While the NKVD insignia gave them priority, it was often an empty honor. Nothing could solve the problem of a downed bridge or a blasted road except patience. Still, slowly and gradually, they made their way across Poland and to the Russian border, where they found things only marginally different. At least there were people, even though they were gaunt and in filthy rags, and there were few children or old ones. When they noticed the hated and feared NKVD symbol they scurried away and hid as quickly as they could.
Nor did they push their luck when it came to taking priority against westward traveling columns of trucks and tanks. It was not lost on Skorzeny that the Soviet Army was again building up against the Reich. Himmler had told them that the Americans would attack as soon as the Rhine was clear and that the Reds were rebuilding. Therefore, the bomb had to be detonated as soon as possible.
All of this forced Skorzeny’s group to have more contact with local military and police units than he wished and to either buy or confiscate food for his people. This was Davidov’s job. He relished taking food and supplies from hungry Russians in the name of Beria’s dreaded secret police.
“We did this, didn’t we?” asked Heisenberg. “I once read something about making a wasteland and calling it peace.”
Skorzeny laughed harshly. Heisenberg had never seen the realities of the world outside his laboratory. “Of course we did this. It’s called war and as some American once said, war is hell. Don’t fret, there are many more parts of Europe that are just as bad, if not worse. Germany will look like Poland unless we stop the Russians.”
“This is terrible. Something must be done.”
“Then think about this, Doctor! If your bomb does what we wish, Russia will be eliminated as an enemy for the foreseeable future. This means we can concentrate on the Americans and possibly drive them to discussing an armistice that will actually result in a long-lasting peace.”
“I will pray for that,” Heisenberg said.
Fool, Skorzeny thought. If the bomb works, Himmler will want more and more of them and will unleash them against the United States and England, creating additional peaceful wastelands. Heisenberg was a genial little simpleton, just like so many of his scientific brethren, with not a rational cell in their brains.
Skorzeny slowed the car. “What?” asked Heisenberg.
“Take a look,” Skorzeny said.
“I don’t see a thing except dirty Russian buildings. We’ve been driving so long I’m not certain where we are.”
“See those spires in the distance?”
“Yes.” A sense of awe entered Heisenberg’s voice.
“That’s the Kremlin, you ass. We’ve done it.”
CHAPTER 22
The refugee camp outside Rheinbach wasn’t that big but it made up for its small footprint by being stuffed with large numbers of wretched humanity.
The camp commander, an American army major named Diggs, greeted them at the main gate of the barb wire enclosed facility. In addition to Jessica and Florence Turnbull, Jessica’s Uncle Tom Granville was representing SHAEF.
“Please tell me you’re here to relieve me,” Diggs said with a wan smile as they took seats in his office by the heavily guarded main gate of the camp.
Florence Turnbull took the lead. “Is it that bad?”
“Worse. And with all respects to you and the others in the Red Cross, the United Nations, and SHAEF, I’m getting next to nothing in the way of help or supplies.”
“Are people actually starving?” Jessica asked. She’d seen the camp’s wasted inhabitants through the barb wire that kept them in. It angered her. Refugees from Nazi Germany should not be prisoners.
“Close enough,” Diggs said with a sigh. “Not only am I not getting enough food, but there aren’t enough tents or blankets, and there’s damn little in the way of medicine. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the refugees are in rags and it’s still cold, so, to answer your next question, yeah, a lot of people are still dying. Oh yes, I don’t have enough men to administer this place. I’ve got two hundred American soldiers and most of them are castoffs, the petty criminals, dregs and dunces nobody else wants.”
“So you’re using Germans to help out? Nazis?” Turnbull snapped.
“Yes, another hundred or so, but only former local cops and no SS or Gestapo.”
“Are you sure?” asked Tom.
Diggs shrugged. “Not really, Colonel, but they are all I have. We checked them all out and nobody’s got an SS tattoo. Get me some more people and I’ll get rid of them. Otherwise, I’m not ashamed to use them and I feel they are necessary to maintain order.”
“I’m confused,” said Jessica. “If these people are refugees why are you treating them like prisoners?”
Diggs laughed mirthlessly. “Because, if I let them loose, they and the local Germans would be at each other’s throats in a heartbeat. All the German refugees have been moved to local households and the French ones have been shipped back to France. The ones in this camp are the Czechs, the Poles, and God knows what else. They hate the Germans because they were kept as slaves and now a lot of them want revenge. A number of Germans have been murdered and the women raped by rampaging gangs of refugees and I can’t let that happen.”
“And you can’t send them home until their homelands have been liberated,” Jessica said, understanding. “How many are Jews?”
“Out of the twenty-five thousand in this camp, maybe three thousand, and most of them want to go to Palestine. Of course, the Brits don’t want them going there and upsetting things in that mess of a country, so we can’t move them anywhere for the time being. I understand this new United Nations is trying to set up better camps in France, but I haven’t gotten any direction regarding sending anybody anywhere.”
“Nor will you anytime soon,” said Tom. “The French are overwhelmed with problems themselves.”
Tell me about it, Jessica thought, thinking of the chaos and fighting she’d seen. “In the meantime, can we get them more food and other supplies?” she asked of her uncle.
“Jessica, I will try, but you have to understand that our fighting men have absolute priority, and that includes those men in hospitals and the thousands of American prisoners who are being liberated as we advance. Like it or not, the refugees come last.”
“It’s my understanding, Colonel, that supplies for civilians and refugees are coming into Europe,” said Turnbull.
“They are,” answered Jessica’s uncle. “However, much of it is being diverted by the French, Dutch, and Belgian governments to feed their own people who are starving as well. And that doesn’t take into account what is being stolen by criminals and making its way into the black market.”
Jessica winced at that comment. It reminded her too much of Monique and her sergeant. Monique was recovering from her wounds and would be tried in a French court. If found guilty, which was extremely likely, she would be lucky if she wasn’t hanged.
Jessica shook her head. “The American public won’t like it when they find out that refugees are starving.”
Tom glared her down. “They’d like it less if they knew our boys lacked food and ammunition for the coming battle.”
“You’re right, of course,” Jessica admitted. “But can we buy food and other supplies from the locals now that the rules have been eased?”
Major Diggs shook his head. “We could, but the local Germans don’t have much food or supplies to share, and, assuming we could buy supplies, how would we pay for them? The Nazi Deutschmark is can’t be used, and Germans aren’t allowed to have American money.”
“Then how is any commerce being done?” Jessica asked.
“With illegal money exchanges or, at the very local level, with cigarettes,” her uncle explained.
“And women are selling their bodies for food, aren’t they Major Diggs?” Jessica asked, wondering if the
