Berlin Wolf

by Mark Florida-James

  Inside Franz felt around him and then nervously switched on his small torch. There were reams of thick paper wrapped in polythene. With his pocketknife he cut open the wrapping and removed several reams. They were more cumbersome than he anticipated and it took a considerable effort to move them.

  ‘Peter! Peter! Catch!’ he said, as he dropped one onto the track through the hole in the floor. Peter just managed to catch it before it hit the metal rails.

  ‘Careful! Not so much noise Franz.’

  Peter opened the empty rucksack he was carrying and carefully placed the paper inside, rolling it first as much as possible.

  ‘That’s enough Franz. Let’s get going,’ Peter said quietly. He was anxious. Franz was already dragging more reams towards the hole.

  ‘Halt! Don’t move or I’ll shoot! Step forward and identify yourself!’ a voice shouted in the half-light. Peter could just discern the silhouette of a soldier with a rifle pointed towards him. He was nearly thirty metres away.

  He stood completely still, more from fear than obedience, until a familiar voice whispered, ‘Run Peter, run! There’s no point both us getting caught!’

  Peter responded instantly and, diving behind the train for cover, he ran away as fast as he could. The rucksack was quite heavy but fear sped him on. He did not look behind him. His body tensed as he awaited the inevitable shot. As a train approached the station he was just able to run in front of it, evading his pursuer and avoiding the bullet that whistled nearby and into the approaching train.

  He had reached the embankment and was about to descend the other side, when he cast an anxious look behind.

  ‘Over here! Over here!’ he shouted as loudly as he could. It was pointless. His pursuer had given up and was trudging back to the platform. He was war-weary, tired and quite overweight. Above the noise of industry he could not hear Peter calling out.

  ‘Good luck Franz! Good luck,’ Peter said to himself and turned away. Once down the embankment, he sprinted the short distance home, hoping against hope that Franz would be safe.

  Lotte was extremely distressed when Peter arrived in the apartment without Franz. He was out of breath and in between panting could only say, ‘he’s bound to be caught, he’s bound to be caught.’ Wolfi nuzzled his master’s leg with his nose, but even that did not console him.

  ‘What happened to him?’ Lotte asked a little impatiently. Straight away she recognised the harshness of her tone. ‘Don’t worry Peter,’ she said more gently, ‘Franz is very resilient. If anyone can escape, he can. However I am going to give him the best chance possible.’

  With that she disappeared into the bedroom, reappearing just five minutes later. She looked stunning in a figure-hugging black dress, its hem-line above the knee. On her feet she wore black stilettos, with silk stockings, a rare item for any Berliner. On her head was perched a wide-brimmed straw hat and around her shoulders hung a fur wrap. Her lips were painted with a deep ruby red lipstick.

  She crossed the sitting room to the walnut drinks cabinet and opening the flap at the front, rummaged amongst the bottles. She pulled out two large bottles of vintage cognac.

  ‘Pity,’ she said, ‘I was saving these for your birthday.’

  She poured half the contents of one bottle into a silver hip-flask encased in leather. The other bottle she dropped into her handbag and marched towards the door.

  ‘I’ll be back soon. Wait here for me,’ she said. Peter was not going to argue with Lotte as determined as this.

  As Peter was running away from the train, Franz was considering what to do. It was clear that at least one of the soldiers had given chase, yet there were still many about. For the moment it was safer to stay there. He replaced the two pieces of board as best he could and sitting down on one of the large bundles of paper, he began to wait.

  To his horror, having just sat down, he heard the sound of gunfire and worryingly in the vicinity of the rear of the train. He prayed that Peter would be all right. Outside the fat soldier had looked very cursorily under the compartment. He was too unfit and stiff to bend far. Franz held his breath as a bayonet clinked between the metal wheels of the train.

  He still dared not breathe as the lock rattled. The soldier was checking the door. Franz exhaled quietly, relieved that the door remained shut. Satisfied, the guard returned to his post.

  As he sat there in silence, Franz could not help recall all the events of the past year. He hated the Nazis for taking his parents away. On the other hand he had made some wonderful friends. Peter was now more like an older brother, than just a friend.

  ‘Please let him be unharmed!’ he murmured to himself.

  Suddenly a single, beautiful voice trespassed upon his daydreams.

  ‘Underneath the lamplight by the barrack square.’ It was the familiar words of ‘Lili Marlene’, a favourite song of both Allied and German forces. The voice was soon joined by male voices and the haunting notes of a mouth organ. The soldiers were singing.

  Franz forced his way through the bundles to the opposite side of the wagon. He placed his eye up to a tiny gap in the wooden wall of the compartment and peered out. His one eye confirmed what his ears had already suggested. It was Lotte!

  She was on the train platform, swaying in time to the music as she sang, hip flask in one hand, a bottle of cognac in the other. She was surrounded by a group of about ten soldiers, all singing along. Each had their army issue tin mug with a generous splash of cognac inside.

  Franz moved away from the spyhole. This was his chance. He prised open the hole in the floor and lowered himself onto the rails. Seconds later he crept away into the darkness and made his way over the tracks and down the embankment. As he did so he could still hear the distance strains of Lotte’s voice. Somehow it seemed less mournful than earlier.

  It was indeed less mournful, for Lotte had glimpsed the unmistakeable sight of Franz’s boots as he clambered onto the track. As a professional performer she had maintained her composure and continued singing. Following one more rendition of the soldiers’ favourite song and a further request, Lotte thanked them and left the station.

  * * *

  The next morning Peter, Franz and Lotte slept until much later than usual. The drama of the previous evening had frayed their nerves, with only Franz seemingly unaffected. When Lotte had returned home she had discovered him telling Peter what had been happening at the station. Peter was extremely happy to see his friend again and they were full of praise for Lotte’s diversion. After embracing them, Lotte had retired to bed promising that she would tell the full story in the morning.

  * * *

  It was just after eleven when she recounted the events of the previous night.

  ‘It was quite simple,’ she began modestly. ‘I told the officer in charge that I had just lost my husband at the front. The last time I had seen him was at Lehrter station on that very platform and I wanted to pay my respects by drinking a cognac and toasting him, as I couldn’t very well do it on the front. I invited them to join me, which they did quite eagerly.’

  ‘What about the singing?’ Peter said.

  ‘Oh that! Most of the soldiers were just boys, some about your age. I could tell they were homesick and wanted to cheer them up. It just seemed the right thing to do. Also I couldn’t think of any other way of letting Franz know I was there,’ she replied nonchalantly.

  ‘Remarkable! Quite remarkable!’ was all that the Professor could add. By now he was a regular and welcome visitor to Lotte’s apartment. He was examining the printing paper very carefully and expressed his approval with a tilt of his head.

  ‘It seems to me, however, that Lotte is taking all the risks. Everything operates through this apartment. The photographs are done here, the forgery and all the refugees come through here. If this place is discovered the whole operation fails,’ the Professor added.

  It was a thought that had occurred to each of them at various times. There was now a more pressing reason that they find a new venue. Lotte’s husb
and had been on business for the Reich in the Eastern territories. He was due home in a week’s time. She had been able to use her charms on him many times, although recently he had become less agreeable. He certainly would not look the other way if she harboured Jews in the apartment. At least it would be a short stay of just a few weeks before he would be off on his ‘essential’ travels.

  ‘Peter and Franz can stay with me, along with the equipment,’ the Professor offered.

  ‘No. Your apartment is too small, Professor. Franz can stay with you. We can take the paper and photography equipment to your apartment today. I will go back to the woods for a few weeks,’ Peter said in a voice that left no doubt that his mind was made up.

  ‘Then I shall go with you, Peter,’ Franz interjected. He was not willing to leave his friend now.

  ‘No. You are the only one who has the skills to develop photographs and to forge papers,’ Peter said, ‘It is imperative that you have the right facilities to do that. You shall stay with the Professor and I will go back to my camp. I have been worried about ‘Robin’ as he is taking too many stupid risks. Anyway this is the best time of year. It is almost summer and I can replenish the stocks of meat and fish for the winter ahead. It will only be for a few weeks and then we can look for a new set of premises.’

  ‘What about Wolfi?’ Franz said. Wolfi lifted his head from the carpet when he heard mention of his name.

  ‘Let’s ask him,’ Peter suggested. ‘Wolfi do you want to stay with Franz or come with me to the woods?’ Wolfi stood up, stretched, walked over to Peter and sat by his feet. No-one was surprised.

  * * *

  Later that day Peter, Franz, Wolfi and the Professor were walking together along Luisenstrasse towards Unter den Linden, perhaps the most famous avenue in Berlin. Peter had a rucksack on his back and Franz was carrying a large leather suitcase. Peter and Franz were attired in the naval uniforms they had recently acquired. With the expert help of the tailor they had rescued, they fitted them better than the original owners. For the moment they had left their precious bicycle behind as the Professor had agreed he would collect it later.

  They had given some thought as to whether the three of them should travel together or separately. Lotte had settled the matter when she pointed out that, with the boys in their uniform and the Professor in his elegant suit, he looked like a grandfather escorting his two grandsons to the station. It was a sadly normal scene.

  As the four companions walked along they did not talk about anything important. It was much too dangerous to debate their business on the streets. And so the conversation was generally meaningless. Until Franz halted abruptly.

  ‘Quick Peter! Hide Wolfi and you as well!’ Franz said under his breath. They were opposite some steps to a ground floor apartment and it was the best that Peter could do to disappear out of view. He stood with Wolfi in silence trying to remain hidden.

  As he stood there Peter could see the cause of Franz’s concern. Kurt! He was approaching on the pavement on the same side of the avenue. He was in his familiar Hitler Youth brown. Much worse he was with an SS officer in the distinctive black uniform, with a pistol holstered on his belt. Franz had positioned himself with his back facing outwards and his front towards the Professor and was apparently engaged in conversation with him. They were blocking the steps down to the apartment and any pedestrians would have to walk behind Franz. By this means they hoped that Kurt would not be able to see Franz’s face.

  It was a terrible risk. There was nothing else to do. Franz had spent much more time in Kurt’s presence and he would surely recognise him if he even glimpsed his face.

  ‘Quiet boy! Quiet!’ Peter urged Wolfi. The last time they had encountered each other Kurt had kicked Wolfi and then tried to have him shot. Wolfi sensed the danger of the moment and remained perfectly still.

  The seconds as Kurt passed by each seemed like a minute. Normally he did everything in a hurry. Not today. As they ambled past, the Professor raised his hat politely and the SS officer saluted. Kurt briefly interrupted his flow of conversation to utter a ‘Sieg Heil!’ and then continued his sentence.

  When they were safely out of sight, Franz gestured to Peter and Wolfi that it was safe to move.

  ‘That was a bit of luck,’ Franz said to everyone’s astonishment.

  ‘What do you mean ‘luck’?’ Peter said.

  ‘We were worried about Kurt’s return to Berlin. I overheard him boasting that it is a great honour to serve the Führer and in the SS. And to be allowed to serve at the front at just sixteen. At least now we know that his stay in Berlin is only temporary.’

  Peter was not entirely convinced. The weasel might still find time to search for Lotte and thereby track them down. It confirmed one thing that, for the moment, Wolfi was better off with him. Lotte’s apartment was just one street away from the dreaded headquarters of the Gestapo. There was more than a chance that they would come across Kurt again. They continued on their journey and thankfully reached the Professor’s accommodation without further incident.

  Having helped Franz find a suitable hiding place for their equipment, the Professor left them alone and went back to Lotte. He collected the printing paper and rode back, balancing a large suitcase on the basket at the front. It was an odd sight, but luckily no-one challenged him. Safely back at his apartment, the Professor made tea for the three of them. Afterwards Peter left for his hideout in the woods.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Peter took a swig of coffee from his tin mug. It was only substitute. Still not a bad way to start the day. At Lotte’s he had learnt to improve the taste with a dash of cognac or rum or whatever else was available. At that moment in time the best he could do was to sweeten it with a tiny spoonful of sugar.

  It was now six days since he had left Luisenstrasse and returned to his old hideaway. He had looked forward to the outdoor existence, especially at this time of the year. April had given way to May and the milder summer was just around the corner. Unlike his previous stay in the camp, he now had a few books to occupy him and the prospect of visits from Franz and the Professor.

  Even Lotte had managed to come and see him on one occasion. She was used to luxury and seemed awkward crouching on the dirty ground in her fine clothes or drinking from tin mugs. At Peter’s request she had agreed that next time they would meet up somewhere half way between the two venues.

  Franz managed to visit every second day. The work he had to undertake was so important Peter insisted that he devote most of his time to that. Still the day that Peter and Franz spent improving the facilities of the camp was very pleasant. Almost like the old days, except for ‘Robin’. Peter could understand the man’s discomfort and the odd complaint. He was unlike anyone else they had ever tried to rescue. He really did not suit life in the woods. They needed to think of somewhere else to hide him.

  As always Peter was determined to make the most of his few weeks back in camp. He decided to treat it as a holiday. Wolfi missed the company of Lotte, Franz and the Professor, and on the other hand loved the freedom of the woods. When he and Peter went fishing on the lake Wolfi could not have been happier. In the first few days Peter had already caught large numbers of water fowl, woodpigeons, rabbits and fish and the cupboard was almost bursting. With some valuable herbs and spices brought to him by Lotte, he was able to conjure up fabulous stews, appreciated by everyone.

  A source of tension between Peter and Robin was the arrival of three more residents. There was a father with his son and daughter, one eleven, the other ten. They were very grateful for refuge. The father had declined the offer of new identity cards. He had been a concert violinist before the war and was concerned that he was too well-known to adopt a false identity. Recently they had been sheltered by friends. This happy situation ended upon the return of the eldest son from the war. Though badly wounded, he had lost none of his fanaticism for the Nazi cause. Until other arrangements could be made, the new arrivals were content to accept the offer of shelter in the wo
ods. The son and daughter even seemed to enjoy the lifestyle, seeing it as something of an adventure. Both children were immediately befriended by Wolfi.

  Peter drank the last few dregs of coffee and began to rinse out his cup. It was just after dawn. Once back in the woodland environment he had quickly adapted to the old routine of rising very early. The family of three were fast asleep and huddled together in the covered pit. Robin was asleep under a tarpaulin. As Peter dried out the tin mug Wolfi began to growl.

  ‘What is it boy? What’s up?’ Wolfi growled again, only louder.

  Peter knew not to ignore Wolfi in this mood. It was a warning. The growl grew in intensity and without waiting Peter shook the visitors.

  ‘Wake up! Please wake up.’ First the family and then Robin came to.

  Peter’s stomach knotted. A growing din was approaching and fast. The impression was of a large group of people, shouting, blowing whistles and beating drums, as if at a demonstration.

  Wolfi had run to the entrance to the tunnel of branches that led into the clearing. His snarl was fierce and very menacing.

  ‘We must leave and quickly,’ Peter urged the visitors. The increasing wave of sound and Wolfi’s demeanour terrified him. He did not know what was coming, he did know it was not good and they must not hang around. Robin grumbled something under his breath.

  ‘No! No!’ Peter screamed, as an enormous dog’s head emerged from the tunnel.

  It was a Doberman in full flight. Its head seemed so large because in fact there were two dogs together, with a third close behind. Their fangs were bared and their mouths drooling. It was a terrifying vision, made worse by the feverish shouting, somewhere just behind.

  Only Wolfi reacted to the appearance of the slavering dogs. He bravely sprang into the air, fixing his teeth on the neck of the nearest Doberman, bringing it to the ground. The dog behind jumped on Wolfi as he defended his friends. Wolfi rolled swiftly on his flank, tossing his head from side to side. The thick fur on Wolfi’s neck prevented the two Dobermans from getting a proper hold.