By the second week, the radio reports were less effusive; it seemed the offensive was running out of steam. In the days that followed, the German advances dwindled. Even given the limited information available on the radio, the truth of what was happening was obvious. Anton, who prided himself on his understanding of matters military, had to admit that the offensive was heading toward a spectacular failure.
If only the army had the good sense to recruit him, he told his troop, he might still be able to turn the battle in favor of the Reich; the battle could still be won, and with it the war. None but the youngest members of his troop believed him.
Christmas 1944 was looking grim for Frau Tannhäuser and her family. They had no goose to grace their table, and the Christkind would have no gift for young Anton. On Christmas Eve, a letter was hand-delivered to the Tannhäuser household, addressed to the boy. He tore it open and read the contents.
“This is the best Christmas present, ever,” he said, handing the letter to his mother.
She shook her head in disbelief as she read the letter. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, Mutter.” He pointed to the top of the letter. “It’s addressed to me by name. I am to be conscripted into the Volkssturm.”
“But you’re too young,” she wailed.
Anton grabbed the letter. He straightened his back. “Listen to what our leader, Artur Axmann, says: ‘This is your clarion call, your call to action! The opportunity you have yearned for has arrived. Soon, you will join your fellow troop members in defense of the Fatherland. The time has come to take up arms and face the enemies of our beloved Führer. I know you will fight bravely, to the last bullet, to the last man, to your last breath, if that’s what it takes for glorious victory. Heil Hitler!’” Anton’s face was aglow with happiness. “At last, I will join Ludwig and Father at the battlefront. It will be an honor to take up arms for the Führer!”
Frau Tannhäuser was distracted with anxiety. Was she to lose both her husband and her only son to this awful war?
On Christmas day, Dora made her way through a frosty city to Gretchen’s apartment. Gretchen had no bread to give her, but she knew someone who had some vegetables to trade.
“He can help. He’s a friend. He has no love for the Nazis. He lost a leg at the Eastern Front.”
The two women went down to the ground floor where Gretchen introduced Dora to Hans. He invited them inside and offered them tea. Dora bought a couple of potatoes and an onion from Hans at black market prices. Then they sat around Hans’s table making small talk for a while, before Gretchen edged the conversation around to the Nazis.
“Hans has no love for the Führer. He lost a leg fighting a hopeless war in the East.”
“Hopeless and senseless,” said Hans. “I hate the Nazis and everything they’ve done to our country.”
Dora nodded her agreement.
“When the Allies get here, they will all be destroyed,” Gretchen said, with feeling.
“The sooner the better,” said Hans.
“You don’t think the Führer has done some good things for the country?”
Hans snorted. “Like what?”
“He lifted us out of the depression, stabilized the currency, created employment for millions…”
“By putting them in the army?”
“And he rid the country of our worst enemies, the communists…”
“How are the communists our enemies, or the homosexuals, the Roma, the Sinti, the disabled, and all those political opponents?”
“I agree,” said Dora.
“And what terrible sin did the Jews commit against us?”
“Go ahead, tell him your story,” said Gretchen.
Dora hesitated.
Gretchen put a hand on her shoulder. “Go on, tell him.”
“I have a guest living with me…” said Dora, quietly.
“A U-boat?”
She nodded.
Gretchen hadn’t heard the term before. She threw a questioning look at Dora.
“That’s the way we refer to people in hiding from the SS,” said Hans. To Dora, he said, “How many?”
“Just one. She’s fourteen.”
“Her parents are gone?”
“Both parents and two sisters. It’s a miracle that she’s still free.”
“How long have you been hiding her?”
“About nine months. She was with some friends of mine for over two years before that. They were betrayed by a neighbor, and I took her in. It was another minor miracle that she wasn’t taken then.”
“You need extra provisions for her?”
Dora nodded again, and Hans offered her three more onions.
“She doesn’t like onions,” said Dora. “I’m sorry.”
“What does she like?”
“Anything but onions. She likes books. She reads a lot.”
“I don’t have any books,” said Hans. He pulled three carrots from a sack and handed them to Dora. “No charge.”
Waving Dora’s thanks away, he gave her back the money she’d paid earlier. “Anything I can do to help, you let me know.”
“You don’t need to give me back the money,” said Dora. “I have friends who give me money. They have nothing else to give.”
“Keep it,” he said, pushing her hand away.
24
January 2, 1945
Anton presented himself at the Olympic complex for training and received his armband. He put it on with pride.
Of his fellow trainees – a ragtag mixture of the old and very young, some even younger than him – Anton shone as the best pupil, loading the Panzerfaust 30 faster than anyone, and scoring more direct hits on the target than anyone else.
By January 9, he had been posted to the defenses east of the city and found himself in a trench overlooking a wheat field on the Seelow Heights, dressed in a Wehrmacht uniform intended for a man with a much larger frame. He was armed with a rifle with not a Panzerfaust anywhere to be seen, and no sign of his father, Ludwig, or the enemy.
Nothing very much happened for several days. Seelow Heights was the second line of defense. The first line was twelve miles away on the banks of the
