In the evening, the following information in invisible ink ended up on the serviette: A panzer division. A mountain division. Infantry divisions 22, 246, 206, with 2nd and 7th Jaeger battalions. That much she had obtained from the carbon paper Udolph recklessly left on the table after he finished typing a document and went to hand it to Hammerer.
The next day in the canteen after having her coffee and mopping her mouth with the serviette spared from the previous day, she waited for Agnesya to pick it up together with the empty cup.
52
Winter 1944
Ewald was often on the move, inspecting, as he always told her in a whisper, the supply dumps, the names of the places slipping from his tongue now and then.
With Agnesya as her new contact, she had no difficulty informing the Underground of the locations of the German Army supply storages. “Coffee,” and the name of the settlement was all she had to utter as she placed her order.
It was not long till Soviet air attacks destroyed the dumps. Or partisans had a hand in all of this.
Ewald cursed. “Verdammt!—Damned! The Russians destroyed our dump in Vorony. How did they find out about it? I think we have a “mole” in the Commandantur. Or maybe those were locals we hired,” he complained to Ulya.
One day, after a successful operation on one of the supply dumps, Hammerer called Ulya to his room. “Fräulein Kriegshammer, you go with Major Demel and one of our people to a place where he’ll be questioning some local personnel. Please do your usual work. Translate questions and answers.”
“Jawohl, Herr Hammerer.” She couldn’t believe her luck.
As she stepped out of her superior’s room, a young man in civilian clothing, which didn’t hide his military bearing, got up from the chair at her desk and introduced himself as Herr Adamkus. Most likely a Lithuanian, Ulya made a mental note. Might understand Russian. So, she had to be on alert.
“Let us please go outside. A car is waiting,” he said in passable German. He took the front passenger seat in the Horch, leaving the back seat for her and Ewald who was already in the car.
Two motorcycle patrols with mounted guns in the sidecars provided escort in front and bringing up the rear.
For most of the drive, they sat in silence. The bumpy road tossed Ulya to Ewald time and again. To her dismay, she caught herself feeling she wanted these unintentional contacts and almost choked when he pressed her hand with his to the seat. She didn’t pull it away till the car stopped at the next checkpoint for documents inspection after already passing several cordoned off zones. In about two hours, they reached a guarded wooden area encircled with two rows of high wire fences.
“First, we’ll do a bit of sightseeing.” Ewald invited Ulya and Herr Adamkus inside a structure that looked like a bunker. A uniformed sentry unlocked the door and pushed it open for them.
With sure movements, Ewald guided them past the stainless-steel shelves upon which canned foods and bins of carrots, cabbage, and onions rested in order. Ewald took his visitors farther to the back, to the meat and dairy locker. In another room, bottles of alcohol and tins of beer and cases stamped “vodka” filled the metal shelves. Inwardly, Ulya grinned at the thought she’d do her best to deprive Germans of consuming all these goodies.
In a little room, bare except for a small table and backless chairs, a soldier lay a cloth and the three of them had a lovely snack, even Herr Adamkus’ pale cheeks gained some rosiness after the second shot of L’Essence de Courvoisier.
Over Ewald’s head—a sure sign of higher rank—Adamkus announced in a commanding voice, “To business now.” Pulling from his briefcase some files and a pad, he ordered the accompanying soldier, “Bring them.”
“Kozlov! Baranay! Ivashkin!” the soldier called, distorting the sound of the names.
Three men entered. They confirmed they were local people who volunteered to work for the Germans. Oh, how scared they looked! Their bodies shaking, they breathed in shallow quick gasps, kneading the hats in their nervous hands. For a second, Ulya felt a deep sense of pity for them, but it passed—their names belonged in her next dispatch. She’d be the one to send them to death by the hands of partisans. Or would it be Germans who’d execute them?
“The storage you worked in two weeks ago was destroyed by forest bandits. Did you point at the location?” At Adamkus’ raised voice, the two went into hysterics, swearing their allegiance to the German liberators and cursing partisans with all the vilest words Ulya had ever heard.
Adamkus winced at every outburst without waiting for Ulya’s translation. A sure sign he understood Russian, or at least its foul language.
Only Ivashkin reasoned, fixing the interrogator with an unwavering stare, “They know all your locations without our help.”
At the end of the futile questioning, the files and his notes disappeared into Adamkus’ briefcase. “I’ll present my conclusions to Hauptsturmführer Hammerer, Herr Demel,” he said, not granting Ulya a glance.
Even before they climbed into the car, the men had two more shots of schnapps and, on the way back to Vitebsk, Herr Adamkus seemed to be napping. Ewald and Ulya clung to each other in the back seat. He laced his fingers between hers then brought them to his mouth and kissed them. There was a gentleness in him that touched her and scared her at the same time. Not his gentleness but how she reacted to it. She stared at her hand in his. The oddest of sensations rippled through her, a yearning, as though being so close to him linked her to something precious. A connection like she had never felt before. There was a strange feeling of vibrancy in her veins—excitement, anticipation, or perhaps fear? He was from the
