Ulya caught up with him just in time behind the half-demolished wall of a house. She reached into her pocket to withdraw her lock knife and flicked it open. “Stop!” she whisper-shouted.
He swiveled and smirked, stuffing bread into his mouth with both hands. “What?” From parted lips, a piece dropped. He was about to pick it up when from behind, Ulya pressed her left hand tight over his mouth and with one swift movement, the blade slid between his ribs. His body stiffened then sank into the muddy ground.
Scum. She wiped the knife on his shoulder, then headed to the street, turned the corner, and continued walking.
Despite the wind blasts, the adrenaline kept her warm. She took a shortcut down a side alley, navigating around some rubble, and stopped at a water pump to wash her hands—blood on them turned rusty—and only now noticed how violently they shook. It was perhaps a couple of heartbeats till she understood the full extent of what just happened. She’d killed a human being. Again. Was she better than—?
Skunk, she repeated to herself as if to stop herself from the tidal wave of condemnation and, with inner trembling, caught herself on the understanding that for the first time in her life she couldn’t control her rage. But why? Her mind instantly prompted the explanation: leading a double life, balancing on a knife edge was taking its toll on her.
49
End of October-November 1943
“What does it mean?” Ulya looked at a plate covered with an embroidered napkin then met Wulff’s gaze for only an instant.
His usually flat, unspeaking eyes—a typical soldier—suddenly glinted with humor. “It looks like you have an admirer, Fräulein Kriegshammer.”
Only Hammerer’s adjutant meters away saved her from a cry of joy as she lifted the napkin. Apfelstrudel!—apple strudel! Grated and sugar sweetened apples and cinnamon! A perfectly light brown crust thinly sprinkled with powdered sugar. The delicious smell tickled her nostrils. Who could the mysterious well-wisher be?
Nine hours later, as she left the building, a male voice stopped her in her tracks. “Did you like it?” She had heard this voice before.
“Good evening.”
“Did you like my apple strudel?”
“That was from you? Oh, no, I didn’t try it. I feared somebody decided to poison me.”
He stared at her as if in disbelief. “Who could it be?”
“Partisans, for instance.”
Again, he made big eyes. “Do they have access to our quarters? You make me fear for my life.”
Now it was her turn to smile. “A joke. I wanted to taste it at home.” In truth, she’d decided to spare it for Nathan’s daughter.
A soldier approached in a running step. “Herr Major. You are ordered to Oberst Sauer.”
Herr Demel—she hadn’t forgotten his name—apologized and followed the messenger, casting glances at her over his shoulder as he went.
In the first week of November, the Red Army launched offensive after offensive and it looked like despite the varying degrees of success, her people were not about to give up on re-taking Vitebsk. Panic-stricken rumors circulated through the city: using the labor of prisoners of war and the civilian population, the Germans unearthed the mass graves and, after the work was done, eliminated the very people who dug the grave sites.
Despite Hammerer’s secrecy, Ulya managed to gather some information about the military divisions of the Armee Gruppe Center, which covered Vitebsk and the region.
It was disheartening to possess information and not be able to pass it to her people, especially this one: all signs pointed at some high-ranking person about to visit Vitebsk. She had no doubt the Soviet Intelligence must have been informed, but she also knew that any intelligence had to be proved by additional sources. The lack of contact with the Underground disabled her mission.
On November 6, Hitler came to Vitebsk. The purpose of his visit was cloaked in secrecy but on the outside, festivities accompanied his visit. Special packages and awards were distributed. To spoil his visit, the next day, the Red Army started an offensive but could take only the first line of the German defense, the heavily fortified trenches. Most likely, the German agents in the Soviet Operation Command alerted their Intelligence about the Red Army’s plans.
The Soviet troops continued their attempts. The front was not far away.
50
End of November 1943
At a gentle tapping, Wulff jerked to his feet to open the door. A young girl in a dazzling white apron, her two braids under a white waitress headband, stepped in, a tray with a steaming coffee cup and a milk jug in her hands. “For Hauptsturmführer,” she said in a low voice, almost choking on “Hauptsturmführer.” The same moment, Hammerer stepped out and, while locking his door, threw to the girl over his shoulder, “Leave the tray with Fräulein Kriegshammer.” He motioned his adjutant to follow him.
“You can put it here.” Ulya pushed a file from her end table, recognizing shyness in the girl. “What is your name?”
“Agnesya.” Her whole face flushed, the girl lowered the tray with much care where Ulya motioned her and slipped out of the room.
At his return, Hammerer picked up the cup from the tray and sipped. His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “I like coffee hot.” He returned the cup to the tray. On the threshold of his room, he turned around as though an unexpected thought struck him. “Fräulein Kriegshammer, for your day meal, you can use the officers’ canteen. Herr Schmiedecker did. There is a special table for the Russian employees. I’ll arrange a pass for you.”
“I’ll be greatly thankful.” Ulya hoped her appreciation reflected in her face. The canteen where the German officers gathered could provide her with a new source of information. But what for? With Nathan gone her liaison with the Underground was irrevocably lost. Should she try to seek a contact herself? But her order was to avoid any risk, and
