Armageddon (11 page)

They milled about and gawked in dazed confusion. Some wept with grief and some wept with relief. “It is over.”

By late afternoon a dozen or more of the civic officials had been hauled in; however, neither Count Ludwig nor Baron Sigmund Von Romstein nor their younger brother Kurt had been found.

The square was now mobbed with frightened, glassy-eyed people. Sean O’Sullivan came downstairs and faced them from the steps of City Hall. He ordered the flags of the United States, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union hoisted above the building and his first order posted.

PROCLAMATION #1: APRIL 21, 1945

Attention! Citizens of Rombaden!

This city has unconditionally surrendered to Allied Forces. City Hall is hereby designated as Headquarters of Allied Forces Military Government.

No further resistance will be tolerated.

You are under the supreme command of the Allied representative.

All German courts, schools, banks, transportation and communications within city limits are hereby suspended. All business is suspended. The police force is hereby disbanded.

All members of the German armed forces will surrender themselves with their firearms immediately in the City Hall Square. All firearms will be deposited at the City Hall immediately.

All motor vehicles are hereby requisitioned.

All warehouses are hereby requisitioned.

All stores and petrol are hereby confiscated.

All German penal law is hereby suspended.

Rombaden is under curfew from 1900 to 0600 daily. Violators will be shot on sight.

All theaters, cinemas, radio stations, newspapers and other publications will suspend operations immediately.

The Mayor, Sanitation Officer, District Mayors, Medical Officer, Police Chief, City Engineer and their immediate subordinates will report immediately to Allied Headquarters.

All other civilians are hereby ordered to return to their homes and stay until notified.

By order of: Sean O’Sullivan, Major, United States Army. Military Governor of Rombaden/ Romstein.

Chapter Fifteen

D
EAR
G
ENERAL
H
ANSEN,

As we planned, I am writing these informal impressions on the basis of the first 72 hours. Dundee’s Regiment is meeting stiff opposition from the Waffen SS in Romstein District so my Team has not crossed the river, yet. We’ve got our hands full, here.

In Rombaden, resistance collapsed. The population is demoralized, scared stiff and getting hungry. So far we have averted panic, epidemic and serious crime, but the place is one hell of a mess.

Here’s a thumbnail and unofficial survey. Hank Greenberg, my engineer, estimates 40 per cent of all housing completely destroyed, 20 per cent partly destroyed. He has a monumental demolition problem to raze the unsafe buildings. As for the rubble, he says it may be years before it is all cleared. The power plant is 60 per cent out but one of the generators is operable. No light or electricity for the civilian population is possible for months. The telegraph lines are completely down. The phone system is about 30 per cent in operation. All public transportation is
kaput.
The radio station is completely demolished and cannot transmit. Both bridges are down. The rail yard and boat yards are the damnedest messes you’ve ever seen. Both inoperable. The Machine Works is 85 per cent destroyed above the ground (but there is a vast underground assembly plant which used slave labor from the concentration camp) and the other factories about 80 per cent destroyed. Tell the fly boys their aim was pretty good.

Our urgent problem right now is that the sewage plant and waterworks are both out of order. Dr. Grimwood, my health officer, has declared the river contaminated. We have been using water wells and have rationed the Germans to one bucket of water per day per family.

As for sewage removal, we have set up a honey-bucket system. The buckets are collected daily and carted out of town. We have been using arrested Blacklisted Nazis on this working detail. It’s good for them.

Meanwhile, the sewage plants and waterworks have our A-1 priority. Greenberg believes we can get them in at least partial working order in time to avert an epidemic.

Grimwood believes that present medical facilities can handle a small emergency (because of the Medical College) but, of course, we don’t know the medical problems we face when the concentration camp is liberated.

On the plus side.

Seizure of the banks, newspapers, business firms, etc., has gone off without a hitch.

We have formed two labor battalions who, along with some 2500 POW’s, have started rubble clearance, demolition, etc.

Blessing has seized the jail and has been able to keep law and order with his meager force. The people are too beaten to offer opposition. We have one of Dundee’s companies doing guard duty and use them as a “back up” force. Blessing and Arosa have rounded up over a hundred Blacklist so far (our honey-bucket brigade).

The Romankunsthalle is okay. So is the cathedral. However, Trueblood will have a curator’s nightmare as everything has been crated and stored in basements for safekeeping.

Speaking of irony, Dante Arosa and Duquesne found intact all the legal records, births, deaths, marriages for Rombaden/ Romstein for the last three decades. Why they weren’t destroyed is a mystery. It is too early to say what these records will turn up, but you can bet it will be plenty.

We weren’t so lucky with the Nazi records. Kurt Von Romstein, the Nazi Gauleiter, destroyed their records, then committed suicide. So far, neither brother, Baron Sigmund or Count Ludwig, has shown up.

In all, these people have brought an unbelievable disaster upon themselves. I think that the quick reaction of our team held the line. I think we can continue to hold the line and keep a semblance of human life going except for one problem which looks insurmountable.

Dale Hickman, my food man, says there’s enough stores m reserve for about six weeks at a minimum ration of 1200 calories per day. The main source of food is in the District but he suspects there will be a poor harvest. Even in the best of times this area could not support itself in food production. I have delayed issuing food-ration cards until we open the concentration camp. I feel the inmates there rate a priority on the food. For now, we have soup kitchens. But, the food situation must get worse before it improves. The specter of starvation is real.

We are just too damned busy heading off disaster here to think of either the minds of the German people or any golden futures. I hear that things are about the same all over Germany. I have kept my promise and have not sought either personal vengeance or used brutality. But, on the other hand, I feel neither pity, sorrow nor compassion.

Faithfully,

Sean O’Sullivan

Chapter Sixteen

S
EAN LIFTED THE RECEIVER.
“Major O’Sullivan speaking.”

“One minute, please, Major. We’ve been able to reach Colonel Dundee.”

“Good.”

“Hello ... Dundee speaking.”

“Hello, Colonel. This is Major O’Sullivan. What’s going on over there?”

“We’ve got most of the district cleared, however these bastards are fanatics. I wouldn’t cross over yet.”

“How long?”

“Well, we think we have the last of them trapped at the Schwabenwald Concentration Camp. They’re using the prisoners as shields. We’ve got to go slow.”

“Where can I reach you?”

“Ludwigsdorf. The village is in our hands now. What’s the news?”

“They say Patton has hit the Czech border and the British are about ready to break in to Hamburg. Won’t be long now.”

“Son of a bitch. I wanted to hit the Austrian-Swiss border before Patton got to Czechoslovakia. How are the krauts behaving over there?”

“They’re real peaceful.”

‘Talk to you later.”

O’Toole entered as Sean hung up. “Couple krauts outside want to talk to you, Major.”

“No more personal interviews today.”

O’Toole handed Sean a pair of calling cards. One read: Graf Ludwig Von Romstein, Chancellor, Romstein Landkreis. The second card introduced Baron Sigmund Von Romstein, Oberburgermeister, City of Rombaden.

“Well, well. The mayor’s welcoming committee. Have them wait. Round up Duquesne and Dante Arosa.”

Dante Arosa and the Frenchman flanked Sean on either side of his desk. O’Toole was told to bring the Germans in. The expressions of the three men deliberately concealed their anxiety at finding the centuries-old ruling family of the area. Sean knew them instantly from their identification photos.

Count Ludwig Von Romstein was a German’s German complete with dueling scar. Tall, Teutonic crew-cut blond ... pin-striped ... ramrod ... a grace that belied his fifty years ... a study in German nobility ... the head of the Von Romstein family, the chancellor.

The short, fat, nervous one walked behind him. He was Sigmund, the mayor of Rombaden. Sean now sat in his chair.

They stopped before the desk, the count remaining a step ahead of his brother. He waited for several seconds for the officers to rise and shake hands. Sean neither stood nor did he offer the Germans chairs. Count Ludwig understood that the slight was deliberate, but hid any trace of having noticed it.

“Graf Ludwig Von Romstein,” he said in a clipped, immaculate English, “and my brother, Baron Sigmund Von Romstein.”

“O’Sullivan, Allied Military Governor. My aides, Captain Duquesne and Lieutenant Arosa.”

Count Ludwig nodded his head three times, once in the direction of each. His brother made three deep bows. The little fat one was nervous; he wrung his hands as though he were washing them.

“I should have, reported here earlier,” Ludwig said, obviously speaking for the two of them. “The military capitulation of Rombaden found us across the river at Castle Romstein. It was not until a few hours ago that I was able to get back here.”

Sean said that he understood and considered the delay reasonable.

“I am at your service,” Ludwig said, with a meaningless acceptance of the status quo. His brother, the mayor, had nothing to say.

Intelligence reports were correct. Ludwig completely dominated the family. The baron was not only washing his hands but began sweating profusely.

“Your brother Kurt Von Romstein was Nazi Gauleiter of this district. Is that not so?” Duquesne asked.

“It is correct.”

“He has committed suicide.”

“I have been so informed,” Ludwig said, with a passionless abruptness that startled them. “Now that Ludwigsdorf has fallen, I should like to have my brother’s body transferred to the church there, which has been the traditional family burial ...”

“That can wait,” Sean said.

The German nodded acceptance, showing neither anger nor emotion. Dante handed Sean a thick folder. The photos matched their subjects very well. Sean flipped page after page, scanning the known activities that told a sordid story. He closed it abruptly, having made a sudden decision.

He undipped a single sheet of white paper, glanced at it, slid it to the front of the desk. “This constitutes notification that your lands and property are confiscated and all your known assets are frozen.”

If Ludwig was annoyed he did nothing to show it. He did not so much as look at the document. “I should like to be informed of my legal recourses,” he said.

“You have none,” Sean answered. “Baron,” he continued—the short fat one stepped forward and bowed—“you are to continue as mayor of Rombaden under my directions. Your principal function is to see to it that the civilian population carries out our orders speedily.”

“Yes ... yes ... I shall be honored ...”

“As for you, Count Von Romstein. The position of chancellor is suspended. I have made no final disposition of your case. In the meanwhile I would like your voluntary cooperation.”

“I have placed myself at your service.”

“Lieutenant Arosa will be conducting extensive interrogations.”

“Of course. I have nothing to hide.”

“You’ve got a lot to explain. I am putting you on your honor not to leave the environs of Rombaden. Do you have a residence in the city?”

“The house of my late brother, Kurt, will be suitable.”

“Clear out of Castle Romstein immediately with your family. Take only what personal possessions you can carry in two handbags. Report your address to the clerk outside. You are dismissed.”

Graf Ludwig Von Romstein smiled thinly at the three men before him, conveying the obvious message that the inferior pigs who sat in judgment constituted a temporary situation. His fat brother bowed his way out of the door backwards.

“Well,” Duquesne said, “how do you like the Germans now?”

Dante Arosa blew a long breath and peeled the wrapper off a cigar he had bummed from Colonel Dundee. “You shouldn’t have let them go, Sean. Both of them are right on top of the Blacklist.”

“They’re not going anywhere,” Sean said.

“You don’t sit sixty miles from the border and not have an escape route mapped out. They’ve probably got half their holdings in Switzerland.”

“No, Dante,” Duquesne said, “Sean is correct. The holdings that make them powerful are right here. The land ... the factory. If they had meant to leave the country they would have done so before now. It is a simple matter to escape to Switzerland. He has made his decision to stay here and gamble for his estate. He was prepared for all the consequences when he walked into this office.”

“Lock him up,” Dante insisted.

“We’ve got too much use for both of them to lock them up.”

Maurice, having agreed with Sean, now turned on him. “Do not think you are able to play a cat and mouse game with this Count Von Romstein. Intrigue is a way of life centuries old. With all due respects, it is foreign to American comprehension. When Dante interrogates him he will have a web of stories woven to make him look like a maiden of pure driven snow.”

Sean did not argue. He wondered if by letting Count Ludwig free he had not overmatched himself.

Baron Sigmund Von Romstein, who by oversight or trickery was still mayor of Rombaden, plopped into an overstuffed chair, devoured by perspiration, heart palpitating.