The Girl from Berlin: War Criminal's Widow

by Ellie Midwood

  Heinrich, still moving on his knees, pushed the box with ammunition next to me and took the rifle out of my hands. I looked at the box.

  “Is this the last one?” Yielding Heinrich his position back, I moved behind him, closer to the wall.

  “Yes,” he answered inaudibly without turning around. I pressed the back of my head to the wall and automatically tried to clean the cement dust off my dress. My baby, who didn’t appreciate all the crawling, moving and pushing he had to endure in just a few hours, kicked me hard, clearly indicating his discontent.

  “Oh, don’t you start at least,” I tiredly rubbed the side of my belly and took the second rifle to put ammo in it for Heinrich.

  “Hey, Fritzes!” I heard the thick Russian accent coming from the main staircase, still protected by our officers. “You don’t come out hands up, we throw grenade!”

  “The soldiers of the great German Reich don’t give up!” The commanding officer of the tiny group he had under his control by the main staircase proudly shouted back.

  Heinrich shot his last bullet and stretched his hand with an empty rifle to me so I’d hand him the loaded one. My fingers were all black and greasy from the gun powder and oil, that’s how many times I repeated this operation today. A loud explosion shook the building, sending a cloud of concrete dust from the main staircase to our floor. The officers, who froze by the walls covering their heads, immediately opened fire back at the enemy, invisible in the fiery twilight.

  “Annalise, why don’t you go inside that office next to us and lock the door?” Heinrich suggested with concern in his voice.

  “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he insisted.

  I smirked. I was sure that it was the last hour of my life, so getting hurt at this point was merely a question of time.

  “No. If we die, we die together.”

  “Stop saying that! We won’t die.”

  I quickly glanced at the fallen officers’ bodies by the wall. I’m pretty sure they didn’t expect to die either, I wanted to say. It’s interesting how the human brain starts working in extreme situations: at one point it just stops reacting to what normally would send it off in terror, and all the instincts narrow to one only – the survival one. And we crawl on the floor in someone’s blood, we lower ourselves next to the dead and keep going through the same motions, in the hope of prolonging our own existence at least for several more minutes. Shot fired, next bullet, switch, shot fired, reload, shot fired, change rifle, shot fired, duck your head, next bullet… Until there won’t be any more bullets to shoot or any more people to fire them.

  A grenade fired from the street broke the remaining glass in one of the offices on the opposite side. The Russians didn’t know that no one was left there. They probably thought that we had the whole army hidden within the walls of the former Gestapo headquarters, and intended to level the building to the ground together with its occupants. The next grenade, thrown from the third floor, tore one of the officer’s chest open, and his limp body hit the marble floor with a loud thud. I quickly turned away and tried to whisper a prayer, but all the words escaped my mind. We’ll all die here, I was sure of it now.

  “Fritzes!” Russians held their fire to give us another chance. “Surrender and we let you live! Come out hands up now!”

  “Never! Heil Hitler!” The commanding officer by the main staircase seemed to completely lose it, because he picked up three huge anti-tank grenades, jumped over the improvised barricade and rushed towards the enemy. In less than a second we heard multiple shots, a blood-curling explosion following them and then nothing but dead silence. It looked like the officer’s death wasn’t in vain and he did take several of the Soviet soldiers with him.

  Next to me Heinrich also turned around to the main staircase, and suddenly a loud bang pierced the silence. I yelped instinctively when my husband looked in surprise at the wound right below his left shoulder, and even touched the soaking his uniform blood in disbelief.

  “Heinrich!” I shrieked, and clasped my mouth shut with my shaking hand.

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine, it just looks bad,” he tried to pacify me even though quickly draining from his face color was telling me a completely different story.

  “Lay down, lay down right here.” I pushed him to the floor, away from the line of fire and a possible sniper hiding somewhere on the staircase. “Press it down with your hand to stop the bleeding and I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

  The thought of my husband dying in my hands and leaving me one on one with that wild horde outside put me in a state of panic, but just for a second. I took a deep breath collecting my thoughts and prohibited myself from losing control of the situation. Heinrich needed my help, and I had my unborn baby to protect. No, I wasn’t going to curl up in a corner and whimper, waiting for my fate to finally catch up with me. I was going to fight till my last breath if needed.

  On my hands and knees I crawled to the entrance. Crouching behind the door, I picked up one of the hand grenades from the floor, and with all the hatred I had I yanked the ring out of it and threw it down the stairs. That would stop them for some time from climbing up in the hope that they killed the last one protecting the entrance. Trying not to look at my husband, so as to not start panicking again, I crawled to the office next to us, where I saw the first aid kit the last time, quickly located it between the empty boxes where we’d kept the rifles, and in the same manner creeped back to the hallway, pushing the kit in front of me.

  Without looking, I shot several more times at the direction of the staircase to prevent the Russians from coming up, and quickly turned back to my very badly bleeding husband. He was barely conscious and was breathing heavily now. Not a good sign, I frowned, remembering my first aid SS-Helferinnen classes. I pursed my lips and with slightly shaking fingers unbuttoned Heinrich’s uniform jacket and then his shirt, by now all soaked with blood.

  God, please don’t let him die, please don’t let him die, I kept repeating in my mind, while wiping the blood off with a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol on it. Thankfully, the bullet didn’t hit any major arteries, otherwise he’d already be dead, but what it sounded like every time he’d drew in another breath, it had probably injured his lung; and if that was the case, without a qualified doctor he wouldn’t live long. I swallowed hard and did the only thing I could – put a thick pad to the wound and tightly bandaged Heinrich’s shoulder to stop the bleeding at least. Where would I get that goddamn doctor now?! I tried not to burst into tears, feverishly going through my options.

  It was unusually quiet on both staircases now, and only now I noticed that the last officer, who was left by the main staircase, was dead as well, probably killed by the piece of the same anti-tank grenade his superior detonated just minutes ago. I looked at my unconscious and very pale husband, and realized that I didn’t have time to contemplate anymore. The only people who had the doctors were the Russians downstairs. They even had a truck with a red cross on it (even though stolen from us) on the other side of the street, where they kept bringing wounded soldiers, I saw it myself earlier that morning. And I was not going to let my husband die.

  I shuddered involuntarily when I moved one of the chairs from the barricade in the doors and lowered it on the floor.

  “Is anybody there?” I yelled from behind the doorframe after a moment’s hesitation. “We surrender! I need medical help! Come up, please, we won’t shoot, I promise!”

  I wasn’t sure if they understood any of that because I didn’t hear a response for quite some time. Then finally a voice from the third floor shouted back, “You surrender?”

  “Yes, yes, we do! I need a doctor! Doctor!” I articulated the last word so he’d understand me.

  “Come out hands up!”

  “I can’t come out, the entrance is blocked!” I shouted back, once again evaluating the barricade. I could move several chairs, but a cupboard, a metal safe and an overturned hardwood table on top of
them were out of question. “Come up here!”

  “Come out hands up!” the voice repeated, clearly not understanding what I just said.

  “I can’t!” I tried to remember what they would normally yell outside and trying to come up with something they’d understand, I shouted, “I surrender! Hands up! I need help! Please! Doctor!”

  “Hands up!” The voice sounded closer now, and I could hear the stone crushing under the careful steps of the approaching soldier. The Russian. The enemy.

  I quickly glanced at Heinrich behind me, making sure that he was still breathing, and then slowly got up from my knees – for the first time in several hours – and lifted my hands above my head, slowly approaching the exit.

  I saw him the moment he saw me too, a young Russian soldier with a rifle in his hands. He quickly pointed it at me, and frowned.

  “Hands up!”

  “Yes, yes, hands up, no weapons,” I reassured him and moved as close to the barricade as I could. “Doctor, please!”

  He yelled something in Russian back at his comrades on the third floor and, still keeping aim at me, cautiously made the last few steps towards the barricade separating us.

  “Doctor,” I repeated once again as I pointed to Heinrich behind me.

  “Hands up!” the Russian yelled, not seeing my lowered hand behind the furniture. I quickly raised them again and then slowly started stretching my right hand across the table.

  The Russian was looking at me, confused, as I very carefully extended my arm towards his and gently pulled his sleeve towards myself, making him come closer to see my wounded husband, even though the knife on the end of his rifle almost touched my chest. He was very young, probably even younger than me, I thought, and as scared. I forced a weak smile and pulled a little stronger.

  “Please,” I repeated, and motioned my head towards my husband’s body on the floor. The soldier finally saw him. “Doctor.”

  “Hands up,” the Russian said more calmly now, meaning that I shouldn’t be making any quick movements. I nodded, letting him know that I understood, and raised both hands up again, stepping away from the barricade.

  He yelled something back at his comrades again, and by the rare shooting still coming from downstairs, I concluded that they were still busy fighting off the rest of the former RSHA staff. Meanwhile the Russian put the rifle behind his back, quickly climbed over the barricade and drew his gun out to check the perimeter. As soon as he made sure that it was only us left there, not counting several dead bodies on the floor, he kneeled in front of Heinrich, but still pushed all the guns and rifles away from both me and my husband.

  He lifted the jacket I covered Heinrich with, shook his head at the wound, still slightly bleeding even through the bandage, and then looked at Heinrich’s jacket again.

  “General?” he asked me, pointing at Heinrich’s military insignia.

  I didn’t know what to answer first, because the answer would probably decide my husband’s fate. I didn’t know if ‘general’ was a bad thing in the Russian’s mind, and the higher the rank the more reasons he had to execute him; or if ‘general’ was a good thing, because it would give the one who captured him the honors and maybe some kind of awards. I decided to go with the second, desperately hoping that I was right.

  “Yes, General,” I whispered and held my breath.

  The Russian nodded and yelled something down again, waited for the response, and shouted again. As they were going back and forth, I kneeled in front of Heinrich and gently moved the hair away from his forehead covered with cold sweat. He was breathing very slowly and with visible effort. I kissed him on his forehead and, not able to fight the tears away anymore, terrified of the unknown, feeling absolutely helpless surrounded by the enemy, I started quietly sobbing, stroking Heinrich’s cold hand in mine.

  I didn’t even notice the Russian sat beside me, until I saw his hand extend a grubby handkerchief in front of me. I scorned myself for my so stereotypically German obsession with cleanness, when my own face was probably even dirtier than this soldier’s in front of me. I gratefully nodded at him with a bitter smile and wiped the tears.

  “Muzh?” he asked me something in Russian that I didn’t understand, pointing at Heinrich. Noticing my confusion, he pointed at Heinrich’s wedding band on his finger, and then at mine.

  “Yes,” I answered, guessing that the soldier was asking if Heinrich was my husband. And then, out of habit, I extended my hand towards the Russian before I could even think of what I was doing. “Annalise.”

  His brow furrowed, but then he took my hand in his and slightly shook it.

  “Mikhail.”

  “Mikhail?” I repeated the name.

  “Da,” a faint smile played on his lips. “Misha.”

  “Nice to meet you, Misha,” I looked into the very intelligent dark brown eyes framed by long lashes. He didn’t look like the typical Russian our propaganda pictured on the wall posters; he looked more like one of our Jews – his nose was too long and narrow for the Slavic type, his jawline too strong, the features too dark…

  “Doctor?” I repeated again, giving him an inquisitive look and pointing at Heinrich.

  “Da, da, seichas,” he nodded several times and yelled something to his fellow Russians again, more demanding this time.

  I checked Heinrich’s forehead and breathing again.

  “Rebenochek?” Misha pointed at my belly, smiling and clearly trying to distract me. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but forced a smile and wrapped my belly with one hand, still holding Heinrich’s in the other. “Horosho.”

  I finally heard the loud steps on the stairs and conversation in Russian. Misha seemed to be quite polite and civilized, but I haven’t seen the others yet and, frankly speaking, was getting nervous again as they started climbing over the furniture, blocking the entrance.

  Misha got up from the floor and saluted one of them, his commanding officer as I guessed. The latter looked me up and down with visible hostility and threw a disgusted look at Heinrich. I instinctively moved closer to my husband, ready to cover him with my body if I had to. Misha meanwhile started explaining something to his superior, emotionally gesticulating and pointing at me and at Heinrich. I only caught the words general, SS and fascist from their heated dialogue. They were obviously deciding whether we were worth their trouble or not.

  Finally one of the three men delegation kneeled in front of Heinrich and lifted his jacket. He checked his pulse, his eyes and then turned back to the commanding officer and said something, shrugging. The commissar stepped closer to my dying husband, lifted up his jacket with two fingers, inspected the insignia with all the disgust he could express on his red meaty face, and finally motioned his head towards the exit, not forgetting to roll his eyes. I caught Misha’s reassuring nod behind his back and let out a sigh of relief. My husband was given permission to live.

  Chapter 10

  I was chewing on the canned food Misha gave me with such an appetite as if I hadn’t eaten in days, which was not too far from truth. After they took Heinrich downstairs to let the doctors operate on his wound in the improvised hospital they had arranged down the street, Misha and two other soldiers took apart the barricade so I could come down the stairs.

  But before I could do that, one of them stretched his hand in front of him, stopping me and pointed at my earrings, indicating that he wanted them. I took them off and placed them on his open palm; he demanded my engagement diamond ring as well, leaving my plain silver wedding band though. It wasn’t valuable to him because of the SS runes on it. The other one took my watch and even took pains to check my neck to see if I had any necklaces on it. I didn’t, and he barked some curse at me as I figured out from his intonation.

  Misha was shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another and tried to object something to his comrades, but they growled at him something that made him lower his eyes and shake his head violently. I guessed that they accused him in protecting the ‘Nazi bitch’ or something
like that, because he hadn’t said a word since. They were older than him too and higher in rank as I thought, because he kept replying to them in a manner that a subordinate would. I kept quiet, so as not to get myself, or the only one good Russian I’d met, in trouble.

  Finishing my meal in record short time under Misha’s amused stare, I was thinking how lucky I was that losing my jewelry was the worst thing that had happened to me so far. Nobody beat me up, nobody shot me, and the most important, nobody tried to rape me (even if that couple, who robbed me, had such a thought, they quite obviously grimaced at the sight of my huge belly and decided against it).

  Heinrich was next to me again, after the red-faced commissar told Misha to take me to his ‘headquarters’ in one of the former apartments, where the two soldiers later brought my still unconscious, but at least treated by qualified medics, husband. Misha said something reassuring in Russian, pointing with his eyes at Heinrich and then, after a moment’s thought, offered me his flask.

  “Vodka?” I scrunched my nose even though I didn’t smell any alcohol.

  “Net…” Misha seemed a little confused. “No… Voda. Water.”

  I smiled embarrassingly and gladly accepted the offer.

  “No vodka. Vodka no good.” He made a face showing his attitude to the alcohol. I laughed; after I heard that I was sure that he wasn’t Russian, in the full sense of that word at least.

  “Jewish?” I voiced my guess, pointing at him after returning his flask and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Net.” He shook his head, but a little bit hesitantly, and threw a quick glance at the door.

  “I am.” I pointed at myself, not wanting to compromise him; I didn’t know what the attitude to the Jews in his country was, but judging by his reaction even if he was Jewish, he wouldn’t tell me.