Harold’s plan had been modest enough from the onset. His main personal agenda was revenge for his mother. After hearing from the Kommissar that Kozlov was responsible for the rape of countless prisoners and German women, he had decided that the Zampolit would be the first one to repay the debt. That this action would also benefit the Kommissar as well as his friend was an added bonus.
He had never been a violent boy. However, during the last few weeks he witnessed not only the brutality the SS perpetrated on their own countrymen but also the senseless rape and slaughter by the Mongolian forces. Without really thinking about it, his values had shifted. Not to the point of becoming a self-serving fanatic, but enough to accept Godunov’s generous offer of adoption. He was determined to milk it for whatever it was worth.
A few days ago he had overheard Herr Becker mentioning that there were still some SS partisan groups active in Berlin. He had pressed him to reveal what he knew about them including their last known hideouts.
His strategy was simple. He had ascertained the exact location of Kozlov’s headquarters and then contacted the Werewolf entity in the rear of the Anhalter station. As far as he could determine, the unit consisted of about a dozen fanatical SS members. Their armament was down to nearly nothing; a few Panzerfaust (anti-tank weapon), some explosives and some submachine guns. The goal of the Werewolfs in Berlin was to kill high ranking officers of the enemy and to fight to the last bullet. Surrender was not on their agenda.
When Harold told them about the rank of the Zampolit and the route he would have to take to join the victory celebration, the Werewolf detail immediately decided to intercept him. The truck or car carrying the Zampolit would not be armored and would have to travel for a short distance along a narrow rural road. A well-aimed Panzerfaust would virtually assure success.
When Harold had left the SS cellar, he had run into a wall and almost knocked himself out. As a precaution, in case he was followed, he had instructed Karl to pick him up on the other side of the ruins of the station.
So far, so good. But Harold thought that he had heard one of the SS men make a remark with regard to another Werewolf unit proposing an assault on General Berzarin’s victory party. Since he didn’t want to ask the SS any direct questions, he had decided to tell his Major, the language instructor, that he had overheard some rumors that the celebration might be the target of a renegade group. The Major had acted as Harold had anticipated and tipped off the guards.
There was only one item left on Harold’s list. He wanted to know details about the assault on the Zampolit and also if the Werewolf unit had suffered any losses. If there were any survivors, he planned to relay this Godunov. As soon as he went through the cellar entrance he was pinned against the wall.
“This is the boy who gave us the information about Berzarin’s party.” One of the SS men he had met before dragged him by his neck towards the rear and into the main cubicle of the cellar. Harold was amazed to see the elaborate set up. He had not been in this room during his first visit and noticed a small wood burning stove in a corner. Several metal field beds - folding cots - stacked on top of each other trailed along one of the walls.
A lot of blankets were stacked in an orderly fashion on top of them. “Who else have you talked with about the celebration?” Two pair of blue eyes stared at him with an intensity that made him shudder.
“No one else,” he answered and looked around. Besides the two tall SS men who held him, two more men, who looked to be 20 years old, entered the room. All of them wore the dreaded black uniform but without insignias or decorations.
“We have been betrayed and ran into an ambush and no one else but you knew that we were planning an assault.” The one who held Harold by his throat was the one talking.
“You ran into an ambush in Gatov? You missed the Zampolit?” Harold could not figure out how this was possible.
“We are not talking about Gatov. Let him go Helmut, the boy gave us good information and the Russian Kommissar is already in hell.” One of the younger SS men tried to intervene. “The kid never knew that we planned to attack Berzarin,” he added.
“Somebody informed the Russians about us and I am not sure if it was this kid or not, but I will find out.” Helmut applied more pressure to his throat and Harold was cringing and fighting for air.
“Make room,” Helmut demanded and pulled Harold toward the stove. “I will show you how to make this boy talk.” He said and turned to his partner.
“Put a pot of water on the stove and bring it to a boil.” His attention went back to Harold and he released the pressure. Harold had gone limp and he was sputtering and coughing as he fell to the floor.
“I want to know who you talked to after you left us.” His voice was low and threatening. “I will cook your hand, one finger at a time. This should help your memory.”
Harold’s mind was scrambled. The insufficient air supply had done a number on his brain. He could hear but could not understand what Helmut was saying. Nothing made sense to him. He passed out.
“Darn you,” Helmut was getting impatient. “Bring me the pail with cold water. I want this miscarriage to feel what I am doing to him.”
Someone handed him the bucket and he drenched Harold. “Now listen up, you pig. Who did you talk to?”
Harold regained his senses and shook his head. “No one.” He was still unable to think clearly.
The younger SS man tried for the second time to intercede. “You are making a mistake, Helmut. The boy did us a favor.”
“This is the second time you stopped me, Franz. One more word out of you and your teeth will pay the price.” He looked around the room. “Anyone else want to question my actions?” He shrieked at his group and no one answered. Helmut was the tallest and the strongest of them.
“Alright then. Hold the boy up and have another container of water ready, in case he passes out again!”
He bent down to lift Harold up by his jacket when the door of the room came crashing down. To his surprise he saw a huge Mongol bearing down on him. He reached for his knife but it was too late. The Tatar grunted deeply and a whirlwind began.
Karl had followed Herr Becker’s instructions, which led his group directly to the secret basement of the Werewolf. They had approached the cellar entrance in silence and then followed the loud voices.
Helmut had forgotten to post a guard. A mistake he would never make again.
No sooner had the Tatars entered the large room than they understood what was going on. Harold was still lying on the floor in a patch of water as Poti raced down to him. With a flick of his arm he had him up and leaning next to Karl on the wall. Then he simply stood with his back toward the boys, ready to tackle anyone coming his way.
Karl had followed Poti into the room and stared in sheer disbelief at the fast and brutal handiwork of Alex and Kete. He had seen the two tough men in action before, but he was not prepared for what he witnessed now.
The last time the two Tatars had been up against some Russian plunderers. They had been convincing but not lethal. This time was different. The Mongolians had recognized the black SS uniforms and were bent on killing.
Alex fought with his bare hands. He allowed Helmut to draw his knife and then reached for his hand, twisted it around with a sickening sound and pushed the knife deeply into the abdomen of the SS man. Letting go of the knife he grabbed Helmut’s body and slammed him over the glowing wood stove. It sounded as if every bone in his body was being broken.
Kete had reached for the nearest partisan and crashed his head repeatedly against the metal frame of the cellar door. The SS man let out a nauseating scream and stayed down.
The third SS man was instantly out of commission when Alex got hold of an iron skillet on the stove. With a force that only a giant could release, he smashed the pan squarely into the unlucky man’s face.
“No, no, no!” screamed Harold as Alex turned on Franz, the youngest of the partisans. He remembered that this fellow had spoken on his behalf. “No, not him,” he pleaded as Alex crushed the nose of the young man with his elbow.
“Ex, Ex, Nooo!” yelled Karl at the top of his lungs. The giant let go of the man and looked around to face the boys. Karl could see unbridled determination in Alex’s eyes and he did not dare to interfere.
“Please, Alex, spare him,” Harold repeated his appeal for mercy fully aware that the Tatar did not understand a word he was saying. Or did he?
Alex looked from Harold to the SS man with the broken nose and then pushed him with a grunt to Poti who led him by his ear out of the room. Alex followed him with the two boys and only Kete stayed back for a moment to finish what they had begun.
Nobody said a word when they got into the car. Karl wanted to guide Poti back to their quarters but it seemed that the driver was determined to take a detour. When they passed a detention area for the SS, Poti stopped and addressed the Russian guards. Kete, however, was not in a mood to waste any time. He merely pushed the young SS man out of the car and motioned for Poti to drive on. Neither Harold nor Karl looked back. There was nothing either of them could do. But, they knew that Franz would live. For a while anyhow.
When they pulled into the courtyard, Alex acted as if nothing had happened and only Kete bothered to inform the Kommissar of the events. The boys walked up to their room and talked quietly with Herr Veth to bring him up to snuff while Alex stretched out on the floor as usual.
It was way past midnight when the door to their bedroom opened and one of Godunov’s guards woke Karl and Harold to lead them to Godunov’s office. Alex also got up and walked right behind them.
Godunov sat behind his desk and Anna, his daughter, was sitting next to him. It was the first time that the boys had a real chance to see her. Harold could detect some resemblance to the Kommissar, especially in the high forehead and the steel grey eyes. Karl, however, admired her well-fitting uniform. He thought that she looked very young for a medical officer.
“I know it is late so I’ll get right to the point,” Godunov begun. “We received confirmation that Zampolit Kozlov was ambushed by a Werewolf unit and was killed. I’d like to add that I am not surprised.” He looked from Karl to Harold and his eyes rested for a moment longer on Harold.
“General Berzarin wishes to ship Kozlov’s body to Moscow for a State funeral service but I was told that a Panzerfaust shredded his car and everyone in it. There might be not enough body parts to send home.”
It appeared to Karl that the Kommissar sounded almost happy.
“I have been ordered to be present at the service and will have to leave in a day. My daughter will travel with me,” he continued. “I woke you up to tell you that I will have to be with General Berzarin all day tomorrow.” He looked at Harold. “I expect you to continue your language lessons with Major Tesslov. I will send for you if I am unable to return.”
He shifted his eyes to Karl. “You are free to leave with your father anytime you wish. I had sincerely hoped that you would reconsider and take me up on my offer, but I understand and wish you well.”
Karl was dumbfounded for a moment. The events of the last two days happened so fast and while he hoped to be finally free, he was never-the-less speechless.
He got up and the Kommissar rounded the desk to meet him halfway. He placed his arms around Karl and held him tight.
“Thank you Karl, and my daughter thanks you too. This is why she is here. I doubt that we will ever see each other again but I would like to tell you that I will never forget you.” The Kommissars eyes were moist and so were Karl’s. “Thank you, Herr Godunov,” he stammered, unable to say anything else.
He went to shake hands with Anna who kissed him on both cheeks and pressed his hands so hard that it almost hurt.
Harold had also gotten up and hugged his friend. “I am so happy for you. I almost wish I could go with you.” There were no other words between them as they would have been insufficient anyway.
Everyone was choking on their words and had tears in their eyes.
Alex had followed the conversation without understanding a word. His eyes had never left Karl and were wide alert when the Kommissar embraced Karl. He grunted a few syllables to the Kommissar who shook his head and answered with a few of his own.
Karl was unsure what was expected of him and advanced slowly to the door.
“Can Harold go with me? I’d like to say good bye to him in private.”
“Of course, Karl. But where are you going?”
Karl’s breathing almost stopped. He had said goodbye to Godunov once before, only to be called back by the intelligence officer.
“I, I, I don’t really know,” he stammered. “This all happened so fast. But I will try to get to the Elbe River and to the American forces. And then to my mother.”
“You plan to walk to the Elbe River? You will never make it Karl. Our military still watches for able men to send to Siberia. Where is your head?”
The Kommissar’s voice was friendly enough to cause Karl to turn and face Godunov
“Do you have any suggestions, Herr Godunov?”
“This is the problem with you Germans. You will never understand the Russian soul.” He reached for a letter on his desk and handed it to Karl. It was embossed with several seals.
“This is a document assuring you a safe passage, in case you get stopped. But, honestly, I cannot envision how this could happen because Alex will be with you when Poti drives you to the Elbe River and to the western forces.”
For the second time that night Karl was searching for words. He could not even fully comprehend what was happening. All of his worries had disappeared in an instant. But at the very same time he also recognized the awesome authority of a senior political Kommissar. An incredibly powerful man in the forces of the Soviet Union.
“When?” He finally managed to ask.
“Poti will be ready when you are. It is barely a three-hour drive to the border and I need my men back before nightfall.”
One more embrace and the boys were on their way back to their room.
“Pappa, by tomorrow night we should be with Mutti,” Karl woke his father who was too startled to answer.
“Hurry up and get dressed. We leave as soon as you are ready.” Karl continued to fully shake his father awake and then turned to his friend.
“I never expected this from Godunov,” Karl said over and over again. “Promise me you will be extremely careful in your relationship with him. Keep your back against the wall. And…thank you for being a true friend.”
Harold was also overwhelmed by the speed with which their circumstances were changing. He had to swallow hard before he could respond.
“I wish that my mother was still alive, or at least that my father was not a prisoner. I think that I would have declined Godunov’s offer. But come what may, we will always be friends.” He swallowed again. “Thanks for showing up with Alex and the others when the chips were down.”
“Oh, that was nothing compared to your ingenuity with the Kozlov challenge. How do we stay in contact?” Karl was eager to end the sentimentalities and use the final few minutes constructively.
“Well, you know my intentions. I don’t know where they will take me but, I will always aim to return to Berlin. Let’s use the Becker family as an exchange of information.” Harold tried to think of a fall-back contact. However, nothing came to mind.
It was as if Karl was reading his friend’s mind. “We might need a secondary method, but I agree that this is the only viable option at this time. I will stop by the Becker’s on my way out and say goodbye.”
Harold looked over to Alex who had received his orders from the Kommissar and stood solemnly at the door, ready to go.
“What about him?”
“Yes, Harold, you are right. What about him? I will more than miss the brutal but good-hearted giant. Please try to look after him; if you can.”
“You got it, Karl. I promise.”
Karl gathered his few pieces of clothing and the boys went down to the car. Herr Veth was already sitting on the bench in the back of the Jeep.
Both boys tried to keep their emotions in check. It was a joyful and at the same time bitter moment in their lives. A moment they never forgot.
Harold was stepping back when Karl sat down next to Poti.
“You lucky dog,” he smiled under tears.
“Thank you, Harold. Yes, I am a lucky dog.” He wanted to follow his friend’s example and smile. But, the more he tried, the harder it got. He could not do it.