The Auslander (22 page)

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CHAPTER 38

Sassnitz

August 12, 1943

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The next five or six seconds seemed to go on for ever. Screeching and grinding filled his ears, metal chains bounced along his body, he could feel burning heat on the top of his head. He wanted to scream but the sound choked in his throat. Then the noise changed. The screeching came to a crescendo and died away. The steam still chuffed and bellowed and he could feel the heat of it burning his neck and the skin on his hands. But the train had stopped. He was still alive.

Peter was right underneath the front of the coal tender. Above him were three overlapping plates connecting the driver's platform to the tender. Through gaps between them, he could see the red glow of the firebox and what must be the boots of the engine driver.

With no conscious thought he wriggled backwards down the track until he came to the gap between the tender and the first wagon. Without even pausing to look, he twisted his body out from between the wheels and began to walk towards the tower. Whatever happened he was not going to stop until he got to that tower. Anything was better than being crushed by a train. Even being shot by a sentry.

The temptation to run was overwhelming, but he knew a running figure would be noticed. The yard was full of men going about their business. And they were walking.

The further he got from the train the safer he felt. Especially when it began to move again. As soon as he reached the scrubland, he dived into the long grass and waited. When the train stopped moving and a sort of quiet settled on the night, he called out as loud as he dared: ‘Anna!'

She whispered, ‘Over here!' and they were together again. She hugged and kissed him, almost mad with relief.

‘What now?' she said.

‘It's best to move while it's still dark,' said Peter. ‘Let's try to find the ferry.'

They followed their noses. The smell of the sea led them through fields along the edge of the town.

At first light Peter was horrified to notice Anna looked absolutely filthy. Her fawn coat was caked in soot. Her face was smeared with much the same.

‘You look terrible,' she said to him. ‘Absolutely filthy!'

‘What are we going to do?' said Peter. ‘We'll be spotted at once, looking like a couple of tramps.'

‘And I'm starving,' said Anna.

There in the fields they came to an old bath tub filled with drinking water for cattle. It was perfect. They both stripped to their underwear and began to wash the grime from their faces and bodies. In the dewy early morning it was freezing and their teeth chattered uncontrollably. But Peter felt a strange glee, and Anna too. They began to laugh even as they shivered. It was just too ridiculous.

‘What about our clothes?' said Anna. ‘Don't we need to give those a wash too?'

They beat their coats with their hands. Most of the dirt came out, although the coats now looked very worn and scruffy. It was good to have something to take their minds away from Ula and what they had to do next.

‘I've got a better idea,' said Peter. In the distance he could see a farmhouse. Whoever lived there had left their washing out to dry and forgotten to take it in for the night.

They ran to the farmhouse. ‘Let's hope the farmer isn't up too early,' said Anna. Peter was full of admiration for her. Managing to carry on like this, after what had happened.

There were trousers, a shirt and a dress. Peter just about fitted the trousers. The dress was far too short for Anna. ‘Very nice,' whispered Peter, ‘but you'll cause a scandal if you wear that in the street.'

A window creaked open and they saw a shadow behind a lace curtain. They heard an old woman shouting inside the house. It was time to go.

An elderly man came out into the garden and shouted angrily as they hurried from the farm. He began to chase after them, but gave up after a few metres. When Peter turned to look, he could see him wheezing, bent over with his hands on his knees. Still, they ran until they could run no more. The trees and hedges in the fields were laden with apples and early blackberries so they ate as many as they could find for breakfast.

Anna squeezed out of the dress and quickly pulled on her grubby skirt and blouse. ‘I'll just have to keep my coat buttoned,' she said. ‘Let's hope it's not too hot.'

The day was looking up. They headed for the harbour with renewed hope.

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The port was busy. Sweden was still one of Germany's main trading partners and a procession of lorries full of industrial goods was backed up along the main road to the ferries. ‘We need to sit this one out, I think,' said Peter. ‘Wait until dark and see if we can smuggle ourselves on to the back of a lorry.'

So they sat there in the sun, hidden in the chalk hillside above the road. Anna dozed but woke with a start. ‘Every time I go to sleep I have a horrible dream,' she said. After a while she sat up, but she stayed silent. Peter could tell she was trying not to think about her mother and father. ‘I wish we had something to do. All this waiting, it's killing me,' she said.

By lunchtime they were thirsty and hungry, but neither wanted to risk a trip into town. They would just have to put up with it. They could see the sea sparkling before them. As they watched the ferries come and go, they knew that there, over the blue horizon, was a country where swastikas did not fly from buildings. Peter said, ‘If we can get on to a ferry, we'll be there in four hours.'

Four hours. That was a morning in school, an afternoon outing to the park. It was now a matter of life or death.

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Night fell with the same maddening slowness. All day the lorries had come and gone, but there was still a queue of them on the road below.

‘Look, there's one with the tarpaulin come loose over the load,' said Anna. Most of the other lorries had their coverings tightly lashed.

They crept down to the road. ‘How will we get in without being seen?' said Peter.

Anna shrugged. ‘We'll just have to be patient.'

They waited an hour. It was agony. ‘If the driver of that lorry gets out to check his load,' said Peter, ‘we've lost our chance.'

‘I'm more worried about the queue moving forward before we can get on,' said Anna.

Late in the evening the driver in the lorry overlooking the one with the loose tarpaulin got out and wandered back to talk to the man behind him. Anna had nodded off to sleep. Peter nudged her awake. ‘Now's our chance . . .'

They crept from the shadows and hauled themselves up on to the back of the lorry. Underneath the tarpaulin were wooden cases containing bottles of chemicals. The smell caught in their parched throats and it took a terrible effort not to cough, but at least there was space to squeeze between the boxes.

They had picked their moment well. A few minutes later, they heard shouting. ‘They're ready to go to the ferry!' whispered Peter. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak. The engine started and then the driver got out to check his load.

They heard him curse, then say to himself ‘How did that happen?' as he looked at the loose covering. They heard his clumping boots climb up the side of the lorry. Peter felt Anna squeeze his hand tightly.

A voice shouted in the distance, ‘Hurry, Dolf, we're about to set off!'

The man cursed again. The tarpaulin was pulled tight over their heads and they could hear him lashing the rope to the stays around the rim.

The lorry began to move forward. Peter and Anna were immersed in a world of sound. It was easy enough to guess what was happening. First the lorry moved forward very slowly, stopping every few metres. That went on for ages. Then there was a conversation, dimly heard over the throb of the diesel engine. That would have been a checkpoint. The lorry moved forward – even picking up a little speed. They were jolted around and felt the weight of the boxes pressing against them. There was a rattling and juddering as the lorry mounted a ramp. Then the sound of the engine changed. They had gone from the outdoors to the inside of a metal chamber. There was more shouting as the lorry moved into position.

The engine was turned off. The driver got out and slammed the door. Eventually the deck settled down and there was another wait. ‘I have to get out of here,' said Anna. ‘I think I'm going to be sick. And I'm dying of thirst. We've got enough money for a drink, haven't we?'

They peered through a gap in the covering. ‘It's a big ferry,' said Peter. ‘It's bound to have a café or dining car . . .' Then he began to worry. ‘But once we're out of here, we'll find it difficult to get back, won't we?'

Anna nodded. She was so thirsty she was finding it difficult to talk.

‘Just a few more hours now,' said Peter.

Twenty minutes later they heard the low throb of the ship's engines. The whole boat shook as the ferry edged out of the quayside. The cases vibrated so much they both wondered if the glass bottles were going to break. ‘I've got to get out,' said Anna. ‘We don't look too shabby. We'll pass for a couple of people who have been travelling for several days. Come on, no one will look twice at us.'

The temptation was too great to resist. Peter took out his HJ dagger from his coat pocket and cut through the rope on the tarpaulin.

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CHAPTER 39

Berlin

August 13, 1943

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Otto Reiter lay on his bunk at Plötzensee Prison. It was just after midnight. Although he was exhausted, the bruises on his battered body and the ache from a missing tooth were keeping him awake. How much longer he would be able to stand up to his torturers, he could not predict. The coming morning or the next day, they had told him, they would start pulling out his fingernails, then his toenails. After that, they assured him, there were plenty of other techniques they could employ. It was just like the Gestapo to tell a man what lay in store for him. Let it fester in his mind. Let him fret about it.

And then what? He would be shot, or hanged or taken to the guillotine. Which was his preferred method of execution, asked his torturer. Otto Reiter had stared him in the face and showed no fear. He did not know how much longer he would be able to do that.

Otto heard the low buzz of Mosquito bombers over the city, first as a faint drone then a heavy rumble he could feel in his chest. He stood on his bed to look out of the high cell window. Searchlights were crossing the sky and he instinctively flinched as one of the planes flew right over the prison. A second later there was a loud explosion close to the perimeter wall. Bits of stone and cement peppered the windows and he flinched again as one cracked the glass above his head.

For the first time since his arrest Otto laughed. He felt an almost childlike glee at the destruction the British were wreaking on this horrible prison. He was still laughing when another bomb blew his cell and the next three or four around him to brick dust and rubble.

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CHAPTER 40

Baltic Sea

August 13, 1943

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Kriminalassistent Verner Schluter was not in the best humour. There were many things he would rather be doing than pretending to be a passenger on the
King Gustav
car ferry between Sassnitz and Gothenburg. He had joined the Gestapo to cleanse the Reich of Jews, not mess around on a little ship. Sassnitz was a dreary little posting. What he really wanted was to be in Berlin.

Once in a while, there were cases that interested him. Criminals. Terrorists. Jews. All on the run. Maybe making for the ferries. It was exciting work, looking for them. Catching a filthy little Jew on the last leg of their journey – when they were certain that they had actually escaped that noose around their neck – that gave him great satisfaction. Watching their faces fall as they realised they had failed.

Last week his office had been sent a telex from a Lieutenant Brauer in Berlin, warning them to look out for a woman and her daughter and a young man. Reiter, that was the name of the women, and Bruck, the boy. All of them tall, the boy blond, the females dark. The charge sheet was daunting – they could expect nothing less than the guillotine, all three of them. Maybe they would do them all on the same day – like they did those dirty traitors in Munich – the White Rose lot. From arrest to execution in less than five days. That was the way to deal with scum like that.

Wire photographs had arrived too – although the pictures were far from clear. They were a handsome bunch – all of them with classic Aryan features. The young man though, it said he was a Mischling. That was funny. He looked just like the boy in the HJ poster.

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Ula Reiter nursed a small schnapps as she sat in the bar of the
King Gustav
. She had promised herself she would not touch a drop of alcohol until she arrived in Sweden. She still had to keep her wits about her. But she was nervous and persuaded herself that a little Dutch courage was what she needed. She knew, logically, that there should be no more obstacles in her path. Once she had left Sassnitz she would be safe from the Nazis. She still had the papers she needed to get into Sweden. She had her sister Mariel's phone number. She even had enough money for the train fare to Stockholm. Whatever checks she had to go through at the other end would be nothing compared to that cross-examination in Stralsund.

She would never forgive herself for leaving the children outside the station. If they had thought about what they were doing, she would have given them their papers – so at least they would have had a chance if she had been arrested. But she was exhausted, they all were, and no one was thinking straight.

They had kept her in that little room in the station until ten o'clock that night. Someone was highly suspicious. But she had stuck to her story like glue and had been highly indignant at her detention. It was a performance worthy of Garbo, she told herself.

Eventually they had let her go. Why, she could not guess. Surely, a quick phone call to Berlin would have sealed her fate in minutes. But maybe there had been another raid and the lines were down? Either way, they did not wish to offend the Swedes any more than necessary, and that had saved her.

She came out of the station and spent the rest of the evening looking for Anna and Peter. She returned to the hotel then walked around Stralsund for another day. It had been hopeless. She could not even ask people if they had seen them. It was too risky. They should have had a plan. Somewhere to meet. But they didn't and now it was too late.

That evening she caught a train and arrived at the ferry terminal with no further hitches. She went straight on, no other questions. She felt less conspicuous on her own.

Ula Reiter was not a sentimental woman. She knew there was no point spending any more time looking for Anna and Peter. If they were captured, they might be tortured and betray her. She even hoped they would, rather than prolong their suffering. She didn't want Anna suffering to protect her. She even thought of giving herself up, to save her daughter the prospect of torture. They would all be executed anyway. But perhaps they had not been caught. Perhaps they were still trying to get to Sweden like her. There was no sense in her staying behind to be captured.

All these thoughts were running through her head when she noticed two very scruffy young people at the bar. It took her a second to recognise them. She stifled the urge to cry out. She did not even want them to see her. Not there. She would catch them when there were no other people around. It still paid to be cautious. They were not safe yet. She drained her glass and moved swiftly away.

But it was too late. Anna saw her and almost screamed with delight.

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Across the bar, one of the customers flicked his newspaper to one side to see what all the noise was about. Something about the two women who were frantically embracing, and the young man who was standing to one side looking slightly embarrassed, rang a bell. The women were blonde rather than dark, and one of them was wearing unflattering glasses. But it was them all right. Kriminalassistent Verner Schluter's heart began to race.

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Ula was making frantic attempts to calm Anna down. ‘Mein Liebling, we mustn't make a fuss. We're not there yet. You never know who's on board and whether or not they can still take us back . . .'

Anna calmed down. ‘Meet me outside, on the top deck next to the funnel,' said Ula. ‘Then we can talk. You'll find it.' She left the bar.

Outside, a warm breeze blew up from the south. It really was a beautiful night and the Baltic was as smooth as a mill pond. Plain sailing. The top deck was almost deserted.

Anna and Peter found Ula easily enough and they sat down on a bench together and told their tales in urgent whispers.

‘I still have the tickets,' said Ula. ‘They didn't search me when they stopped me. Too keen not to offend the Swedes for their own good, weren't they!'

‘Thank heavens,' said Anna. ‘Now we won't have to get back on that lorry . . .'

Ula held both their hands and said, ‘In two or three hours we will be safe. We've got all the right papers. There should be no problem at the port. Now let us go and get something to eat.'

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Kriminalassistent Verner Schluter had done this several times before. There was usually a fuss. Last time, when he tried to arrest a resistance terrorist, two Swedish lorry drivers had waded in. He nearly had to shoot them, and heaven knows what kind of international incident that would have caused. So he wasn't going to risk that again. Particularly not with these two handsome females. That would conjure up every gallant Swede on the ship. He would play this one very carefully.

He had heard them say they were going up to the top deck and had followed them five minutes later. There were just a couple of other people about. He sauntered up to the rail and waited for the other passengers to leave before he made his move. Schluter was just about to approach when all three of them got up from the bench by the funnel.

This was the perfect moment. He would apprehend them, and then take them to his cabin. There they would stay, under the barrel of his gun, until the ferry returned to Sassnitz.

Schluter enjoyed the look on their faces when he told them to stop and stand still. The boy even put his hands up when he saw the machine pistol, like he was in some cowboy film. Schluter told him to put his hands down. He didn't want them drawing attention to themselves. He was sure none of them would be carrying weapons.

‘You are Ula and Anna Reiter, are you not?' he said to them. ‘And you . . . Peter Bruck?'

The woman spoke up. Out came a lot of nonsense about a funeral in Sweden. And them being Swedish. Schluter spoke to them rapidly in Swedish. What he said was plainly obscene and when none of them even raised their eyebrows he knew at once they were no more Swedish than Reichsführer Himmler.

He didn't even have to ask to see their papers.

Then the ship's hooter went – so loud and long a flock of seagulls took off from the superstructure around the funnel and swooped around his head as they fled from the cacophony.

Before he knew what was happening, the boy and the girl had rushed towards him. He felt himself lifted up, his back bending against the wooden rail. Then he was tumbling down. The sea smacked hard against his body and it was so cold it robbed him of his breath.

He struggled to the surface, weighed down by his leather coat, and gasped in great lungfuls of air. A wave broke over his head leaving him choking again.

By the time he had struggled out of his coat and summoned the strength to shout for help, the ship's stern was forty metres away. He called and called, as he bobbed in the fluorescent wash, but the lights of the ferry receded into the distance.

Kriminalassistent Verner Schluter used all his considerable strength and intelligence to extract himself from his predicament. Was there a weather buoy, or something else like that, close by? Were there other ships? One must be along soon? Far away on the horizon he could see the lights of settlements on the Swedish coast. He began to swim towards them, but they never seemed to get any closer.