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Vogel Residence
Berlin, Nazi Germany
January 31, 1945

 

Vogel sat in the chair normally reserved for him in his lonely apartment, the Allies pounding the city once again in the distance. The darkness he sat in was complete, the blackout curtains doing their job. He fished out an extra cigar Gruber had given him, and a box of matches. Striking one of the sticks in the dark, the flare briefly illuminated the room, and he lit the cigar, shaking out the matchstick before tossing it on the side table, something his wife would have snapped at him for if she were here.

But she wasn’t.

This isn’t living. It’s existing.

He was still doing his job, and it was an important one when times were normal. But now, with people desperate for food, terrified of what was soon to come, he wondered if the crimes he still investigated were of any importance.

They had to be.

Crime was crime, and the victims deserved justice.

Victims like Lang and Maier, and the other victims like their wives and now fatherless children.

He sighed, wishing he had some of Gruber’s cognac to enjoy. He had made a deal with the devil, though he was quite certain he’d never be called upon to deliver. He’d be dead before the war was over, and if he weren’t, Gruber would be. The Russians were coming, and he had little doubt anyone associated with the Reich, whether a Party member or not, would be executed.

He stared into the darkness at the closet containing his uniforms, now rarely worn.

Will they spare me because I was just a police officer doing his duty?

He doubted it, not if the broadcasts were to be believed.

He flinched as someone knocked on the door.

“Herr Vogel?”

It was Erika Lang.

He ignored her, as she was ignoring the note he had slipped under her door. It had explicitly said to talk to no one, including him. It was a set of instructions telling her exactly what to do and when, a nearly identical note slipped by him under Frau Maier’s door earlier in the evening.

Gruber was extracting them tonight, right under the noses of the Gestapo, then he would likely never see them again. He just prayed it was because they were safe.

Perhaps after the war.

There was no reason. He wasn’t sure if he’d like to know what really happened to them. If he never knew, he could imagine they were reunited with their families, and had survived the war, living out their days in peace.

But should he find out differently?

He’d rather live with the fantasy.

He had already sent his family to southwestern Germany, where the Americans and their side of the fight would be arriving shortly, not the bloodthirsty Russians. He hoped once Germany was liberated, he’d join them should he survive the final onslaught.

Liberated.

It was an odd word to associate with the conquering of one’s country, yet it was how he felt. At first, he had supported Hitler, like most had, but then it had turned to something different than simple national pride. It had become a cult of personality that he simply couldn’t support.

He had kept his mouth shut, said and did what was expected of him, though had stayed in the job he had always wanted, avoiding military service, or any form of supporting the Party.

He was there to serve the people, and he had done so faithfully throughout the war.

A final knock from Frau Lang was followed by a loudly whispered, “Thank you, but I can’t go.” Footsteps receded to her apartment as he cursed, leaping from his chair. He yanked the door open, and Erika spun on her heel, her eyes wide with shock. He put a finger to his lips and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her into the dark abyss that was his apartment, before closing the door.

“What do you mean you can’t go?”

“I have to wait for my Hermann.”

Vogel closed his eyes, frustration building. He opened them, staring into the darkness. “He’s dead.”

She cried out, and he slapped a hand over her mouth.

“You must be quiet, understood?”

She nodded, and he removed his hand. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes.” He decided a lie was better than giving her some false sense of hope to cling to. He needed her to leave, and as long as there was some remote possibility Hermann might be returning, he’d never get her to go, and she’d be dead at the Gestapo’s hands, possibly tomorrow, perhaps tonight.

She collapsed in his arms and quietly sobbed. He gave her a few moments before gently pushing her away, keeping both hands on her shoulders. “You read the note?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be ready?”

There was a pause in the dark, then she finally replied. “Yes.”

“Good. Then go back to your apartment and say nothing—it could be bugged. Don’t leave a note for anyone, don’t leave anything that might suggest what is going on. Take the note I left with you, and give it to the men you will meet. At exactly eleven o’clock, be at the rear entrance. A car will pick you up and take you to your daughter. You will then be taken to a location even I don’t know.”

“But what if you’re wrong, and Hermann is alive?”

“I’m not, but if I somehow am, I will have him sent to join you. Understood?”

She trembled. “Yes.”

“Good. Then go, stay quiet, and pack nothing. Just be outside, at the rear entrance, at eleven o’clock.”

“Okay.” She hugged him, gripping him tightly as she shook in his arms. “Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Just stay safe, and survive. That’s all the payment I need.”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “You’re a good man, Herr Vogel. I hope you see your wife and children soon.”

“So do I.”

He opened the door and ushered her out, a final quiet look exchanged before he closed the door and sighed. Sobs escaped her, heard through the door, and he just prayed the neighbors didn’t take an interest. She had been clinging to the hope that her husband would show up, but he was never going to.

Yes, he wasn’t certain that he was dead, but it had been three days with no word, and everything pointed to him being the dead engineer referred to by Maier.

And on the off chance he did show up, he would indeed try to reunite him with his wife.

But there was no chance of that.

At least, however, she now had a chance. If Gruber held up his end of the bargain, Erika and Michaella would survive the war, then everyone could be reunited to mourn their losses, and get on with their lives.

He stepped over to the window and pulled open the blackout curtain slightly. As expected, a car was parked across the street, two cigarette cherries burning brightly. When he had returned home, he had checked the back alley, and there appeared to be no surveillance set up. The Gestapo didn’t seem too concerned with the possibility that Frau Lang might flee. After all, she would have no money, and nowhere to go.

But they hadn’t counted on the involvement of a kriminalinspektor, a detective inspector with connections and favors owed.

He returned to his chair and closed his eyes as the air raid continued to hammer the city. This area had been mostly spared so far, though eventually it would become a target. He held out some small hope it might be left alone, since it was nowhere near any factories or military and government facilities, though in reality, he didn’t care anymore.

If he died, he died, though he would like to see his family again.

Berlin would be overrun by the Soviets soon.

Very soon.

It would be every man for himself.

The Reich was desperate now, enlisting children to do the fighting, and without a doubt, the police like him would be put on the frontlines should it become necessary.

And it would.

And the Soviets would show no mercy, killing every one of them to a man, if need be. All he could hope for was to somehow allow himself to be captured, and survive the day, this a country he was no longer willing to fight for.

He had supported Hitler once, but not when he had turned into a warmonger. He had agreed with taking back the lands stolen after the Great War, he had even agreed with annexing Austria and Czechoslovakia, all accomplished without firing a shot.

But Poland?

That had been a stretch, though reunifying territorially with Prussia made sense, and it had been Polish troops that had attacked first, though he had heard rumors that this wasn’t actually true.

But to keep going? To take all of Western Europe, Scandinavia, North Africa?

And what of all the disappearances? He was no fan of the Jews, though they had never wronged him in any way he could think of. They were a convenient scapegoat for the problems of the twenties and thirties, though the real criminals were the French, British, and Americans for imposing the onerous Treaty of Versailles upon them, punishing the German people rather than their leaders, and guaranteeing a meagre existence with the bulk of the country’s revenues going toward war reparations.

What had the Allies expected? Of course the people were going to revolt. They merely needed a charismatic leader to organize them, and convince them that enough was enough, and that it wasn’t their responsibility to continue to pay for past mistakes made by unelected leaders.

He wondered, when this war was over, would the Allies have learned from their mistakes, and allow the country to rebuild, or would they once again punish the populace with crippling sanctions, thus setting up the continent for a third war, one he feared would be the last ever fought by man.

He sighed, wishing he were in the southwest with his family, away from the madness of Berlin and the mighty Red Army.

The door across the hall clicked shut and a key turned. He steadied his breathing, listening to the footsteps of Frau Lang as she headed for the stairwell. They eventually faded, and he strained to hear past the pounding bombs, praying he didn’t hear any shouts of the Gestapo, or screams of a woman.

He heard nothing, though couldn’t be sure that meant anything, uncertain as to whether he would ever know if she had been picked up and delivered to safety as promised, or arrested and sent to some Gestapo torture chamber for interrogation before execution.

Perhaps after the war, he would know what happened to the two women, one a neighbor of at least ten years, the other a woman he had never met until this morning.

He drifted off, the rhythmic pounding of the Allied bombs oddly relaxing, a smile on his face as he pictured his two young children and his beautiful wife, none of whom he had seen in months, and none of whom he expected to see again.

And made one last fateful decision before finally giving in to sleep.

He had to make sure Hermann Lang was dead.