Magnus Von Braun left the army barracks on a bicycle, riding in the direction of the American army. He spoke and understood the English language quite well, and because of that he was the one chosen from the team of scientists to make contact with the Americans.
It was a sunny morning, a few clouds in the sky. Magnus peddled for a few miles along a winding, gravel road, thick with pine trees to either side. He heard something. He drew to a halt by the side of the road, a bend ahead blocking his view. They were trucks. Drawing closer. But were they American? Or German? Or worse — Russian?
He dove for cover in the ditch, taking the bicycle with him.
* * * *
In the lead jeep was Hollinger, McCreedy, Lieutenant Parker, and Colonel Burns. Hollinger pointed as the jeep roared around the bend. “Did you see that?” he said, from the back seat.
“Yeah, I did,” said Parker, behind the wheel.
Colonel Burns puffed on a fresh cigar in the front. “Me, too. Somebody leaped into the bushes. Pull up here.”
The jeep’s brakes squealed. All four had their pistols at the ready. Burns held his hand up for the six jeeps behind him to stop.
“Easy,” Burns said, his voice barely audible, stepping out onto the gravel. “Parker, you go that way to the left. I’ll go right. Hollinger, you go with Parker. McCreedy, you—” Burns didn’t have to go any further. A blonde-haired man popped up from the ditch, slowly dragging the bicycle towards them, coming to a dead stop thirty feet away from the jeep.
Burns turned behind him and quickly said, “You know German, Hollinger. Tell him to come forward with his hands up.”
Hollinger slipped out from the others. “Komm vorwarts mit die Haende boch!” He yelled.
The man dropped his bicycle and raised his hands. “Americans. You are Americans.”
“You speak English?” Burns asked.
“Yes, I do,” the smiling man replied, walking up to them. Parker searched him for weapons as he continued talking. “My brother and I have been trying to find you for days.”
“He’s clean,” Parker said.
“Why?” Burns wanted to know.
“We need your help.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Magnus von Braun.”
“Brother to Wernher von Braun?”
“Yes.”
“Put your hands down.”
“Thank you.”
Hollinger smiled at McCreedy. They had hit paydirt.
McCreedy laughed. “Are we lucky or what? Are you one of the scientists?”
Magnus nodded. “Yes.”
Hollinger was puzzled. “How did you get away from the SS?”
“Oh, they took off for who knows where when the news came through that Adolf Hitler had died. I was elected as spokesman, since my English is the best.”
“It sure is. Where are the rest? We’ve come for you.”
“We had to split up,” Magnus said. “We were all ordered by the SS to the army barracks at Oberammergau. After a few days, my brother convinced the SS that he and his team should be dispersed so that we wouldn’t all be wiped out in one air strike, should your planes decide to drop bombs on the barracks. They agreed.”
“So where are they?” Hollinger asked.
“At Oberjoch.”
“The SS with them?”
“I do not know that. But probably not.”
“So, you don’t know if they’re alive, even?”
Magnus shrugged. “No, not with any certainty.”
Burns swung around at his lieutenant. “Parker? Where’s Oberjoch?”
Parker opened his map on the jeep hood. “Just a few miles from here, along this road. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Are you people in good health?” Burns’s gaze fell on Magnus.
“Yes, very much so. A little hungry.”
“We’ll look after you,” Burns promised.
“Thank you. You’ll have to excuse my brother, though. He’s still healing from a broken arm he suffered when he had to leave Peenemunde. His driver had fallen asleep and banged into a tree.”
Hollinger had to ask the question. “The blueprints and documents on your research, do you have them?”
“Yes. At an abandoned mine near Dornten. Two of my brother’s aides hid them there and blasted the tunnel shut.”
“Where’s Dornten?”
“In the Harz Mountains.”
“That’s in Thuringia,” Parker piped up. “Colonel,” he glanced down at the map, “the Russians are moving in that region.”
“Colonel.” Hollinger said.
“I know, Hollinger. We’ll get them,” Burns assured the OSS agent. “Are these aides with your group at Oberammergau?”
“One is. The other is with Wernher.”
“What are we waiting for?” Burns said. “Let’s move it.” By now, most of the jeep drivers had gathered around. “Follow me, men. Mr. von Braun, lead the way to your army barracks.”
“I would be glad to.”
Bormann still hadn’t escaped the capital. Over the last twenty-four hours since he had fled the Fuehrerbunker, he had made it safely to the Friedrichstrasse subway station, one of the few areas in Berlin that remained in German hands, for the moment. Battle Group Mohnke was putting up a fight against their Red Army counterparts. In this German-held pocket, Bormann had watched the fighting for most of the day from the shadows of a dusty, bombed-out warehouse near the Weidendammer Bridge.
At night, he ventured out from his hideaway, staying low. He made his way along the Spree River, in the direction of the northwest suburbs, using brick rubble as a shield against Russian snipers. Downstream, he had found a spot where large concrete chunks of buildings had been thrown into the river enough so that he could walk across. But what was on the other side? No matter, he had to try.
Bormann reached the other side safely in the darkness and rested until morning, then set out on foot away from the Spree River, the thud of small arms behind him. The only faces he saw belonged to forlorn Germans. Not a Russian in sight. By now, Hitler’s former secretary was used to the dreary sight of war. Still, the damage and the waste brought on by the Fuehrer disturbed him. It was strange how immune he once was to the reality of war, stowed away with the Fuehrer wherever he went, be it Berchtesgaden, or the Chancellery, or the bunker. After an hour he saw houses ahead, a residential district, mostly untouched by shellfire. He was in the suburbs that led out of the city, and hopefully clean away from the Red Army. He stopped by the side of a stone house, opposite a tree and slouched down for another rest. He was truly lucky, so far. Leaning his head back, he licked his lips. He was thirsty and tired.
He closed his eyes for a moment and drifted off...
Then he was nudged awake by a young, dirty Russian soldier. Bormann stood to his feet. The Russian grinned at him. What was he doing alone? Were there other soldiers in the vicinity? Bormann didn’t wish to wait around to find out. He quickly kicked the legs out from the soldier, and fired his Luger into the man’s chest.
Twice.