Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  The meal lasted longer than Julian would have liked, due in part to the wine, but to a greater extent to the newfound ebullience of Kent. Finally, as the last of the wine was consumed, he quickly called for the check, refusing Mallory's offer to pay. The two walked to the front of the restaurant and paused to enjoy a moment of sun, which shone brightly between the numerous billowing clouds that filled the sky. Julian was off to the office again, but for Kent it was to be a walk to the station to get his ticket, then the afternoon to do, well, he didn't seem to know what, but he was looking forward to it nonetheless.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LAKE CONSTANCE, SWISS-GERMAN BORDER. 13 April, 1945.

  Larry stood at the shore of Lake Constance, the Bodensee, coughing occasionally and staring out at the gunmetal water. Small wind waves lapped at the shore, and the surface was rippled by the brisk breeze; no moon illuminated the opaque surface and there was no sparkle to the spray that was kicked up. The lake looked as morose as he felt. At forty some miles in length and up to seven and a half miles in width, it was the second largest body of water in Switzerland, Lake Geneva being a few miles longer. It was an impressive lake, not only because of its size and beauty, but because of the geography; on the other shore lay Germany. In the daylight on a clear day one could stare at the homeland of the enemy. Larry had been here a few days before on a crystal clear morning, the sun reflecting off the water, and looked across at Germany. How odd, he had thought, staring at Germany, the jumping off point for the armies of Hitler and all their atrocities and destruction, but yet, staring at the north shore, even through binoculars, he saw only woodlands and meadows running down to meet the placid waters. Long after this war is over the lake and the land around it will be here, unaffected by the horrors committed and the insanity of so many people. Long after I'm gone ... Here his thought had stopped abruptly for he realized how fleeting was the time that remained for him, how quickly the specter galloped behind him. Larry envied the land, the lake, the hills. He yearned for their detachment and indifference and he envied the mountains their immortality. Larry was retreating to a place deep within himself, his consciousness turning inward, and now, in the dark moonless night, his very body seemed to shrink into itself. He felt invisible, and even the gray haired man with the erect military posture who stood some twenty meters back looking on, sucked in his breath and leaned slightly forward into the dark, straining to see if he had actually observed a diminution in the corporeal manifestation of the young man that he had been watching.

  The ground upon which Larry stood was wet and his boots had settled in slightly so that when he repositioned a foot there was resistance followed by a sucking sound as if, so he thought, the earth were reluctant to release him. Yes, it would be nice to stay here. Not to move. Maybe, if I just stood here I would be all right; I could become part of the land, dispassionate and safe from all that went on around me. He coughed again and knew that it was simply the fantasy of a dying man. His reverie broken, he heard the soft footfalls of the man approaching in the grass that bordered the damp shore and he turned to face him.

  General Heinrich Schroeder, wearing civilian clothes and apparently unaffected by the chill and indifferent to the mud, walked slowly but without hesitation to Larry and held out his hand. "I am Heinrich Schroeder, I assume you have heard of me although we have not met." Larry merely stared at him while Schroeder stood there, his arm extended, unwavering and a sincere look of sympathy mixed with admiration on his face; a commander who genuinely cared about his men. This was not lost on Larry and despite his increasing feeling of isolation he reached out and grasped the general's hand. Heinrich's handshake was not in the least perfunctory and he nodded as he shook hands, looking directly at Larry, allowing him to read what was on his face, open and unashamed. In spite of the fact that this man was the enemy, Larry had an almost instant respect for him. "Can we walk a bit? Your commander tells me we have a little time until your transportation arrives and there are some things we should discuss."

  "Yes, General, of course."

  "I am told you know the particulars of this mission and the dangers that face you."

  "I do."

  "Do you also know why?"

  " 'Why' is something you get used to not asking when you're in the Army."

  Heinrich smiled and looked out at the lake. German, American, when you were part of the military it didn't matter much what country you fought for. A soldier is a soldier. His smile faded as his thoughts continued. Their lot was pretty much the same, following orders from far off politicians or some insane dictator, never knowing the 'why' of what they were asked to do, only that they had to kill the enemy, an enemy that is so often defined by political expediency. For the Americans it must be easier, at least in this war; Hitler made it easier for them by his maniacal aggression, we made it easier by going along and implementing the hatred that festered inside that deranged little man. Yes, for the Americans and the other allies it must have been easy to justify going to war. He turned back to Larry. "Perhaps if all of us had asked 'why' years ago the world would not be at war now. But that is in the past and for the historians to debate. You, however, deserve to know why you are being asked to undertake such a task and why I am committing what would be considered by most people to be an act of treason against my own country."

  "Thank you. I appreciate that."

  "Come. Let us walk." They moved ten meters back from the water's edge to where a path of hard packed dirt paralleled the shoreline and began heading east along the lakefront. "My father was in the Army, a Colonel when he retired. After his family, it was the most important thing to him and he was constantly talking to all of us about duty, responsibility, respect and honor. For him it was everything to live a life worthy of a military officer. Unfortunately, his first born, my brother, felt quite the opposite, and although he did get an appointment as an officer, he saw it only as a relatively easy way to earn a living. He was a handsome young man, and the uniform, as well as the prospects of a successful military career, made him very attractive to the young ladies, a situation of which he took full advantage. Well, it wasn't long before he got himself into all sorts of trouble, not only with the ladies and their irate fathers I might add, but with his superiors and even his fellow officers. He was, as you can imagine, very self centered. A hedonist at heart, caring little for anyone or anything. Eventually, he was forced to resign his commission and move away, a situation that was devastating for our father, who died within a year, but not before he had to suffer the further tragedy of the death of this profligate son in a drunken beer-hall brawl. Before he died, my father made me promise to get a proper military education and to reclaim the family's good name by honorable and exemplary service to God and country. It would not be easy, he told me, since those who had helped my brother before felt betrayed, and were most reluctant to risk their reputations any further. I would have to work twice as hard as the others, excel in my classes as well as in athletics and, most importantly, my character had to be above reproach. Being very different from my older brother, the pledge I made to my father was sacrosanct and at the end of my studies I graduated first in my class and was offered a commission. Over the ensuing years I rose through the ranks to General, and if my service was not always what others would call brilliant, it was most certainly always honorable. But what I set in motion months ago and which you are now going to help bring to a conclusion may mark me a traitor in the eyes of some. The world can judge my actions but in my heart I know I have done the honorable thing and my father, if he were alive, would agree." He walked in silence for some time before resuming. "Did you ever wonder what kind of footsteps you leave behind? Are they shallow, to be washed away by the first rains of spring or by the quickening winds of autumn? Or are they, perhaps, of a quality that is more substantial, more deeply embedded, to be looked upon by future generations and seen as a path, the tracings of a life now gone, but one that left its mark in good works. I am not proud of everything that I'v
e done, especially in the last eight years, but I would like to know that even at this late juncture I can make a difference and make the world a bit safer. Perhaps I am being egotistical or maybe just the cautious gambler trying to stack his hand with good cards when he sees the end of the game approaching." The General paused, his eyes far away for a moment, before continuing. "Hitler is a madman. This plutonium that you are to bring back can be used to manufacture a bomb unlike any the world has ever seen. Many thousands of people, soldiers and civilians alike, can be killed by a single explosion. When I found out the destruction that this bomb can cause I knew something had to be done, that it's birth had to be aborted. The Führer portends only horror. He is one of the horsemen of the apocalypse." Schroeder stopped again as he thought back to bible studies of his long past youth, and in a voice both deep and ominous, resurrected from that distant time, quoted a passage from Revelations, almost forgotten but brought to consciousness by the association with Hitler, " '...behold a pale horse; and on his back rides death and behind him march the armies of hell.' What you are about to do will be a service to all of mankind, and for that I have the greatest admiration and respect."

  "Thank you. I know you're German, sir, but I also know you're not my enemy. I was trained to do what I was told and not to ask questions unless directly related to accomplishing my mission; but it's still good to hear why and what it means, especially from someone who really knows."

  "There is still more that you are entitled to hear. I have asked for something in return from your government; not money, not even escape from the consequences of being on the losing side. There is a woman involved, barely more than a girl, actually. Her name is Maria Müller. For her sake, I requested safe passage to a neutral country for the two of us. My life is over now, but I force myself to continue so I can insure her safety, help her establish a new life somewhere. Once that has been done I will be at the disposal of your government."

  "I've seen her picture. She's beautiful, General."

  "Yes, she is. I had planned to bring her picture to your Mr. Templeton personally, but when it seemed unlikely that I could make the journey here, I thought it best to send it by courier. Luckily, at the last minute I was able to leave my position in northern Italy and arrange to cross the border into Switzerland. Since you've seen it, I assume it has arrived safely and you have it."

  "I memorized the face and the password - counter password written on the back, then returned it to the OSS agent that showed it to me. That could have been Templeton, I wouldn't know; he never said his name. I can understand your wanting to protect her."

  "I would give my life to protect her, but like all the others you do not really understand the situation, you misinterpret what you see. Maria is the daughter of an officer who served for many years under my command, and I have known her since she was born; she is my goddaughter. I know about the various rumors that she is my mistress, my secret love. Well, it is no secret that I love her, but it is the love of a father for a daughter. My wife and daughter are both dead, victims of allied bombs. British, American, it doesn't matter. War is what it is, and dead is dead; let the philosophers deal with the subtleties and the survivors with the pain. Maria's parents are also dead, the sad consequence of a warped and misbegotten policy of ethnic purity. Her father, Johan, the most loyal and honorable soldier it has been my pleasure to know, married a woman of Italian descent. They met while he was on holiday in Rome. Unfortunately for the young couple, she was Jewish. Her parents were against the marriage and it was a most unpleasant situation. They refused to relent, even after the most heartfelt, persistent supplication of the lovers. Maria's mother was a strong woman, and although painful, she left all that was familiar, severed the emotional ties that had sustained her and returned to Germany with the man she loved. They were married almost immediately and the next year Maria was born. The early years were ones of bliss, even to the point of the beginnings of a rapprochement with her parents. Grandchildren have always been the great peacemakers. Sadly, it was not to last. When Hitler's thugs began to purge the country of Jews, Gypsies and other 'undesirables' her mother spoke out. Johan pleaded with her to stop, although I think that inside he believed in what she was doing and was proud of her even though he was very fearful for the safety of his family. At first he was able to protect her from the low level political sycophants that had begun to harass her, but when her actions were noticed by the SS, who also found out about her Jewish background, and the dossier they had amassed was passed on to the party higher ups, the end was rushing towards her. The first thing they did was to demote Johan and raise questions about his loyalty. He was removed from any meaningful command position and sent on the most dangerous of assignments. This he accepted willingly under the mistaken notion that the more difficult and the more dangerous the tasks he accomplished, the more likely they would be to believe his loyalty and, by extension, that of his wife. Being a good, honest soul, Johan's main fault was his naiveté, and he did not see that they simply wanted him dead but did not want to do it in a way that would overly alienate the officer corps. Finally, they sent him and two others to blow up a bridge held by the Russians. The objective was of no real military importance, it was simply a suicide mission to insure that he was killed or taken prisoner by the Russians, which would amount to the same thing."

  At the mention of "suicide mission" Larry winced, and Schroeder, ever a commander who empathized with his men, placed his arm on Larry's shoulder and said with the authority of a General, "What you are going to do is far from useless; it will be one of the most important operations of this conflict. Do you understand that?"

  Larry could only nod; there were no words he could say.

  "Once Johan was killed in action they could move with impunity. How could a military man raise his voice in protest? Men were killed in war; that was understood. The SS arrested her as she left her house. They knew she had a daughter but didn't seem to care about her. Her mother and father were the potential problems and now they would both be silenced. When Maria returned from school that day, her neighbor, a wily old lady from a long line of military types who knew my family, whisked her into her house and kept her hidden until she could get a message to me. The old lady didn't know if Maria was to be a target also, so she held her out of sight. She was a smart woman and would have made a good officer herself. By the time I was able to leave the front and go to her, it was obvious that the SS and the party had closed the books on this affair and had no interest in Maria. As her godfather I was the closest thing to family that she had in Germany so I took her under my wing and moved her to Munich where I had friends and one maiden aunt. After a number of months moving from one grudging host to another I set her up in her own apartment, a safer and better controlled situation. With the war coming to an end soon, she is once again in danger, not only from allied bombs but also from the lawless chaos that may soon prevail. When you bring out the plutonium, you have also to bring Maria. That is the price I must ask."

  "General, I will do my best. No, I'll do more than that. I will make it happen. You have my word. You know, we've just met but I want to tell you ... well, I just want to say that if things were different I would be honored to serve under your command any day."

  "I understand and you should know that that is the highest compliment you could pay me." They had paused on the trail, already some distance from the take off point so they turned for the return walk. "There is one more thing I need to tell you and that is how you are to get Maria to take you to the hiding place of the plutonium. You are to ask her to take you to the place where we had a picnic the day after she moved into her apartment. It is some ten kilometers outside of town."

  "You're sure she'll remember this place and how to get there?"

  "When she travels she is very aware of where she is and the route that she takes, and besides, she will probably remember that place all her life. On the property there is a deserted barn, which we explored during a brief rain, and while loo
king around she tripped over the handle to a trap door that was hidden under the straw covering the dirt floor. Maria fell, grazing her neck on an old pitchfork. A few more centimeters and she would have been impaled. That incident left her with the scars of two puncture wounds on the back of her neck and we used to joke about how she was bitten by a vampire. She won't forget. Several weeks later I returned to that barn to see what was beneath the trap door, and found a storage vault about ten meters long, lined with stone and covered by a substantial appearing wood roof. It seemed a perfect place to hide the plutonium, a cargo that was becoming too dangerous to keep near my command. The next week two of my most trusted aides helped me transport the packing crate there. You will need to pry off the top and remove the plutonium from its lead shielding. The trap door is in the northwest corner of the barn hidden under dirt and straw." Schroeder paused and looked out across the lake, toward the far shore, toward his homeland, invisible, shrouded by the night and obscured by the random mists swirling above the dark waters. "Had I known saboteurs would destroy the ferry, none of this would have been necessary."

  "I've stopped trying to think about 'what ifs.' It's too much like banging your head against the wall, there's just no percentage in it."

  "If I could do this myself, I would. My final act, a suitable end to my career."

  "Don't even bother thinking about it, sir. Like I said, 'There's no percentage in it.'"