BERLIN

by Paul Grant

  ‘What’s your name, prisoner?’

  ‘Schultz, Kommandant.’

  ‘Your argument is weak, Schultz. A clever man, as you appear to be, does not ask to see the Kommandant and talk about goodwill.’ He chuckled, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth. ‘Do you see much goodwill around you?’

  Klaus hesitated for a moment.

  ‘Do I read the situation well?’ Burzin asked, raising his eyebrows in a way that elicited a response.

  Klaus’ mouth was dry. He felt he’d judged the character sitting in front of him correctly. If he hadn’t, it could all backfire, and not only with Burzin and Stransky, more so with his own comrades.

  ‘I was thinking about your words concerning the output of the camp,’ Klaus started.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You linked the output of the camp and the men’s ration?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So, if there were to be improvements in productivity, we would all see the benefits.’

  Burzin smiled, seemingly enjoying the game. ‘Are you telling me your men are not putting in one hundred per cent effort at the moment?’

  Klaus shook his head. ‘They actually work too hard, and the mine is dangerous. I believe we can reorganise things to improve output and conditions.’

  ‘Oh, you do?’

  ‘We could start by building a decent engineering team, maintaining tools and conveyors regularly.’

  ‘And you would be part of this team?’

  ‘With Hausmann and others, yes.’

  ‘And the mine?’

  ‘I have other ideas.’

  Burzin nodded. ‘And the men? They feel the same?’

  It was Klaus’ turn to shrug. ‘If the rations are improved…’

  Burzin swung his feet to the floor, reaching for his lighter and another cigarette. Having taken one, he tapped the end on the packet, seemingly deep in thought.

  ‘Fix the generator first, then we’ll talk.’

  Klaus went to say something, but Burzin cut him off. ‘The men will be given a good meal now, as a gesture of the “goodwill” you mention.’

  ‘Thank you, Kommandant.’

  ‘Anything else?’ he raised his eyebrows slightly mockingly.

  ‘That’s all, Kommandant.’

  Klaus turned to leave, but Burzin hadn’t finished. ‘Before you go, Schultz, make sure the generator is running by tonight, otherwise you and your colleague will spend the next two months at the work face.’

  Klaus nodded with a slight gulp, convinced Burzin meant what he said.

  He dismissed Klaus with two short flicks of the hand.

  Klaus scuttled from his cabin feeling elated his plan had worked. As the cold air hit his face, he heaved a sigh of relief. His moment of victory was cut short, however. As soon as he closed the door, Stransky grabbed him, pinning him against the timber structure of the cabin, the whip handle against his throat.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Schultz, but I am watching you.’

  Klaus tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Stransky’s eyes were wide and manic. He sniggered slightly then pulled the whip away, and Klaus slumped forward gasping for air. Stransky kicked him down the three wooden steps and he landed, face first in the snow. The satisfaction Klaus had felt after his meeting with Burzin had evaporated into the thin, freezing air.

  ***

  Dirk had the generator running within an hour of the parts arriving on the site. True to his word, Burzin had provided full rations for the men before it was fixed. The pragmatic Burzin had clearly seen the sense in Klaus’ offer, because within days, Dirk was given the unofficial job of site engineer, with Klaus as his assistant, thereby removing the two of them from the arduous work at the mine, and providing a degree of freedom to move around the site. In the mine, some of the suggestions made by Klaus were implemented: Markus Schram became the supervisor, reorganising shift patterns, enabling the men to have more breaks and to improve the productivity. It seemed everybody was content with the changes, as content as men could be in the freezing conditions trying to mine gold, separated from their families. Everybody appeared happy except Stransky. He seethed and simmered in the background and Klaus knew it wouldn’t be long before they had a problem.

  Klaus and Dirk worked as a team from the start. He took the youngster under his wing, whilst in return, Dirk set about teaching Klaus the basics of engineering maintenance. It worked well, but Klaus couldn’t help having concerns about Dirk. Something wasn’t quite right with the boy and it wasn’t exactly a surprise to Klaus when he found Dirk at the back of the fitting shop warehouse having a fit.

  Klaus tried to slap him to bring him around. ‘Dirk! Dirk!’

  Dirk was sweating profusely, slightly delirious, and there was no response to Klaus’ urgings. He ran out of the shed and alerted some passing prisoners for help. One of the guards accompanied three men and Klaus as they carried Dirk across the frozen yard to the small hospital at the edge of the site.

  Once settled in the hospital, Klaus sought out Doctor Hans Vogel, who had arrived at the camp at the same time as Klaus and the others. Vogel worked at the hospital under a Russian civilian doctor.

  In the hospital ward, the temperature was comfortable. The bed sheets were clean and crisp. Many of the men talked longingly of a few nights there, to rest and be clean, some small reminder of home.

  The doctor made a quick check on Dirk, whilst Klaus ran through what had happened.

  ‘Okay. You did the right thing,’ Hans Vogel said.

  ‘What’s wrong with him, Doc?’

  He shook his head. ‘We need to keep an eye on him here for a while.’

  ‘What about Stransky?’ Klaus asked. ‘He’ll just say he’s malingering.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  Hans Vogel was in his forties. His pince-nez glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he was as he looked: a truly diligent man. Klaus knew that many of the men who had made it here to Kolyma would have died on the long and winding journey from Stalingrad if it hadn’t been for Doctor Vogel.

  ‘You’d best get back to the camp.’

  ‘You’ll let me know how he is?’ Klaus asked, concerned.

  The doctor nodded, sending him on his way. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get word to you, Schultz.’

  Klaus left the warmth of the hospital, concerned for his friend but glad he was in capable hands.

  CHAPTER 5

  MAY 1953, BERLIN

  The hustle and bustle of the site went on around him. Ulrich Schultz was oblivious. Deep in concentration, he dropped his final block of the day into place. He tapped the top right side of the block with the upturned handle of his trowel so it was in line with the levelling string, then scraped away the excess cement, flicking it expertly onto the mortar board at his side. He stood back, admiring his afternoon’s work. He still felt satisfied when he saw one of his walls finished. There was an artistry to it. If he went around the site he could tell, with a certain amount of accuracy, who had completed the block work on each wall. For now, he was finished for the day and his focus was on cleaning his tools and packing up.

  ‘Calling at the Wild Boar?’ Bernhard was close to him, sitting on an upended wooden crate, already cleaning his trowel.

  ‘I can be tempted for a couple.’ Ulrich flashed a knowing grin.

  The block winch was being tied up, labourers were busy clearing off the mortar boards and Ulrich could hear the clunk of the half-bricks cleaning the mixers down at ground level. It was music to his ears. Ursula was babysitting for her aunt tonight, but there was no chance for him to join her; the draw of the Wild Boar, and a chance to swap anecdotes with his friends, came a close second to spending time with her.

  As Ulrich placed his clean trowel, levelling string and pegs into his tool satchel, he could hear shouting from down below.

  ‘Who told you to clean out the mixers?’ The voice was shrill, loud enough for Ulrich to recognise it. He flashed an annoyed look towards Bernhard,
who simply rolled his eyes. Walking to the winch opening on their fourth floor position, Ulrich popped his head out and looked down on to the street level below. Among the stacks of materials, mixers and site waste, Reinhard Lange, the Block South foreman was bawling out a labourer.

  ‘I say when the day finishes. Now, who told you to clean out the mixers?’

  Ulrich knew the labourer in question. Heini had his problems. He was slow on the uptake and some of the other workers ribbed him about it. Ulrich felt sorry for him; two years older than him, he’d been pushed into volunteering at the end of the war and ended up in a POW camp in Russia. Ulrich had helped to get him the job on the Stalinallee site, and since he started there, Lange singled him out when he wanted to vent his anger.

  Lange’s face was up to Heini’s now. Ulrich could see his friend backing away slightly, worried about saying the wrong thing, worried about losing his job.

  ‘Come on, who was it, because you wouldn’t do anything without somebody telling you to?’

  The labourer had clammed up. It was the way of the site not to talk, not to drop anybody else in it.

  Lange pushed Heini aside dismissively. ‘You don’t need to tell me, I already know.’ He marched towards the stairwell. Ulrich knew where he was heading and that was just fine with him.

  ‘The Spitzel is on his way up,’ Ulrich said with some relish.

  Bernhard grumbled a profanity under his breath. Ulrich sat down and returned to packing his satchel, more for effect than necessity; he knew Lange was already at the stairwell opening. He had sensed the change in atmosphere.

  ‘You seem to be packing up early, comrades,’ Lange said. There wasn’t the same certainty to his voice up here, now he wasn’t dealing with the hapless Heini.

  Ulrich looked up slowly. Lange was staring at him. The foreman’s clothing was spotless, without a trace of a building site. His face was shiny and round and most of the hair on his head had long since disappeared. Nobody really knew his story or what he did during the war. His history was apparently as short as that of the fledgling government; it wasn’t the only reason they’d given him the nickname.

  ‘Schultz, you are nowhere near your target today.’

  Ulrich shrugged, knowing this was the best way to get to the man. ‘I placed the same number of blocks as I did each day last week. It wasn’t a problem then.’

  Pens poked out of Lange’s jacket pocket, clipboard firmly in hand; Lange was the enforcer of the hated norms.

  ‘You know things have changed since then.’ He was tapping one of the pens on his clipboard, a sure sign he was getting agitated.

  Ulrich knew this was the game. They were being squeezed; work harder for the same pay. Some of the men had folded and jumped to Lange’s tune. Ulrich didn’t blame them for that. They had mouths to feed and it was already tough enough without taking a real pay cut. Ulrich would probably have been one of them a few years ago when he first qualified, but not now.

  Ulrich stood, brushing the dust off his overalls. ‘Is it time for that beer, Bernhard?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m more than ready.’ Bernhard’s bag was already on his shoulder and he was heading for the stairs.

  Lange scuttled out of his path in a semi-panic. ‘So, the two of you will be catching up tomorrow then?’

  Ulrich looked at Lange. He was everything he could never become: weak, subservient, just an arsehole.

  ‘Don’t bank on it, Lange.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, it’s Comrade Lange.’

  Ulrich was past him and at the stairs. Lange had moved towards the area where they’d been walling, seemingly feeling safer there.

  ‘Well, Comrade Lange, if your target is to become our Stakhanovite I am sure somebody will lend you a trowel.’

  There was outright laughter from some of the men who had now stopped the clear-up to watch the fun.

  ‘You need to watch your step, Schultz.’

  Ulrich turned around, anger in his eyes for the first time. ‘Or what, Lange? You’ll report me along with the hundreds of others who are doing the same thing?’

  The labourers stood and watched with interest. Ulrich could see Lange was seething. He hated being challenged in front of the workers, more than he hated a missed target. He stood lips pursed, looking more like an accountant than a building site foreman. Ulrich felt some sympathy for the man. He didn’t purposely disrespect him. He got along with most people. It was just that respect had to be earned and Lange did no such thing as far as Ulrich was concerned.

  Lange was still flapping, struggling for words. Ulrich shook his head and left the work area. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Lange cursing at the labourers. ‘Get back to work! This isn’t a circus!’

  CHAPTER 6

  DECEMBER 1946, KOLYMA, RUSSIA

  Dirk Hausmann was still in the hospital making a steady recovery. Klaus was in the storeroom digging out some rollers for the unreliable conveyor system, when one of the men he didn’t know burst into the stores in a state of panic.

  ‘There’s been a cave-in at the mine!’ he shouted.

  His eyes were glazed over in stress. Klaus instinctively picked up two lamps and pushed him out of the door.

  It had been coming. The work in the mine had become increasingly dangerous. Cave-ins were a regular occurrence in the push for productivity. Schram, as mine supervisor, had also assumed the role of spokesman for the men, and had had a number of run-ins with Burzin about conditions there. Sometimes he’d won concessions, sometimes not. They knew he’d pushed it to the limit because on one occasion Burzin had even put him in ‘the hole’ for the day.

  Klaus could see a cloud of dust escaping from the mine entrance. A group of men were stumbling into the open, coughing and spluttering, lost in utter confusion. The guards there seemed unsure how to react, but at least one of them had put down his gun and was helping the men. Klaus pushed past and went into the mine, desperate to find Schram or Koegel.

  Klaus lit one of the kerosene lamps. He knew what it was like when the cave-ins occurred; he’d worked there for six months solid before working with Hausmann. He followed the track which transported the cars of excavated material. After a short distance he bumped into Schram.

  ‘We need to clear the walking wounded out as quickly as possible.’ Markus Schram was already focused despite the nasty gash on his head. He was still spitting dust from his mouth.

  ‘How bad is it? How many are down there?’ Klaus pointed the torch down the mine and could only see the debris of the fall completely blocking the path.

  ‘I don’t know, ten, maybe twelve.’ Markus grabbed his shoulders. ‘Arthur was at the face, Klaus.’ This wasn’t time for personal moments, even if Klaus knew what that probably meant.

  Markus grabbed one of the torches and pointed it towards the rubble. Klaus had a sharp intake of breath. A hand was clearly protruding from the rock and soil. There was no movement. Klaus felt the bile rising in his stomach.

  ‘Go back up to the top and get the men organised,’ Markus said.

  ‘No way! I’m staying down here. You need to get that cut seen to.’

  ‘No, Klaus. I know where the men were working. Go on. You’ll be better back up there. Besides, you know how to stand up to Burzin.’

  Klaus went to protest again, but Markus just shoved him towards the entrance. He didn’t like it, especially with Markus’ injuries, but there was no time to argue.

  He stumbled out of the mine expecting to see some organisation in place. Instead the guards were lined up, rifles raised. Klaus felt a sharp thump in his back. Stransky was over him ready to administer his whip again.

  ‘Schultz, I might have known.’

  ‘We need to get help…’

  A boot to the ribs took the wind out of him. ‘Never mind help, this is sabotage!’

  Klaus spluttered, trying to get the air back in his lungs. ‘What?’

  ‘Up. Get up! Take him to the hole!’

  Klaus started to struggle but two gua
rds stepped in on Stransky’s order. He was dragged across the yard. Looking around him, he couldn’t believe life appeared to be going on as normal. Nobody was aware of the scale of what had happened in the mine. He glanced across and saw the prisoner who had first alerted him to the accident. He was heading aimlessly across the yard, even though Klaus had given him specific instructions to get help from the hospital.

  ‘Get Doctor Vogel,’ Klaus shouted at him, half over his shoulder.

  Klaus struggled to get free, but the guards gripped him tighter. He could see the prisoner still hadn’t reacted. Klaus felt anger and frustration. If it were left to Stransky, the men at the mine face would be left to suffocate. There was only one thing for it. As soon as he felt the guards relax slightly, he threw himself to the ground. The guard lurched over him and Klaus saw his chance. He kicked him as hard as he could in the groin. The guard doubled over in pain. Klaus scrambled to his feet and upended the second guard onto his back before he could react. He ran to the prisoner, knowing this was his only chance to raise the alarm.

  Klaus shook him hard. ‘People are dying! They are relying on you, Comrade.’

  Klaus glanced nervously over his shoulder. The guards had regained their feet and were closing in on him.

  ‘Get Doctor Vogel! Take him to the mine. Now!’

  The last words were bawled, Klaus pushed him on his way. He was grateful to see the prisoner heading off in the direction of the hospital. Klaus didn’t have time to think about much else; he felt a sharp pain at the bottom of his back, then a blow to the head. He didn’t remember anything else.

  ***

  An incessant drip of freezing water on the back of his neck eventually woke him. He felt groggy and was shivering. He looked up to the see the sky slashed by metal grilles. He was enclosed by walls of frozen rock and dirt, with barely enough space to stretch out his legs.

  He did his best to gather his thoughts, trying desperately to remember what had happened. His back and head throbbed. Then it came over him, like waves of nausea, the accident, the bodies, Stransky’s reaction. Klaus felt the anxiety rise in him. He clawed at the freezing earth, trying to stand. His body screamed in pain as he staggered to his feet, his cheek numbing against the frosted surface as he brought himself upright. He thought of Markus Schram and Arthur Koegel. He knew Koegel could be still under the rubble.