“What will we do if morning comes and the remainder of his unit has not arrived?” Harold was anxious to know.
“There are other ways to identify his friends but don’t worry, they will show up. He is strutting all over the village announcing the arrival of the heroes,” the Major assured him.
“Are you saying that he is openly advertising another orgy?” the Captain asked.
“No, not really, but my nurse darling told me that he offered her ‘compensation’ if she could find some willing participants for his victory party.”
“I wonder how many and what kind of ‘victory parties’ these guys are planning,” speculated Pajari. “He identified his unit as the ‘Champion of the Castle’. At least that was what he said last night when I heard it the first time. If he would have kept his mouth shut I would have never noticed him.”
“Did he tell you how many soldiers or officers are in his outfit?” Harold had simmered down, hoping to discover additional details.
“He was talking about twenty or twenty-five soldiers with a captain being in charge. However, he mentioned that the interrogation of the female prisoners was the doing of a special squad. Four sergeants, including himself.”
“Besides labeling his team is there any official record of his squad?”
“Yes, Harold. We, as well as Kommissar Godunov, knew right from the beginning the identity of the company itself. But due to the ongoing exchange of the fighting regiments with the reserves, we temporarily lost the exact whereabouts of individual teams.”
Harold was astonished that his two officers were apparently gathering data on his behalf.
“I want you to know how much the information means to me.”
This was the best he could do to express himself. Secretly he wondered if Tesslov or Pajari would help him if push came to shove.
The Captain seemed to read his mind. “If you are serious about becoming an intelligence professional you will need to learn that correct and timely information will be your greatest asset. So, use it wisely and build upon it. In due time you might even wish to act on it, but not now.”
Harold understood that he would be on his own if he acted too hastily. He knew that the officers were right. He needed to know the identity of the whole squad. But, just in case they didn’t show up, he tossed around several scenarios. None of them amounted to a plan A or a plan B.
“If it is alright, I will go and look for a fuel truck.” Harold got up and left the room.
“What do you think, Vadim? Will the boy restrain himself?” Tesslov asked his friend.
Pajari replaced their obnoxious potion with fresh tea from the kitchen before he answered. “Hard to predict. We haven’t known him long enough. However, I know what I would do.”
“Yeah, I know. This is also the reason why you are still a captain and I doubt that you will ever get another promotion,” Tesslov provoked him.
“You should talk.” Pajari could have answered with a more suitable comment but he let it rest.
“So, are we continuing to Berlin tomorrow or do you plan on another day of rest?”
He thought about the British documents in his pocket which he needed to get into the hands of General Berzarin, Berlin’s city commander, as soon as possible. He didn’t know what kind of information they contained, but Godunov’s orders had been explicit. He was to intercept the transfer of the documents in Warsaw, look for some specific papers and deliver them personally to the general. At first he had been puzzled by the order, wondering why Godunov didn’t hand the documents to Berzarin himself, until he realized that the Kommissar was already on the way to the funeral in Moscow when the courier left Berlin. Or was it Potsdam? Come to think of it, he really didn’t know the origin of the transport.
“If we are able to obtain the necessary gas tonight we will leave in the morning. In any event, I would like to be in the city by the evening,” answered Tesslov.
*****
Harold had a difficult task ahead of him. There weren’t many trucks parked alongside the road and the only vehicles in the side streets were horse-drawn farm wagons. He didn’t see a single fuel drum on any of them. He speculated that there could be a fuel depot in the nearest town. Frankfurt on the Oder River was only a few miles away.
“Have you heard about the party tonight?” a female voice interrupted his thoughts as he passed the nurse’s quarters. He recognized the northern accent. It belonged to the German woman who had allowed him to use the wash room in the morning.
“Yeah, I heard about it. But, you might not wish to participate.” He thought of warning the cook somehow.
“Oh, don’t worry, I never attend any of the Russian celebrations. Too much drinking going on. I just thought you would be interested. It should be fun. Some of our younger Polish nurses are looking forward to it.”
“Where is the party supposed to be?” He trusted his officers, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to do his own investigation. To get the individual names of the culprits was one thing, to scorch their actual physical identity in his mind was another.
“So are you going?” the cook asked instead of answering.
Harold was surprised by the slight intensity in her voice and didn’t know what to make of it. It could not possibly be that she was interested in him. He had no experience with girls because he had never dated one. Admittedly, the woman was not bad looking, but at least five years his senior. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t drink and don’t know how to dance. Why do you ask?”
“I hoped that you could help us.”
“Help you? How? By going to the party? And, who is ‘us’?”
He was getting better at asking questions. Karl had been a good teacher.
“Come with me to the kitchen and I will make you a sandwich with pig lard.”
The idea of getting a bite of his favorite sandwich would have been sufficient for Harold to follow her anywhere. He could not believe his good luck.
“My name is Harold. What’s yours?” He watched as she heaped a princely amount of the precious lard grease on a slice of bread. He knew it couldn’t get any better than that.
“You can call me Hilde,” she answered as she handed him the delicacy. “I will give you the remainder of the tin, if you help us.”
“Alright, what is it that you want from me?” The blubber was oozing from the bread and he licked his lips.
“I want you to meet two wounded soldiers. We have been hiding them from the Russians.”
“Are they Wehrmacht (German Army) or SS?” Harold was not willing to help any member of the Storm Troopers.
“They are regular foot soldiers. They need better care than we can provide.”
Harold had his mouth full and had to swallow before he asked: “What does this have to do with the party tonight?”
“We would like to take them to a different place and we saw you driving a car today. The party should draw any lingering Russians from the street.”
“Who is ‘we’? And, how far do we need to drive?” He was almost done with the sandwich.
“Gertie, the other German cook, and me.” Hilde prepared another slice of bread. “Not very far, maybe two miles at the most,” she added, handing him the second treat.
Harold was thinking as fast as he was chewing. “I’m not sure that I will be able to get the car. Do you know where the Russians gas up their cars?”
“I think there is a gas depot further down the road than we need to go.” Hilde looked hopefully at Harold, who wiped his hands on a rag.
“I’ll let you know,” he went to the door. “Give me about an hour.”
He could still taste the lard on his lips when he bumped into a soldier passing by. “Pardon me,” he said in Russian and looked into the blank eyes of Egon, the Wasserkopp.
The sergeant mumbled something and went on his way. Harold, however, was stunned. He was so close to his target and yet he didn’t know how to proceed. For a second he considered going back to Hilde and sharing his situation with her but he could not imagine how she could possibly help him. Before he could make up his mind to follow the sergeant or not, he saw a truck loaded with newcomers stopping in front of the main facility.
The noise coming from the new arrivals indicated that they were slightly intoxicated. It also looked as if some of the soldiers had recognized Egon, who had also stopped to squint at the group. A moment later they exchanged greetings and the sergeant lead all of them to a house across the street. His friends had arrived.
*****
“There is no fuel truck in sight but I found out about a depot a few miles from here. It also seems that Egon’s comrades have arrived,” he announced to the Major, entering their housing.
“Oh, then we will see who is attending the event.” Tesslov smiled in anticipation. Harold wasn’t sure if he was referring to the soldiers or the nurses. It looked as if the Major had already started getting warmed up as there was a half-empty bottle of Vodka on the table. No glasses, but it seemed that Tesslov was more inclined to attend the festivities than to go for a ride to obtain some fuel.
“Why don’t you observe how our student drives in the dark, Vadim?” Tesslov asked his friend. “If I see more than I can handle I will save you one.”
“Thank you for not starting without me. You are being too kind.” The Captain took the car keys from Tesslov. “Let’s go.” He motioned to Harold to lead the way.
“I don’t know exactly where the depot is; I only heard about it from the German cook. I will ask her to show it to us.” Without waiting for an answer Harold let the Captain get the car while he went to see Hilde.
“You need to show us the fuel station,” he declared. “I want to see where you want me to drive your soldier friends,” he added when he saw the hesitation in Hilde’s face.
The car was equipped with the regular seat benches. Hilde sat next to the door while the Captain was driving. Harold had jumped into the center and this enabled him to communicate with Hilde without speaking.
She pressed his hand and tilted her head as they passed a place where three small houses huddled together. It was very close to the fuel supply and the Captain allowed Harold to drive on the way back. In addition to filling the tank they had also loaded up with several five-gallon metal cans which Harold stored behind the last seat bench. He paid careful attention to the dark road and to Pajari’s surprise he avoided most of the puddles. But he was not fooled by the boy’s good behavior. It was possible that Harold wanted to impress the pretty cook, but then he suspected that Harold’s suspiciously good driving was due more to the total absence of soldiers.
Over an hour had passed since Egon’s unit had arrived and the singing coming from the building indicated that the party had started. “Why don’t you go in and save me a seat? I’ll join you after I park the car.” Harold stopped in front of the brightly lit entrance.
Pajari looked first at Harold and then at the young cook. A wide smile crossed his face. Maybe his boy was growing up. He got out but then turned around. “Take your time, but return before the Major misses you.” He winked knowingly at the girl and walked through the door without looking back.
“What was that?” Hilde wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” answered Harold. “Maybe he thinks that I wanted to kiss you.” He was a little ashamed to even think about it.
“No, that’s not it.” Hilde had just turned twenty and was certain that kissing was not all that was on the Captain’s mind.
“Hurry up and get Gertie to help us carry the wounded to the car.” Harold didn’t waste any time wondering about the Captain’s comment. He had pulled up the car to the nurse’s quarters and wanted to get on with the transfer. The earlier, the better. He knew that within a short time the drunks would spill out onto the street.
Hilde led the way through the nurse’s quarters to an outbuilding. It looked like an old chicken coop except that the chickens were gone. They had been killed before the war had ended. Only the dirty smell still lingered on.
It was dark in the room. Hilde’s dynamo flashlight allowed Harold to see a bunch of straw bales alongside one of the walls. They provided an excellent hiding place. There was no trace of the soldiers until Hilde removed one of the lower bales.
Harold had to crawl in order to follow her. He had expected something like another room behind the hay, but all he saw was a hollowed-out niche in which two soldiers were resting. Hilde was already tending to the first one. One of his legs had been amputated and he was obviously in a very bad shape and heavily sedated. Gertie pushed a makeshift stretcher towards them and Harold tried his best to carefully roll the wounded on top of the blanket between the two pieces of wood. In spite of the dark, they had the soldier out and into the car in no time at all. The women were more experienced than Harold and knew exactly what to do.
He wanted to get back to retrieve the second soldier when he saw to his surprise that the fellow was right behind him. He had one arm in a sling and on the other side there was just an empty sleeve stuck to the shoulder. He flashed a thankful smile to the girls and curled up on the floor of the car next to his comrade. Gertie stayed behind and Harold put the car in gear. Again, he was carefully avoiding the potholes; this time for a more compassionate reason.
Their timing could not have been any better. The party was in full swing and the road was deserted. Harold had figured that the complete transfer would take close to an hour but to his relief it was much faster.
Hilde pointed him in the direction of the exact building and as soon as he stopped the car they were surrounded by several women who carried the amputee away. Within a few minutes they were on their way back. It happened so fast that Harold never knew the identity of the soldiers. He was satisfied that he had been able to help and his eyes followed Hilde when she jumped out of the car.
“Wait a moment,” she called, running into her quarters. When she came back she handed him the small tin with pigs lard. It was almost full.
Before he could say thank you she hopped on the running board and kissed him. It was so different from the kisses he was used to receiving from his mother that Harold was speechless. It seemed that her mouth had lingered a second longer than was necessary to make contact with his lips and in that short moment it had triggered a strange, but wonderful sensation. By the time he had recovered, Hilde was gone.
Unsure what to think he parked the car, took the tin with the lard to his room, and went to find his officers. Pajari noted Harold’s flushed face and poked him in the ribs. “You could have stayed a while longer. Dummy.”
“Wh …what do you mean?” stammered Harold, still not in command of his feelings.
The Captain shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. However, if you don’t take your time…you will never learn.” He used his thumb to point to the Major who was scribbling in a notebook.
“We have the names and the identities of Egon’s squad.” He turned his head and nodded at a table close to them. “They are over there.”
Harold recognized the Wasserkopp and glanced nonchalantly at the soldiers sitting next to him. “Are you sure?” he asked the Major.
“Oh yes, we are sure. They talk about nothing else except bragging about their activities.” Tesslov turned his eyes to the Polish nurses sitting next to the sergeants. “If these girls could understand the Russian language, they would not be drinking with them.”
Harold could hardly understand the Major. The noise in the room was deafening and the occasional shouts between the chanting were nearly earsplitting. He saw a loaf of the dark Russian bread on the table.
“May I take this to our room?” he asked, hoping to make himself another sandwich before the bread was gone.
“Go ahead and take some of this stuff along” Pajari lifted a few bottles from the neighboring table. The owners of the Vodka were busy dancing in the center of the room and Harold wondered briefly if this would lead to a confrontation later on. The Captain filled Harold’s arms and gently pushed him out the door.
“I doubt that I can manage.” Harold objected to the load, but found himself alone in the street. He tried to get a better hold on the bottles but the bread started to slip and landed in front of his feet.
He decided in favor of the bread and left two of the bottles in the shadow of a fence post. He could always pick them up later. Making the sandwich was easy compared to sorting out the thoughts which filled his mind. There was the Wasserkopp with the dreadful eyes. He should now be on his target list because the officers knew the identities of the other perpetrators.
There was also the task of remembering their features and, to his irritation, he could not shake the memory of Hilde’s kiss from his mind. Matter of fact, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her on his way back to the party.
First things first. I need to remember their faces. He spread some lard on a slice of bread and placed it on a chair next to his bed, hoping it would be soaked all the way through by the time he came back.
The next ten minutes found him unprepared.