by Paul Grant
Sure enough, a grey DKW van was heading towards them with the lights out.
‘That’s them,’ Klaus said, in relief more than anything.
He turned to the door in his excitement, but Markus said, ‘Wait! Remember what I said.’
He was anxious to get it over with as soon as possible, but Markus was right. It could well be a trap, especially if Alfons had managed to warn Dobrovsky.
The van crawled past them. There were two people in the front, not fully visible in the fading light. The van stopped twenty metres or so down the street, to their right. The clock was now ticking. They had three minutes.
Markus checked his watch, but didn’t move. They were to move into position alongside the van. Markus would cover the guards, in case they tried anything untoward, and Klaus was to move Ulrich from one van to the other. It sounded simple. It felt far from that to Klaus.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the back of the van. He knew his son was in there. He knew he needed his help. He tried his best to shake off the thoughts of Ulrich’s likely condition. It was time to be positive, even if the waiting was becoming intolerable.
It had been a full two minutes.
‘We should go, Markus. They might leave,’ Klaus said.
Markus shook his head. ‘One minute more.’
As the words left his lips, they heard the first shot. To their left there was a small military truck at the end of the street. They hadn’t heard them arrive. Five men were fanning out across the street. Klaus turned back to the van and heard the engine gun; they were preparing to leave with Ulrich in the back.
He went for the door again.
‘Stay here! You’d be right in the line of fire,’ Markus hissed.
A machine gun started up to our left and the bread van took the brunt of the bullets. The tyres were blown and it was clear now the van wasn’t going anywhere. A man jumped out of the front and started to return fire.
There was nothing Klaus could do, but watch. If they moved out of cover, they’d walk straight into the crossfire. It was excruciating sitting there whilst Klaus knew Ulrich was in the back of the van.
One of the soldiers from the troop carrier fell to the ground, then another. The bread van continued to take on fire, as the two men took cover behind it. Klaus was desperate, wondering if Ulrich would survive in there.
Just then, one of the men at Klaus’ side of the delivery van fell. The man on the other side must have still been firing as those advancing from the left took cover from time to time. Then I saw him; one of the men on their left was Alfons, his large bulk unmistakable. He fired his handgun intermittently, urging on his two remaining comrades, both of whom appeared more reluctant to stand out in the open.
One of Alfons’ comrades fell to the floor. He threw down his own handgun and took the injured man’s machine pistol, then started to rake the van with fire, seemingly intent on causing maximum damage to the van and its contents.
Klaus had seen enough. He threw open the door and jumped out.
In spite of Markus’ protests, Klaus’ eyes were on the van. He paused at the corner of the building. Return fire was no longer coming from behind the van. Ulrich was alone in there now at the mercy of Alfons and the remaining soldier. If Ulrich wasn’t dead already, he would be in the hands of Dobrovsky.
Ready to make a run for the van, instinctively he checked back over his left shoulder for covering fire. After all those years, the reactions of battle had not left them. Markus had his revolver ready. He urged Klaus on.
Klaus kept close to the wall, running in a low crouch. It took a few seconds for Alfons to spot him because he got within ten metres of the van before bullets started to kick off the wall.
Klaus was heading straight for the back doors, as the red brick dust and bullets flew around him. He was out in the open and vulnerable, sure he would take a bullet sooner rather than later.
He was five metres from his target when he was spun around by the impact. Falling to the floor, he grabbed for his left shoulder, noticing the blood. It stung like hell, but he’d seen enough wounds to know it was only a nick. From the ground, he peered back down the street and he could see Markus had already dealt with Alfons’ remaining comrade. Alfons turned his machine pistol towards Markus’ position. Markus only had a handgun. Klaus had to help him.
He suddenly remembered the Tokarev and felt the cold steel in his left pocket. Thankfully, he was able to use his good right arm to take out the gun.
He took aim at Alfons just as he started to fire on Markus’ position. Then as suddenly as it started, the firing stopped with a distinct click. Alfons’ cartridge was empty. It took a second for him to realise he was a sitting duck.
Klaus’ first shot missed.
He took aim again, saying a silent thanks for Wiebke’s obsession in keeping the weapon in good working order.
He didn’t miss the second time. Alfons dropped to the floor like a stone. Even if he wasn’t dead, there were no usable weapons around him, and he wasn’t moving. As far as Klaus could see, they’d now dealt with all the men from the troop carrier. As if to confirm his thinking, he heard Markus start the van and move it out of its hiding position. Klaus was on his feet making his way to Ulrich, grasping at his shoulder.
The panels of the bread van doors were riddled with bullet holes. He yanked on the doors in his anxiety to see inside. Now they were open he couldn’t make anything out, and he began to wonder if the van had been empty all along. It was hard to imagine given the shoot-out they’d just witnessed between Burzin and Dobrovsky’s men.
He could only see what looked like a dark blanket. As if reading his mind, Markus parked behind and switched on the lights. Klaus clambered into the back, the anxiety rising in his throat.
He could see now there was someone under the blanket, completely motionless. Klaus was down on his knees in no time, clawing at the blanket.
‘Is he okay?’ It was Markus’ voice.
Klaus couldn’t see him for the headlights shining in his eyes. He managed to whimper, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’
The blanket removed, he could see a well-soiled prison uniform. He couldn’t say it was Ulrich because he was lying face down.
He shook him. ‘Uli! Talk to me.’
‘Just pick him up and get him in the van, Klaus. We don’t have long.’
Klaus wasn’t listening. He had to know if he was alive. The person seemed lifeless and limp as he turned him over. Then he saw his face. It was Ulrich, but he was in bad shape. His face was slightly bruised, but it was clear he was in a bad way. Klaus quickly checked the rest of his body for bullet wounds, but couldn’t see anything obvious, and there was no blood on the floor of the van.
There was, however, no sign of life, nothing. Klaus did wonder if his lack of movement might have saved him from the rain of bullets.
‘What have they done to you?’ He cupped Ulrich’s swollen face in his hands. If he wasn’t already dead, he was close to it.
‘Klaus! Get a move on. Now!’
Klaus picked up Ulrich’s lifeless body with great difficulty. The pain of his shoulder made him cry out, but he managed to move Ulrich around the back of the van where Markus had opened the doors. He’d no sooner placed Ulrich down, feeling the relief, when a shot instinctively made them flinch.
A man was running towards them: short, rotund, screaming out, his bald pate clearly visible.
‘Dobrovsky!’ Markus said.
A second shot sounded. Fortunately, he was much too animated to be accurate in his aim. Markus pushed Klaus in the back of the van after Ulrich. ‘Stay down,’ he shouted and then slammed the doors shut.
After what seemed an age, the engine gunned and they were on the move.
Just then, one of the back doors swung open. Klaus looked in shock at Dobrovsky. He was panting, his eyes bulging at the effort of reaching the back of the van. Nonetheless, he was smiling like a man possessed, no doubt happy at finding what he’d been searching for since he missed him at Koly
ma.
With one hand on the unopened door, he aimed the gun straight at Klaus. He couldn’t believe he would die here like this. Klaus wasn’t about to give in. He frantically scrambled around the back of the van, partially to make himself harder to hit, but also searching around in vain for the Tokarev.
The van was picking up speed whilst Dobrovsky was trying to level his gun on his target. Klaus felt helpless to change the course of events. The man who’d been running after him since Burzin flew him out of Kolyma had that sick, manic smile. He was about to get his revenge, and there was nothing Klaus seemingly could do about it.
He returned to Ulrich’s lifeless body trying to shield him.
Suddenly, the van started to veer right, turning a corner. Dobrovsky lost his grip on the door and started to lose his footing. Sensing his chance would be gone, he loosed off a wild shot, but it went through the roof. He had regained some grip on the unopened door, but was clearly in no position to fire now.
Klaus didn’t miss his chance. He quickly shuffled towards the back of the van. As Dobrovsky looked up, Klaus could see fear in his eyes now, fear he was going to miss out on him once again. Klaus stamped hard on his hand holding the door with the sole of his boot. He heard Dobrovsky’s shrill scream, but he had to let go.
Dobrovsky dropped the gun in one last attempt to gain a grip with his other hand, but it was too late. In an instant, his round frame tumbled on the road behind the van. Klaus knew he wasn’t dead, but he couldn’t bother them from that position.
Klaus felt the pain shoot through his shoulder as he swung the doors shut. Despite the wound, he felt an immense sense of relief that the immediate danger had passed. He trusted Markus to get them out of the Russian sector. They needed to get to a hospital and fast.
He slumped down against the inside of the van feeling totally spent. As he was drawing breath, he heard a muffled noise, only just catching it above the sound of the engine.
It was there again. He was sure now that Ulrich had said something for the first time. It wasn’t anything understandable, only a groan, but it was enough.
Klaus was down by his side in an instant, holding him, careful not to hurt him.
‘Stay with me, Uli! We’ll get you to a hospital, just hold on, son.’
He didn’t respond. Klaus knew it would be a race against time.
EPILOGUE
OCTOBER 1953, WEST GERMANY
Klaus could hear them teasing each other from his place in the kitchen.
‘I did tell you not to get involved,’ she said.
‘There’s one thing about you, Evie.’
‘What’s that, Uli?’
‘You’re always right.’
Klaus heard the thud of the cushion as it hit him and then the laughter. There was a smile on Klaus’ lips. He was smiling inside, too. He felt content for the first time in many years. He’d wasted too much of his life fighting the war. He’d wasted too much time in camps of one form or another paying for the crimes of others, be it Hitler’s cronies or men like Wiebke. He’d not been an angel in life, far from it, but Klaus did feel finally, whatever his debts were, they had more than been repaid.
It was time to enjoy what was left of his life.
He walked through to the living area. Ulrich was stretched out on the couch. He was close to full fitness now. There had been no lasting effect from the interrogation, physically speaking at least. The nightmares were still occurring, but not in the frequency they did when they first arrived in West Germany. They’d made it out, over the sector border that night. Ulrich was taken care of in hospital and they were flown out of Gatow as soon as he was well enough to travel.
Reuter arranged a hospital bed, and later, Ulrich moved in with them at the apartment. It was a nice place. Wunstorf was quiet, apart from the nearby airbase. It was what they all needed after all the excitement.
Eva was smiling at Ulrich, readying herself for another jibe. It was all good-natured. She’d thought she’d lost her brother and was beside herself when Klaus got the message through to her that he was safe and recovering. The events of 17 June 1953 had helped mask their escape from the Russian sectors of Berlin. Had it been any other time, it was unlikely he’d have been able to get away with Wiebke’s murder, or that Burzin would have been able to spring Ulrich from Hohenschönhausen as he had. Klaus still had no idea how he’d managed it. He must have had inside help. Klaus had no doubt that Dobrovsky would be spitting mad.
Markus had been to visit when his duties had allowed. Klaus couldn’t fully buy into his new career. The important thing was they’d taken care of Ulrich’s needs as they would one of their own. He was seen by the government as a patriot, a soldier in the new Cold War that had developed.
Klaus understood the necessity for these sorts of operations. The West German government had to take a role in the new world order, as a partner and ally to the United States and Britain. It just made him feel uneasy. He suspected Ulrich had become intrigued by this shady world and the brilliance of Markus Schram. Ulrich was still young and impressionable, even if he’d had a nasty shock after his arrest and subsequent interrogation. It worried him that Ulrich would want to continue this work in the future. And whilst Reuter and Markus’ intentions were honourable, he knew having them around only increased the likelihood of Ulrich eventually joining the ranks of the West German Security Services.
In some ways this worry was selfish; Klaus had always had in mind they would work together in their own building company, father and son.
In the time Klaus was nursing Ulrich back to full health, he’d heard the good news that Hans Vogel and Dirk Hausmann had finally returned to Germany. It was fantastic they were back in one piece. He only hoped their transition to normal, civilian life was less painful than his had been. Klaus still felt immense pain when he thought about Oskar Marz. He felt he’d let him down, the only consolation being he couldn’t have known those terrible things Klaus thought about him until Wiebke gave him the truth.
Whatever had happened to Klaus, he was one of the lucky ones. He’d been to visit Scharner’s wife, as he’d asked him to do on his cattle truck deathbed. He eventually tracked her down to a cramped apartment in Frankfurt. She looked much older than her photograph and much less innocent. She didn’t seem interested in Scharner’s death; if anything she was vacant, lost. Klaus had eventually been pushed out of the place by her boyfriend, an American forces man, arrogant and brash. It could have been so different for Klaus and his family.
The living room had gone exceedingly quiet. Maria’s arms snaked around his waist, creeping up on him.
Klaus laughed, happy. ‘That’s a nice surprise.’
‘I’ll always be that, Klaus,’ she joked.
He was still amazed at his Maria. The woman who had been through so much yet remained a tower of strength. He knew he couldn’t have survived without her.
They’d all suffered so much, but now they were stronger.
He felt the past couldn’t touch them.
Thank you for reading
I would like to thank you for taking the time to read Berlin: Uprising.
I hope you enjoyed it and, if so, I would be grateful if you would leave a review.
Page for review
Other books about the Schultz family and Berlin are also available:
Berlin: Caught in the Mousetrap
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071G6Q7X7 or
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071G6Q7X7
Attached also details for the second book in the series,
Berlin: Reaping the Whirlwind
https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B077GDBQ8T/ref=series_rw_dp_sw
You can find more information about the author online:
www.paulgrant-author.com
https://www.facebook.com/paull.grant.31
E-mail:
[email protected]
About the Author
Paul Grant is from Leeds in the UK and continues to live in West Yorkshire. His first deg
ree was in History specialising in Germany between the wars and during the period of the Third Reich.
Acknowledgements and comments
I am happy to recommend a number of books on the topics covered in my book. Probably the best reference was Antony Beevor’s Stalingrad. This is a book I will never tire of reading and continue to refer to on a regular basis.
Anne Applebaum’s book, Gulag – A History, is a must-read for anybody interested in the subject. The sheer scale of the Gulag camp system was incredible and provided many insights into my research. Her book, Iron Curtain: The Crushing of Eastern Europe 1944–1956 is also important in understanding the lengths to which the Soviets, and their satellites, went to stamp out any threats.
Another interesting book relates to returning prisoners of war, Homecomings by Frank Biess. This book highlights the particular difficulties that so-called returnees had in adapting to life after having returned from their confinement.
For Hohenschönhausen, I can recommend Hubertus Knabe’s Gefangen in Hohenschönhausen, which follows the experiences on prisoners there from the late 1940s to the fall of the regime.
Information about Berlin is easy to find. There are a number of excellent books covering the city’s history in the turbulent period after the war and the Cold War. Much has been written on the subject, but I found David Clay Large’s Berlin: A Modern History to be very good, particularly on the Workers’ Uprising in which Ulrich was involved. Frederick Taylor’s The Berlin Wall also covers the post-war period before the city was divided and is an excellent read.
I also highly recommend a series undertaken on Twitter about the Workers’ Uprising. Details to be found here: https://17juni1953live.wordpress.com/
Berlin: Uprising is a work of fiction based closely on historical fact. After Stalin’s death there were divisions in the SED leadership, as a more progressive line was, at first, encouraged by Moscow. Ultimately, Ulbricht and the hardliners won out. Exactly how that was achieved remains open to conjecture.