On Desperate Ground (27 page)

“Heinz!” Hettstedt bellowed at the top of his lungs for his clerk. Popitz was startled at the loudness and ferocity behind the cry.
 

Heinz ran from his desk to the doorway of the office. “Yes, sir!”

“Get a car and two security men. Have it up front immediately. Then have a company of security troops ready in trucks within the hour. Popitz, come with me. You’re going to take me to that Jew-smuggling Portuguese bastard, and then we search the hospital!”

“Well,
Sturmbannführer,
you don’t have the authority to take a neutral diplomat into custody, do you?”

“I have the highest authority! I am acting on behalf of the
Reichsführer
himself. Now come with me or I will have you shot for disobeying a direct order.” Hettstedt growled out these last words. Popitz could see he had played out his little teasing game too far. He saw in his face that Hettstedt would actually prefer to show his power by having him shot, right now.
 

“Well, sir, let’s go then. Just as long as you have the authority, I’m your man.”

“Good.” Hettstedt pulled his Walther pistol from his holster, checked the clip, and chambered a round. “Let’s pick him up.”

The car was waiting out front with a driver and another SS guard. Hettstedt stepped in as the guard held the door for him. He felt excited and a little nervous. His power swirled around inside his head, dizzying him with its lethalness. He never even thought about the fact that
Brigadeführer
Fegelin had approved everything he was about to do, except for the arrest of a neutral diplomat.
 

In his small office, Senor Gonsaldes poured three glasses of sherry and turned to hand them to his two guests. Senors Juan DeCarlos and Hernando Ferreia of the Spanish Embassy had come to bid farewell to their neutral colleague. All three men were about to depart Berlin for their respective capitals, and had gathered for a final toast.

“Gentlemen,” Gonsaldes began, “to our departure from death and ruin.”

“And safe return to our homelands,” replied Ferreia. The three men touched glasses and drank. As the men drained their sherry, they heard the sounds of heavy footsteps drumming up the stairs. They each froze, holding the empty glasses to their lips, eyes turning to the door and the sound of pounding feet beyond.
 

 
The footsteps halted abruptly at the landing outside the office. There was a moment of silence. DeCarlos and Ferreria exchanged nervous glances. Gonsaldes’ hand began to tremble and his heart pounded in his chest. His glass slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor. Suddenly the door crashed open and slammed against the wall. Gonsaldes saw two soldiers crash into the room, followed by another man in plainclothes. His knees felt weak and there was a throbbing pain in his chest. He could hear his heart beating more rapidly. Then he saw a figure in black storm into the room, push aside the others and yell out his name. He tried to reply, but couldn’t. A final grasping pain clenched his chest, followed by oblivion.
 

Otto Hettstedt marched into the room, pistol drawn and snarling out Senor Gonsaldes’ name. Power was surging through him, the power he always felt when his victims were cornered and at his mercy. Whenever his men crashed down a door and forced their way into a room, he felt the blood surging in his veins and the strength pulsating from his body. To go wherever you wanted, to have no door or room sacred, no limit to your power, this was the ultimate stimulant for Hettstedt. He always savored the final moment, when he would confront his quarry and watch him be carried away, screaming his innocence to indifferent ears.
 

As he called out this victim’s name, he watched everything slip slowly from his grasp, eluding him in these final moments. The man turned white, his hands shook and Hettstedt could see his legs wobble and begin to give way. The old man fell to the floor, and quietly escaped the SS through death’s door, his good heart giving out as if the presence of Hettstedt and his men was simply too much to bear.

DeCarlos bent over the body while Ferreria turned on Hettstedt. Everything had happened so quickly it took a moment for him to form any words. He waved his fist in Hettstedt’s face as DeCarlos looked up and shook a sad “no” with his head.

“How dare you! How dare you force your way onto neutral ground like this! My god, you’ve killed him!”

Hettstedt felt the sweat break out on his brow. He saw Popitz and the two SS soldiers staring at him. This was not how it was supposed to go. He tried to regain control of the situation. “Who are you two?”

“We are Spanish neutral diplomats, damn you!” DeCarlos rose from Gonsaldes’ body and confronted Hettstedt. “Your government will hear of this, you little toad! This office is Portuguese territory, and you have entered in violation of every known international law, and caused the death of a fine old man, a colleague, and a friend. And a good friend of the Spanish government. Now give me your name and commanding officer!”

DeCarlos punctuated this last sentence with a finger stabbing at Hettstedt’s chest, advancing on him in blind anger, unafraid of the drawn pistol in his hand. Hettstedt felt everything crashing down around him, confusion swirled through his head where seconds before there was decision and power. He jammed the pistol back in his holster and turned around and walked out of the room without a word. The two soldiers followed immediately.

Meister
Popitz stood to one side, observing everything. He stood without saying a word, so quietly that it was almost as if the two Spaniards didn’t notice him. They both knelt to straighten out the crumpled body of their friend, gently placing his hands folded upon his chest. Popitz walked two paces and knelt beside them.

“Well, his name’s Otto Hettstedt,
Sturmbannführer
out of Number 8
Prinz Albrecht Strasse
. And damned if I know who his commanding officer is!”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

11 April 1945

St. Ludwig’s Hospital

Berlin, Germany

It was a warm day. There had been no bombing raid that night. For Berlin in the spring of 1945, those two things were cause for celebration. Dieter Neukirk walked down the street leading to St. Ludwig’s, noticing buds bursting out on the trees and shrubs blooming green amid the rubble.
Even in a ruined city, surrounded by death, life goes on,
he thought. He felt unaccountably happy. Some of that was due to the warmth of the early spring sun, but most of it was because he had been able to spend the night with Elsa. Faust had given him permission to spend the night in Berlin, in advance of another morning meeting at the
Bendler Strasse
headquarters. Elsa had worked late, and came home to find Dieter waiting with a sumptuous meal. He had brought rare delicacies from the OKH kitchens—ham, sausages, fresh white bread, cheeses, a bottle of French cognac, and coffee. He smiled as he remembered her smile of delight when she saw the table laid out. She had devoured the food, smacking her lips, and talking non-stop with Dieter between mouthfuls. They ate, laughed, drank, and talked, thankful of the quiet, warm night without explosions and fire. He joked with her that she was happier to see the sausages than him, and she said of course, sausages were rarer than soldiers these days. She thought it was hilarious and Dieter pretended to be indignant. His smile widened again as he thought of it, and as he thought of their lovemaking. It had been too long since their last time. It seemed everything conspired to keep them from being in one another’s arms—the war, Faust, her work, and Dieter’s duty. Last night though, it was as if nothing else existed. Nothing but their passion, touch, and warmth.
 

Now, on his way with the remnants of last night’s feast for a mid-day meal with Elsa, he felt a strange mixture of contentment and sadness. It was only minutes ago that he had made up his mind about what he would do when the time came. He wanted to tell Elsa and hoped she would be proud of him. He knew he might never see her again, and he needed her to know about his decision. Tomorrow he left for Wittenberg, to await the inevitable meeting of the Russian and American forces, to launch Operation Gambit, and to do what he must.
 

As he walked towards the entrance of St. Ludwig’s, he saw Elsa sitting at a bench in a little grassy area near the main entrance. She waved happily. “Dieter, here! Let’s have a picnic!”

Dieter walked over, leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, lingering over the taste of her lips. She pulled back, laughing, “Dieter, what will the sisters think?”

“I don’t care, unless it’s Sister Anneliese. She puts the fear of God in me.” He sat, unwrapping the food and spreading it out on the bench between them.

Elsa smiled bravely, then suddenly held her hand to her mouth. A tear ran down her cheek. “Oh Dieter! It’s almost too painful to see you and then lose you again. To have you, good food, sunshine, no bombs, it’s all too much to bear.”

“Aren’t those all good things,
liebchen
?
 

“Yes,” she said, “but it means that I won’t have you tomorrow, the bombers will be back, and when will it all end? When will I see you again? Will we live through this, Dieter?”

“I don’t know—I can’t really believe it will end, but it has to. And we have to survive. You must survive. You’ve done so much good, saved so many lives, and I—I’ve been nothing but a soldier, doing what I’m told.”

She wiped tears away and held his hand in hers. “Dieter, you have been very brave. You didn’t have to take in Hans when the Gestapo was looking for him. You told me how you forged his papers. And I know from Jost how well you care for your men, German and Russian boys alike. You’ve kept many of them alive through the worst of it.”

“Elsa, I don’t know if we’ve seen the worst of it yet.” It was time to tell her. “Our mission is on. We leave tomorrow.”

“No.” Her hands tightened on his, as if to keep him from leaving. Her face was anguished. “No, please, don’t go.”

“Elsa, it isn’t so much the going. It’s what we have to do.”

He had always been secretive about his missions. He often told her about little things, special things about foreign lands, funny things that happened, or the loss of a special comrade. But he had never told her about the awful, terrible things that happened. He never really told her the truth.
 

“What is it, Dieter?”

He didn’t answer her directly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that policeman you told me about. The one outside the New Synagogue. In a way he was lucky. He had a chance to make a difference. How often does that really happen, that one man can decide to do his duty as he sees it, not as everyone else does? And really make a difference?”

She knew he wasn’t really asking her, and watched him, silently.

“You decided what your duty was, and made a difference the first time you took in one of those hidden Jews.” He lowered his voice and glanced around the little park. “You’ve saved hundreds, Elsa, while I’ve been off fighting for the Nazis, doing their bidding, burying my men from France to the Caspian Sea, you’ve been here rescuing the innocent.”

“Dieter, I know you’ve never done anything terrible like the SS. You have to fight, but at least you do it with honor.”

“Honor. That policeman understood honor. And duty. It’s not always about obeying your superiors.”
 

“What is it then?”

“Soldiers often mistake obedience for honor. Honor and duty are about doing what’s right in your heart. My body wears this uniform, but my soul is where my honor lies, and that ultimately will decide how I act, and how I am remembered, in this world.”

“Dieter, I just want you to come back to me!” She flung her arms around him and sobbed. Tears soaked into his uniform. They stayed like that for a long time. Finally they pulled apart to see into each other’s eyes.

“Dieter, do what you have to do. Do what is in your heart, and then make sure you come back to me.”

“I will. I want to come back and marry you, have children with you. I want our children to be as proud of their father as they will be of their mother.”

She didn’t contradict him. She knew exactly what he meant, and no amount of denial could change it. He had reached a decision. He would not allow the killing to be continued because of his actions. She didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but she knew he could not play the role assigned him in this last barbaric act of the war. She kissed him, a long full sensual kiss, her tear-stained soft cheek brushing against his as they held each other. He drank her in.

It seemed like only minutes had passed, but it was time to go.
 

“I have to leave now, Elsa.”
 

“I can’t bear to say good-bye to you, Dieter.” 
“Don’t. Just remember I’ll come back for you, no matter what happens. Don’t forget that. No matter what.” He kissed her quickly, afraid to lose himself in her touch once again. He stood up, watching her, burning the image in his mind. Then he turned without a word and left.

Elsa sat and watched Dieter until he turned a corner and vanished. She sighed, then packed up the food and walked sadly back into St. Ludwig’s. She put the food away in her office and went out to the main desk to check on the morning admissions. he flow of casualties had been steadily increasing the last few days, as Russian pressure on the Oder River defense line built up. Thinking about it Elsa realized that had a lot to do with Dieter’s departure.
They must be about to break through,
she thought to herself glumly.
We should get ready for more casualties.