The official looked apprehensively as he conveyed the unwelcome news. Franz picked up a sheet of letter-headed paper from the secretary’s desk.
‘I presume you can type? ’
‘No, but we have a secretary who can,’ the official replied, ‘I will go and find her’.
‘Stay there! I will type!’ Franz said as he sat down behind the desk.
The official was now so scared of the consequences of upsetting this boy, he did not question the order. Nor did he question the words.
‘Please give the bearer of this letter all assistance in finding the Jew Peter Stern and release the said Jew into his custody.
By order of the Head of the Gestapo and Reichsführer SS, Heinrich Himmler.’
‘Sign it!’ Franz ordered. The official hesitated. Franz picked up the telephone and started to dial. The terrified official grabbed the phone. ‘All right, I’ll sign it.’
Not only did he sign it, underneath it was dated and stamped with the seal of the Gestapo and countersigned with an indecipherable signature.
‘Many thanks, you have been of great service. My father and uncle shall be told. Heil Hitler.’ Franz saluted, turned and marched from the building.
Just twenty-five minutes after entering the headquarters of the Gestapo, Franz and Albert were back in the limousine speeding towards Anhalter Bahnhof. They had to hurry. Anhalter Bahnhof, once the largest railway station in Europe, was literally just around the corner, and they had to get there in time to stop the transport. In his hand Franz held the valuable sheet of paper with the address at Prinz Albrecht Strasse on top.
Albert brought the car to an abrupt stop outside the station. Franz jumped from the vehicle, leaving the rear door open and allowing Wolfi to leap out after him. There was no time to argue. Both ran into the main concourse followed by Albert, who was by now some way behind and out of breath.
Franz grabbed a train conductor by his sleeve.
‘Where does the transport to the East leave from?’ he demanded.
The guard, slightly taken aback, replied: ‘Platform four. And we are not supposed to call it a transport. It is a ‘resettlement’. You had better hurry it leaves in a few minutes.’
Franz dashed across the concourse and down the stairs onto the platform, with Wolfi running beside him. At the bottom of the stairs a metal railing had been placed across the platform, attended by a train guard.
‘Sorry my boy. You can’t go through,’ he said.
‘Don’t call me ‘my boy’. You will address me as ‘sir’. I have a personal order here from Himmler to remove a passenger from the train. Now let me pass.’
The guard looked very briefly at the letter. The name Himmler was enough to persuade him to move back the metal railing. Some distance along the platform an SS Captain was standing with his sergeant, smoking a cigarette. Franz ran towards them and thrust the letter into the Captain’s hand. He glanced at it and handed it straight back.
‘You are too late. The train is departing. I do not have time to search for one Jew.’
‘That is a direct order from Heinrich Himmler himself. Now obey it or I will shoot you for insubordination!’ Franz removed the pistol from its holster, released the safety catch and pointed the gun at the Captain’s head. He was shaking. The Captain was unperturbed. He stamped out his cigarette with his boot, smiled and said: ‘I like your nerve boy. I tell you what, I am a fair man. If you can find him in under three minutes you may have him.’
At this both he and the Sergeant smiled.
‘It’s a deal,’ Franz replied to their obvious surprise. He turned and began walking up and down the platform shouting: ‘Peter Stern! Peter Stern!’
At the front of the train were a mixture of passenger carriages, mainly third class. In the middle and to the rear were cattle wagons with horizontal boards. Franz hurried back the way he had just come. Wolfi meanwhile rose onto his hind legs and started pawing frantically at the side of one of the cattle wagons, whining all the time. Long scratches appeared in the wood from the dog’s furious, if futile attempts to open the doors.
‘Leave it Wolfi! Leave it! We have no time for cattle.’
On saying this Franz turned away, and still ignoring Wolfi, he ran back and forward along the platform The three minutes were almost up. The Captain and his Sergeant grinned smugly at each other. Wolfi barked loudly, still pawing at the side of the cattle truck. Franz did not understand. Wolfi rushed at him and bit on his sleeve dragging him towards the wagon.
‘Not now Wolfi! Not now!’ He was irritated and pulling away as hard as he could. But Wolfi was too strong and too determined and the more Franz resisted the harder the dog pulled, until both were right next to the cattle wagons. It was only then that Franz noticed the human cargo.
‘Peter! Peter Stern!’ he cried.
No response. Wolfi let go of his friend’s sleeve and desperately clawed at the side of the wagon.
‘I have found him! He‘s in here!’ Franz shouted. ‘Open the doors!’ Finally he had realised what Wolfi was telling him. Sergeant and Captain looked at each other bemused.
‘Open the doors!’ the Captain ordered. The Sergeant assisted by his corporal, slid back the heavy bolts and then the door. A number of people almost fell out.
‘Peter Stern? Where is Peter Stern?’ Franz shouted.
He did not need to for Wolfi was already licking at Peter’s face as he bent down from inside the cramped cattle truck. As one of the last to be loaded he was near the front. Franz struggled to keep his emotions in check when he saw his friend.
‘How do we know he is your Peter Stern?’ the Captain said.
‘This is why,’ Franz said, and reaching across to Peter, he felt in his pocket.
After rummaging a little while, he took his hand from the pocket and triumphantly displayed the Iron Cross awarded to Peter’s father. This was the object he had taken from the drawer in the bedside cabinet.
‘He stole it from my father. That is why Uncle Heinrich authorised his release to me. I am to have the great honour of dealing with him personally,’ Franz explained, snatching the black metal cross away from the scrutiny of the Captain.
‘Ach the damned Gestapo, they never search anyone properly,’ the Captain complained.
By now Peter was standing on the platform. He was in a daze struggling to believe the nerve of his young friend and the fact he was once more able to breathe.
‘So you have your prisoner. What do I get for my trouble?’ the Captain asked ‘I could use a dog in my work. Why don’t I keep it?’
‘No, no,’ Peter tried to say. Thankfully no words came out.
Franz managed to hide the worry he felt at the Captain’s suggestion.
‘That is not possible Captain. The dog belonged to this Jew here. He was part of a gang of partisans living in the wild. This dog will help us hunt them down. I have something much better for you,’ and as he spoke he motioned to Albert to come forward. Franz took the cloth bag from Albert, reached deep inside and removed two small diamonds giving one to each soldier.
‘I think you have been cheated, young master. Enjoy taking care of the prisoner,’ and as he said this, the Captain signalled for the wagon to be resealed.
Franz pointed the gun at Peter. ‘Move!’
As they walked from the platform, neither could bear to look at the anxious souls still on the train.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When they were safely back in the limousine, Franz put away the gun and placed an arm on Peter’s shoulder.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ was all that Peter could say. Wolfi was wedged between them on the back seat and lay with his head on Peter’s thigh.
‘Don’t mention it. I only did what you would have done. I had a good teacher,’ Franz said.
As the car motored through the streets of Berlin back towards Aunt Berta, Peter blessed the series of fortunate events that had helped rescue him: the Gestapo’s decision to place him on the next available transport rather than spend days or weeks interrogating him; his decision to leave his father’s Iron Cross at the house where it was safer and in the hope that his stay in the summer house would not be too prolonged; the Captain’s failure to inspect the Iron Cross with its inscription that honoured the courage of his Jewish father. Most of all Peter gave thanks for the two friendships that had saved him so often, Wolfi and Franz.
Franz sat quietly during the journey. The magnitude of his daring and the real danger he had faced had only just begun to sink in. And they were in peril still. They were on their way back to Aunt Berta’s, not knowing what awaited them. They could go back into hiding straight away, even if there were practical difficulties. Nearly all their belongings were in the house, they needed to hand back the car to its glamorous owner and most crucially, they wanted to check on Aunt Berta.
‘Pull over here please, Albert,’ Franz directed. They were still half a kilometre from the house. ‘We will wait here. Please go back to the house and check that the coast is clear.’
In the last twenty-four hours Franz had matured. He was quite willing and able to take charge of the situation. Peter was shell-shocked and grateful that for the moment, he was no longer required to make any decisions.
Albert walked from the car back to the house. He reappeared ten minutes later and almost jumped into the driver’s seat. With skill and speed he quickly started the engine and drove back to Aunt Berta’s house, pulling onto the gravel drive. Aunt Berta was already at the door of the car.
‘Oh my poor boy! I was so worried about you.’
Her arms were flung around Peter’s neck as he tried to get up. Wolfi’s head was between the two of them washing both their faces. From Peter she went to Franz and clasped him close to her chest, crying tears of joy.
Inside the hallway Franz stopped and looked around cautiously for any sign of Kurt. Aunt Berta guessing his concerns spoke to reassure him. ‘Kurt? Don’t worry about Kurt. He is tied up in the cellar.’
Peter, Franz and Albert were relieved, though stunned by this news.
‘What? But how?’ Franz gasped.
‘Oh I hit him with a champagne bottle. A good vintage too. Luckily the bottle didn’t break.’ These words were spoken by the glamorous limousine owner who was now leaning, one hand against the door frame, cigarette holder in her other hand.
‘There’s never been a man or a bottle that Lotte couldn’t handle,’ Aunt Berta joked. ‘Maybe we should send her to sort out Herr Hitler.’
Everyone laughed. After some minutes Berta explained how Kurt had been so encouraged by his success in capturing Peter, he had rushed from Gestapo Headquarters to Aunt Berta’s to give her the bad news. Now he was the captive.
Once comfortably ensconced in the drawing room and refreshed with ‘English tea’ Franz modestly recounted how they had rescued Peter. Lotte and Aunt Berta were astounded.
‘It sounds like one of my old film scripts,’ Lotte commented. At this Peter and Franz looked at her admiringly, neither bold enough to ask any questions.
After the well-deserved praise for Franz subsided, they began to discuss the various difficulties they now faced. For Franz the principal concern was Kurt and what was going to happen to Aunt Berta. Aunt Berta was worried about Peter, Franz and Albert. If there was any investigation at Gestapo Headquarters Albert and Franz were sure to be identified. The registration number of the limousine might be traced back to Lotte if anyone had remembered it.
‘Ah well,’ Lotte declared, ‘I didn’t like the colour much anyway. I will abandon it and say it was stolen.’ Seeing the upset look on the boys’ faces she added, ‘I’ll just have to use one of the other two.’ That at least was one matter resolved.
‘The boys and Albert can stay with me for a while,’ Lotte added.
‘No it’s too dangerous with your husband still around.’
Berta refused the generous offer without consultation. Lotte was an ex-film star whose career ended abruptly at her own choice when the Nazis took over film production. Her wealth came from her husband who had since evolved into an ardent Nazi. Berta was sure the risks were too great.
After an hour’s discussion and much consternation, they were little further forward. Albert must leave Germany, they all agreed. He, however, would not leave his mistress. Berta was happy to leave her homeland with Albert, not without Peter and Franz however.
‘Peter will you come with us to Switzerland? We can all live as a family in my chalet. You will be safe until the end of the war?’ Aunt Berta pleaded.
‘I cannot think of anything better than spending the rest of the war in safety with you Aunt Berta, but I must stay in Berlin for when my parents return,’ Peter replied.
Lotte and Aunt Berta looked at each other knowingly. In many ways Peter had become a man, yet he displayed the untainted optimism of a child. How they both hoped his optimism would be rewarded.
Peter continued, ‘Also, after today my survival is not enough, I want to help others survive. I want to fight the Nazis.’
‘All right then. We shall all stay and fight the Nazis in our own little way,’ Aunt Berta sighed unconvincingly.
‘It is too risky for you, Aunt Berta. We still have Kurt to deal with,’ Franz said, alarmed. He so wanted to go to Switzerland. He would not desert Peter and Wolfi.
‘Kurt will not be a problem. I promise you that,’ Aunt Berta said confidently. ‘I will just have to tell him that he is a full Jew’.
No-one else spoke, shocked by this announcement.
‘Oh yes. I know he looks like the perfect Aryan. He is not. Kurt is the son of my old gardener and his wife, both of whom were Jewish. Neither of them practised their faith. They worked for us even though they were Marxists.
‘Months after the ‘little corporal’ seized power they were denounced by a neighbour as communists and agitators against the regime. One day they were just taken away. Even my husband’s connections could not protect them. Kurt was very young at the time and so we adopted him. He knows nothing of his Jewish roots. The mood at the time was so plainly anti-semitic and in view of his parents’ wishes, we decided to bring him up as our own son, with no particular religion.’
It was clear to the others Aunt Berta had agonised about Kurt ever since, and more so as he started to display such a fondness for the Nazis.
‘So,’ Aunt Berta finished, ‘if he wants to hunt down Jews so much, he better hand himself in for transportation.’
At the end of their meeting nothing was firmly resolved. Aunt Berta and Lotte pleaded the case once more for all to escape to Switzerland, all meaning, the two boys, Wolfi, Albert and Aunt Berta.
‘Please,’ Berta begged, ‘my husband will not mind. Every day he hates the Nazis more. He travels abroad regularly and sees the destruction and havoc they wreak. He can easily join us in Switzerland. The two of you can fight the Nazis by telling the outside world of your experiences. Please, think about it?’ Peter and Franz found it hard to ignore Berta’s plea. She had already done so much for them. In the end it was decided that they would think about their plans overnight. In spite of the threat, the two boys would spend the evening at the house and sleep in the summer house. Kurt would remain tied up in the cellar. They would reassemble the next morning at breakfast to hear Peter and Franz’s decision as to whether they would escape to Switzerland or stay in Berlin.
* * *
A few days later, Lotte’s two remaining limousines
were parked at the roadside in the village of Wettin, some 150 kilometres south-west of Berlin. In one limousine was Aunt Berta with Franz in the back. Albert sat up front in his morning suit and top hat. In the other limousine, parked directly behind, was Lotte, perched next to Wolfi on the rear seat. In the driver’s seat, was a young, handsome chauffeur in a pristine and expensive uniform in charcoal grey, made to measure and perfectly fitted to enhance his athletic physique. He wore a peaked cap with a motif and long shiny leather boots. In his inside breast pocket he had his obligatory identity card with the name ‘Peter Müller’, occupation ‘chauffeur’. Not even the most suspicious of observers would have suspected that this was the fugitive Jew, Peter Stern. If anything were to betray them it was Peter’s driving. He had learnt just a few days earlier.
Each limousine was loaded with many luxurious calf-leather suitcases and hat boxes. As Franz had his ‘official papers’, it was considered safer that he travel as Berta’s nephew. Peter was to pose as the chauffeur with Lotte, as all agreed, she would distract any curious official. Wolfi chose his own place behind Peter, always keeping an eye on Franz.
Albert was the most nervous. None of them believed the Nazi racial stereotyping about Jews, but those that did would have cause to stare at him a little longer. Whereas Peter had inherited the blonde blue-eyed looks of his mother, Albert was dark in colouring and with the more prominent nose that the Nazis treated as so distinctive of the Jew.
‘Maybe I should travel separately?’ Albert had offered.
‘Nonsense!’ was Berta’s response. ‘My husband’s ‘Aryan nose’ is much bigger than yours. Besides, the Romans, that the damned Nazis constantly compare themselves to, were famous for their noses!’ In the end Albert gave way to his mistress’s wishes.
Berlin Wolf Page 14