The baker left the trench to search for more warheads. He came back with three.
“That’s not enough,” said Ludwig.
Herr Korn placed the warheads with the others. “There aren’t any more.”
47
At midday on Tuesday April 17, a flying squad of SS-Feldjägerkorps swept into the district in search of new Volkssturm volunteers. They seized three boys, all under the age of 12 – one only eight years old – and an old soldier with an iron leg foraging for food in the Ruhwald allotments.
Hans objected strenuously, but the SS-men insisted that as long as he was able to fire a weapon he could help to defend the city.
“I’ll need a uniform,” said Hans. “I’m a soldier. If I am to fight for my country again, you must let me wear a uniform.”
The head-hunters laughed at him. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of spare uniforms. What we don’t have is men to fill them.”
They manhandled him into their Kübelwagen and drove him and the boys straight to the eastern battle front at Seelow Heights.
Once again, Hans insisted on a uniform, and he was given one. The boys were kitted out as well, in uniforms far too big for them and helmets that fell down over their eyes. They were issued with VG1-5 rifles that they could barely lift.
“Do any of them even know how to fire a rifle?” said Hans.
“They’ll learn quick enough,” was the reply.
Martha and Gretchen searched the allotments for stray vegetables, anything they could find to feed Oskar and Inge. Gretchen was desolate. Hans was their only hope for escaping the city. He had been hatching some plan that he never shared with her. Without him and his plan, there would be no escape. She didn’t care what happened to herself, but she dreaded what would become of Inge and Martha. They would have to face the full fury of a vengeful Red Army. She despaired for them. There would be no last-minute miraculous escape for either of them.
She thought about finding a hiding place for the two young women. Maybe Dora could suggest somewhere. But where was Dora? Gretchen hadn’t seen her for a month. No, their situation was entirely hopeless, their prospects grim.
When they returned to the cabin, they found Inge in an agitated state. Oskar was missing.
“Where’s Oskar?” said Gretchen.
“He wandered off,” said Inge. “I tried to stop him.”
“Which way did he go?”
Inge pointed.
Gretchen nodded. “He’s trying to go home. I’ll find him and bring him back.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Martha.
“No, Martha, stay here with Inge. I won’t be long.”
Gretchen hurried back toward the ruins of the Kaiser Wilhelm blocks.
At Seelow Heights, the battle was in recess, the soldiers and Volkssturm ‘volunteers’ taking on food and water and removing the dead bodies from the trenches.
Because he’d shown an interest in the boys, a sergeant placed them in Hans’s care. He took them to a stand of trees behind a line of trucks, where the latrines were located, and began to teach them how to aim and fire their weapons. After 30 minutes of training without ammunition, he gave each boy a single bullet and showed them how to load their guns. The final lesson was how to fire a live round, to hold the gun steady and anticipate the recoil. He used his bayonet to cut an X in the bark of a tree and told them to see if they could hit it from a distance of 20 meters. The three boys fired a single round each, not one bullet hit the tree.
The sound of the shots brought the sergeant running from the trenches with a stern face. He shouted, “Who gave you orders to fire?”
“I was training these recruits,” said Hans.
“Who gave you that order?”
Hans couldn’t think of a reply.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Klein, Hans Klein.”
“Well, Gefreiter Klein, if you’ve shown them how to aim and load their rifles, that’s enough.” He waved a finger in Hans’s face. “They will have to find out how to shoot by aiming at the enemy in the trenches. We need every bullet.”
Hans had seen the Russian army in the distance. Now he looked at them more carefully, and what he saw turned his stomach. They were facing a vast army and attempting to hold them back with a handful of trained soldiers and the remnants of the Volkssturm. Old men and boys were no match for the Russians. They wouldn’t last a day. The city would fall soon after that. His thoughts turned to Inge and Martha – and to Gretchen – and a desperate plan began to form in his mind.
The sergeant gathered the boys together. “Time to take your stations.”
“You too,” he said to Hans.
They made their way toward the trenches. The sergeant found places for each of the boys. Finally, he stopped and pointed down into a trench. “This is yours, Klein,” he said.
The trench was deep, with no ladder for access. He would have to jump into it, and he would never be able to climb out. “Latrine,” he said.
“All right, be quick. I’ll expect to see you on station in five minutes,” said the sergeant, and he hurried away.
Swinging his leg as fast as he could, Hans hurried back behind the line of trucks. He made a beeline for a Kübelwagen.
A lone soldier stood guard over the vehicles. He unslung his carbine from his shoulder. “Where are you going, soldier? This area is off-limits.”
Hans stood his ground, and the guard came up to face him.
“This area is off-limits. The battle is that way.” He pointed with his gun.
“Latrine, urgent,” said Hans, providing a facial expression to match.
The soldier laughed. “The latrines are over there.” He lowered his weapon. Hans swung his leg with all his strength, taking the legs from under the guard, poleaxing him. He followed up with a roundhouse punch that knocked the guard senseless.
Climbing on board the Kübelwagen, he stripped the wires and fired up the engine. Within seconds he had swung it
