Red Inferno: 1945 (31 page)

Logically then, that left tactical targets, and they were in a constant state of flux. Tactical targets had the annoying habit of moving.

Tibbetts would have to give considerable thought to what he might suggest as a target. That is, he thought wryly, if anyone would accept targeting input from a mere colonel, even if he was supposed to fly the plane and head the mission. Well, he knew he had access to Ike and he had information about how the bombs might cause damage when they detonated. Perhaps it was time to call in some favors.

E
LISABETH
W
OLF TWIRLED
in her skirt and laughed as Logan stared at her white thighs. “Thank you for the razor, Jack. That’s the first time in months that I’ve been able to shave my legs.”

Logan flushed. “You’re welcome.” He still wasn’t comfortable talking strictly feminine topics. First body odor and showering, and now leg shaving. What was his world coming to? Apparently such discussions came more easily to Europeans than they did to comparatively puritanical Americans. The last time Lis had worn the skirt, he had noticed the obvious fact that she hadn’t shaved her legs in a long time. While some of the blond German women could get away with it, a dark-haired girl like Lis could not. He’d been told that many European women didn’t shave as a matter of course.

An airdrop had brought them an abundance of safety razors and blades. More than enough to share, especially since General Miller had not revoked his permission to grow beards. Many of the soldiers, Logan included, had gotten fond of their furry growth, and Miller was keenly attuned to what he could do for his men to make them happy in what was now openly referred to as Goddamn Potsdam.

Once again, they were outside in the warm sun. Elisabeth stopped her impromptu dance routine and sat down beside him on the rickety bench. Technically, he was still on duty but the bunker was only a short distance away and in plain sight. Bailey would call if anything came up. Casual arrangements like this were common up and down the perimeter, and Jack wasn’t the only one in the company doing it.

“You know, Jack, it wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, my family and I were really quite comfortable. Regardless of where we were and even in the depths of the Depression, we always had enough money to buy both necessities and a few luxuries. Father was high enough in the diplomatic hierarchy to command a decent income, and we had rental properties that provided other money. I never had to do without pretty dresses, nice shoes, cosmetics, books, anything.” She lifted her foot, again showing a little bit of leg. “I was even able to shave my legs whenever I wanted to.” She laughed wryly. “Of course, as a young girl I never wanted to because it burned my skin. I tried to convince my mother that only evil women shaved.”

“Did it work?”

“Of course not. She said if I didn’t I would look like a bear. Did I look like a bear?”

Jack put his arm around her waist and pulled her more tightly to him. “Yeah, and the type of bear I wanted to hibernate with.”

She jabbed him in the stomach. “Be nice. Besides, it isn’t even winter.”

“I just hope we’re not here in the winter,” he said sincerely. Like most of the men in the garrison, he was astonished at the length of time they had been in Potsdam and the fact that no end was in sight to their precarious existence. As he had thought and said so many times before, these days in the sun were a blessing to be enjoyed while they could, since they surely could not last.

“Me neither,” she said. “I want to get back to someplace that’s real. Not just for me, but for Pauli. He deserves a better life than this. He needs a home, playmates, and a school. I may have been spoiled with what we had amid the privations of the Depression, but it wasn’t an evil spoiling. Surely there can’t be anything wrong with having loving parents.

“We weren’t plutocrats,” she added, “just normal people trying to live their lives. Now look at us. We’ve been reduced to little more than beggars living in caves and wearing rags.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. Sometimes she was overwhelmed by the enormity of the disasters that had befallen her, and who could blame her. She was still only twenty, an age when many young women of her social and economic class were still single and in school. Instead she found herself in a refugee camp in a besieged city, wearing cast-off clothing made from curtains, eating a foreign army’s rations, washing infrequently, and being unabashedly grateful when a friend gave her something so she could perform an act of personal hygiene.

Worse was the feeling of helplessness. What would the future bring? For her and the others with her, was there a future at all? At any time a Russian shell could crash down and end any discussions of the future. It was something they had to live with and deal with. Thus, they were relatively unconcerned about sitting outside. If death came, so be it. Otherwise, there was still a semblance of life that had to be lived.

“Jack? Tell me about your home again.”

“America? It’s not like Canada. America’s a magical land that’s full of good things to eat and the streets are all paved with gold.”

“Jack. Please?”

He hugged her and nuzzled her cheek. “Okay.” Softly, gently, he again told her of his life. It had been rough but not desperate. His father had worked for the railroad and spent a couple of years riding the freight trains as a railroad cop chasing off the bums and tramps. He did not tell her what his father had told him of the starving young teenage boys and girls he came across and what they did to survive. That didn’t sound like America. He also didn’t tell her of the times his father had to club a vagrant senseless because he wouldn’t leave, or because the bum wanted to throw his father off the moving train. That wasn’t America, either.

He told her how his family had persevered, how they had grown some of their own food, sewn worn clothing, and lived as frugally and as moneyless as they could during the dark years of the early and mid-thirties. Jack’s father had never really lost his job; however, there had been long stretches of time when the railroad “ didn’t need him” and he waited at home for circumstances to change. There really wasn’t much use looking for another job; there weren’t any.

Finally, in 1940, things got better. His father got a job in the administration end of the railroad and they moved to a small house in Port Huron, not far from the tracks. They could see Sarnia, Ontario, across the St. Clair River, which formed the boundary between the United States and Canada. It was easy to watch the cars and people on the other side and wonder where they were going and what they were doing. It was also easy to take a small boat across or take the Bluewater Bridge, which had connected the two countries since 1938. Until the war came, crossing to Canada, either officially or unofficially, was quite easy.

“Did you ever go there, to Sarnia?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Montreal and Quebec, yes, but not Sarnia. And the only time I got to the States was a visit to Niagara Falls when we went across to the American side for a couple of hours. We were disappointed. The best view is from the Canadian side.”

Jack agreed. He had been there too. Idly, he wondered if he might have seen her. They compared dates and found they were years apart on their visits.

“I’ll take you back there,” he said.

“I’d like that.” Her voice was soft and he realized she was falling asleep. He guessed there wasn’t much rest for her some nights in what amounted to a crowded barracks. Sometimes it wasn’t so pleasant sleeping in that bunker with his men when one of them had a bad night or got hold of some liquor. Not all the gardens being grown were for food crops. Some enterprising souls had started making a near-lethal variety of moonshine.

That he could handle. Drunks were easy. But it was difficult to deal with a man his age who had suddenly given in to despair at the thought of ever leaving Potsdam. It was fairly easy to maintain a degree of bravado during the day, but ugly truths and nightmares came out during the dark hours. When that occurred, even the strongest of men was known to cry. No one mentioned it in the morning—their turn might be next.

Jack knew that he had to get Lis and the boy out of Potsdam. He had no illusions. The American army had been defeated and was retreating away from them. Sure, they might come back at some time in the future, but, based on what had happened in the Pacific, that could be years. The Russians would not grant them years of safety and the airdrops could not last forever. Sooner or later the Russians would attack again. Maybe the next one could be beaten off as well, but what about the following one, or the one after that?

As a soldier, he could hold out some hope that he wouldn’t be killed, that, instead, he would be taken prisoner and someday returned to America. He might live, and where there is the possibility of life there is hope.

But what about Lis and the boy? Pauli would probably be lucky. He would likely be killed outright. But Lis? He had heard the stories. Most of the German women in Potsdam had been raped by Russians and had made plans to kill themselves before that happened again.

Lis hadn’t mentioned anything—some topics were still taboo—but he knew she must have considered it. He could not bear the thought of her spread-eagled on the ground while a line of grinning Russians waited their turn.

He had to get her out of Potsdam. How? he bitterly asked himself. They were surrounded by a river and tens of thousands of Russians. If she could sprout wings she might have a chance.

“Did you say anything?” she asked groggily, and he realized he must have said something out loud.

He kissed her on the forehead. “Nah. Must’ve been mumbling to myself.”

Elisabeth shook her head and roused herself. “I have to get up and see your dear Sergeant Krenski.”

Logan chuckled. He saw nothing dear at all about First Sergeant Krenski, who seemed to worship Lis. “Why?”

She stood and stretched like cat. “Because I am teaching the nice man how to read. He isn’t dumb, you know. He just was too embarrassed to do anything after he succeeded in leaving school without learning a thing. Really, you ought to do something about your schools.”

Jack swatted her on the rear and she stuck out her tongue. Lucky Krenski, he thought, and what the hell is he doing with my girl?

B
URKE AND
G
ODWIN
waited in the chill dawn alongside the hastily built airstrip. It was long, very long, and Burke wondered just what the hell needed so much real estate for takeoff and landing.

Godwin was there as a representative of the RAF, and Burke was there because it was presumed he was an emissary from Marshall. Basically, this was an American Eighth Air Force show, and scores of air force personnel ranged the area. Antiaircraft guns pointed skyward, although their crews stood several feet away from their weapons lest there be some tragic mistake.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Godwin said.

Burke chuckled. “Hasn’t happened yet, now has it?”

“If this is a trap,” Godwin said. “We are dead.”

It wasn’t a trap, Burke reassured himself. There weren’t that many important people present to make it worth a trap or a betrayal. At least that’s what he hoped.

A large flight of P-51s flew overhead with a roar. They were the van of the escort. Even though unseen, a multitude of other American fighters provided flank and rear support.

Godwin jabbed Burke’s arm. “There.”

A dark shape had descended from the clouds and was approaching the landing strip. Instead of the roar of a propeller plane, this had more of a singing sound. “Oh my God,” muttered Burke.

The strange plane touched down gently, showing the pilot’s obvious skill. “I can’t even get into bed that softly,” Burke said.

They openly gaped at the plane. It more resembled a shark than anything else. And there were no propellers. The plane was a jet, the dreaded ME-262.

Behind the first plane came a second and a third, and others queued up for their turn to land. The hatch of the lead jet opened and a man in his thirties wearing the rank of Luftwaffe general climbed out and jumped down. He looked around and spotted Burke. Godwin stepped behind. The turnover was to be from the Germans to the Americans.

Burke was a little befuddled. He knew what was supposed to happen, but there was an air corps general a mile away who was in the wrong spot and wondering how the hell to get to the right one without losing his dignity. Additional German jets were landing and lining up alongside the first one.

The German held out his hand, and without thinking, Burke took it. He’d never shaken hands with a Nazi before. But then, this general was supposed to be one of the good guys. That is, if there really were any good Germans.

“Colonel, I am Lieutenant General Adolf Galland, and you Americans will soon have all the German jets I commanded. At least those that survived,” he said sadly. “I trust you will use them wisely. I also trust you have fuel for them.”

Godwin responded. He noted that Galland was not shocked by his face. Obviously, the Luftwaffe had its own share of burned wretches.

“General, we have fuel for our own jet program and our scientists are confident it can be modified for your jets.”

Development of the British Meteor jet lagged well behind the ME-262. “I hope so,” said Galland. “If not, we might as well have blown them up on the runway.”

CHAPTER 24

N
atalie Holt responded impatiently to the sound of the doorbell. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and she was up and about cleaning the large apartment. Ordinarily on a holiday like the Fourth of July she would be preparing to visit friends, and she still intended to see her mother later in the day, but so much of the time this morning was being spent in busywork to keep her mind off of how much she missed Steve Burke.

“I’m coming,” she hollered, and she heard a muffled masculine response. She opened the door a crack and saw the grinning face of Special Agent Paul Forbes.

“Can I come in?”

Natalie opened the door. Forbes had been with her when they had discovered Walter Barnes’s suicide, and the shared experience had helped an easy bond to form. The fact that neither was too fond of his boss, Tom Haven, was another plus. She noted he was wearing a dark business suit on Independence Day, so the visit was not social.

“Paul, unless I miss my bet, today is Wednesday, the Fourth of July. I know there’s a war on, but don’t you people get any time off at all?”

“Rest is only for the wicked. Not good guys like me.”

Natalie offered coffee, which he accepted, and she slightly regretted that she was dressed so casually in old white tennis shorts and a T-shirt that said U.S. Navy. She had been mopping the floor, not preparing to be a hostess.

“I’m assuming the obvious, Paul, that your visit is official and rather in a rush.”

“Very true on both counts. I got a call at home about an hour ago from your favorite lecher, Agent Tom Haven, who informed me that I had to leave my wife and children and see you immediately, Fourth of July or no Fourth of July.”

“How charming. About what? Have you discovered another closet homosexual or unrepentant socialist in the State Department?”

“I hope not. I want to talk about Steven Burke.”

Natalie was shocked. “Good lord, why? He hasn’t gotten into any trouble, has he?”

The only thing she could think of was that he might have blabbed something. It seemed unlikely. Steve understood the need for secrecy as much as she did. The only reason they talked about their mutual interest in the Soviet Union was that both had equal security clearances. Even his letters, which implied that he was doing something important for Eisenhower since he hadn’t returned with Marshal, had been appropriately circumspect.

Forbes shrugged. “I admit it’s a possibility, but not a very good one. If he was in trouble, he would be under guard, if not arrested, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation on a holiday. Frankly, Natalie, I really don’t know the reason for either the questions or the haste. I was just told to do a quick review and do it now. I think there is the possibility that he might be being considered for higher clearances than he now has.”

“I thought he was as high as he could be.”

“Nope, within security clearances, there are degrees within degrees. Now, let’s get this done so I can go home and burn hamburgers. How long have you known him and so forth?”

Natalie quickly answered all the statistical questions, and Forbes wrote her responses on a small pad. She stumbled at only one point. “Paul, I just realized I don’t know his birthday.”

Forbes laughed. “September twelfth. He’ll be forty-one. Some girlfriend you are.” He put down the pencil. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask this next question. Have you slept with him?”

“Paul, he’s in his forties and I’m in my thirties. Neither of us is a virgin.” Although, she thought, he might have been. “The answer is yes. Now, does that make him an immoral and degenerate reprobate?”

“I’d say it makes him damned lucky.”

Natalie laughed. Thank God even that pig Haven had enough sense to send the easygoing Forbes to ask questions like that.

“Natalie, this next line of questioning is a little more serious. In your opinion, why was he so interested in the Soviet Union in the first place? After all, not very many middle-class, Midwestern academics find the subject interesting. With your Russian ancestry, your interest is obvious, but the reason for his is somewhat more vague, and we’d like to know more about it.”

“Are you concerned that he might be a spy for Stalin? I can assure you he finds both the man and his regime to be highly repugnant. As to why he studied it, he told me he found the Russian Revolution to be one of the most dramatic events of this century, perhaps in several centuries. In his opinion, it ranks up there with the French Revolution of 1789 for its potential impact on the world; and, by the way, there are a lot of people still studying that ancient phenomenon, the French Revolution. It intrigued him and the more he studied, the more intrigued he became.”

Barnes put away his notes. “Sounds like what I expected. A harmless academic nut with the most beautiful woman in town as a girlfriend.”

Natalie laughed, then turned serious. “I cannot believe how paranoid the FBI is about people who are different. What they did at work to some very good people was awful.”

“I can’t argue that too much, and I sure as heck can’t say anything publicly, but I largely agree with you. By the way, I’m sorry you didn’t get the position vacated by your boss Barnes’s death. I guess the State Department isn’t ready for a woman in management.”

“Thanks, but I’ll live. It was what I expected. There are a lot of people unready for women in power. But I’m still angry at the way your FBI hounded that poor man who was already being beaten up psychologically by the Russians. Why is Hoover so afraid of homosexuals? From the rumors I’ve heard, he’s not always walked the straight and narrow in that regard himself.”

Barnes flushed and looked over his shoulder as if someone might be eavesdropping on them in her living room. “Natalie, there are some things in this world that we just don’t talk about.”

“Okay, I get the message. But I still don’t understand all the attacks on people who experimented with communism back in the twenties and thirties, and even later when the Russians were our Allies.”

Barnes helped himself to more coffee. “Natalie, I know a little about the Russian Revolution too. I know the cruelty of the old regime made revolution as inevitable as rain on a cloudy day, and that the Bolsheviks stole it from the majority, who wanted a less radical form of government. I also understand how people in the depths of despair caused by our Depression could be seduced by a theology that seemed to promise food, shelter, and dignity to people who had none. While a lot of my colleagues disagree, I can see that those people’s motives were caused by frustration and hunger.”

He shook his head. “They are the ones who couldn’t or wouldn’t see the evil that Stalin had become, and the ruthless manner in which the revolution was enforced. Hell, you know as well as I do that many of those American workers who joined the Communist Party could barely read. All they saw was the glitter of hope and not the substance. You know that some of them even went over to Russia to work in their factories and most of them have returned? Well, a few of them are still there, either because they still believe, or because a couple of wars have trapped them in a strange land.

“But it’s the other type, the academics and the scientists who were highly educated, intelligent, and, therefore, should have known better. They read the theories of Marx and Lenin, but they closed their eyes when they heard about the massacres committed by Lenin and then Stalin. When hundreds of prominent people disappeared, they should have wondered, and even a dunce could have seen that the trials of so many were charades leading to death. But while many of them left the Communist movement disillusioned and really are of only minor concern to us, a number of others didn’t quit. They are totally unrepentant and rationalize their beliefs by saying that the excesses are either lies or just growing pains, like the Terror in the French Revolution. They feel that communism will, in the end, prevail and create a classless paradise in which people will be free to learn and teach to their heart’s content. The fact that Stalin is a dictator is a mere inconvenience. These are the people who are dangerous because many of them are in positions of leadership and can influence Allied policy. Worse, some of them might be able to give secret information to the Reds. They would be traitors to us, but a true believer in communism wouldn’t be worried about that label.”

“And you thought my Steven fell into that category?”

“Someone thought it was possible. I read his record and thought it very unlikely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to give this report verbally to Haven at his house and have it typed up first thing in the morning. Maybe I’ll still have some time to play with my kids or their mother. Have a nice holiday, Natalie.”

Forbes showed himself out, leaving Natalie seated on the couch. Oh, Steve, she thought, what have you gotten yourself into now?

L
IS GIGGLED AS
Jack pulled her along in the night. She had a change of clothing in a pillowcase and she felt foolish with it. “Jack, you’re going to get in trouble.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, what can they do? Fire me? Don’t I wish.”

It was after midnight and the evening was warm. They found the building clearly marked “Officers’ Showers” and slipped inside. “You want to clean up or don’t you?” he asked, laughing.

Water tanks lined the ceiling and the wall and showerheads emerged below. Lis looked around. “There’s not much privacy.”

“In the army, there’s no privacy whatsoever, which is why we’re doing this in the middle of the night. Hey, if you want to go back, we’ll go.”

Jack’s taking her to the officers’ showers was a follow-up to her earlier lament about cleanliness. The engineers had finally repaired the damaged plumbing and set up a flow of clean well water, which had been put to use for cooking, laundry, and bathing. The showers closed down at night to give the water tanks a chance to refill.

“How much is this costing you?” she asked.

“Nothing, actually. The sergeant in charge is an old friend of mine. Now, here are the rules. You hang up your clothes on the hooks over there, and you stand under the shower. You pull the rope and you will get thoroughly soaked by very cold water in a very short time, so be prepared and, for God’s sake, don’t scream.”

She laughed. “I’m too old for cold showers.”

“I thought I was too, but then I met you,” he teased. “Now, when you’re wet, you take the soap and lather up real quickly, which I’m sure you’ll do because you’ll be freezing. When you’re done, you pull the rope again and another torrent of cold water will rinse you off. It’s crude and fast, but it works.”

“All right,” she said, looking at all the plumbing in the room.

“I’ll be out front making sure nobody stumbles in.”

As soon as Jack was gone, Lis stripped and hung up her clothes. The evening breeze felt refreshing. It occurred to her that not only had she not bathed in a long time, she’d also not had any opportunity to be naked, and it felt good. She wondered what Jack was thinking, just the other side of the wall. She hoped it was about her.

She stood under the shower, took a deep breath, and pulled. Gallons of icy-cold water drenched her. She gasped and grabbed the soap. This was not going to be a long, leisurely shower. She lathered quickly and thoroughly, took another deep breath, and pulled the rope. This time the water flowed more slowly, but equally cold. Shivering, she grabbed the towel that someone in Jack’s platoon had liberated from the ruins and dried herself off. She dressed as quickly as she could and ran to Jack.

“I’m freezing. Warm me up,” she ordered, and he wrapped his arms around her and felt her shivering against him.

“Was it worth it?”

Lis squeezed closer. “You tell me, kind soldier. You were the one who said I stank.”

Jack burrowed his nose in her still-damp hair. “I don’t recall saying any such thing. But I will say you do smell bloody marvelous.” He looked around and grabbed her hand. “Now, let’s go.”

As Jack walked her back to her quarters, Lis smiled. He hadn’t insisted on watching her or even sneaked a peek. Maybe sometime in the future she would let him watch. She stifled a giggle. Maybe she would let him help.

But next time the damn water would have to be warm.

T
HE SUMMONS TO
meet Eisenhower had been totally unexpected. Burke had only a couple of moments to straighten himself up before he reported to Beetle Smith at SHAEF headquarters near Compiègne. At least he was fairly presentable and had shaved that morning. He hoped the irritable general would take into account the fact that they were in a war zone.

Steve snapped to attention and reported to Smith, who looked at him curiously. “Relax, Colonel, no one’s going to bite your head off. Now, have you ever met Eisenhower before?”

“No, sir.” Burke had seen him, of course, and been an attendee at meetings, but he had never met Ike or spoken to him.

General Smith continued. “So I suppose you wonder just why you were ordered here to meet with him.”

Burke forced himself to relax. “It had crossed my mind.”

“Well, normally I would brief you on what Ike is going to say so you don’t make a complete fool out of yourself, but this time the general hasn’t asked my opinion or given me any clue about what he has to say to you. In other words, I have no idea why you’re here. Does that make sense to you?”

“No, General, it doesn’t.” But it did sound like the army, he thought.

“In fact, Ike didn’t even know your name. He just asked me if the skinny professor who specialized in Stalin was still around, and I assured him you were. I told you that so you won’t get a big head just because Ike wants to talk to you. It may be important for national security, or he may have a bet with Patton about what Stalin eats for breakfast. Anyway, that was a couple of days ago, and then he had me review your security credentials. You passed, by the way.”

“General, I promise you I won’t get a big head over this.”

Smith forced a small smile. “I didn’t think you would. For an intellectual, Burke, you’re not half bad.” He gestured to Ike’s office. “He’s expecting you.”