There was an essential irony to their situation. Alan Winfield, or rather Gunther Schnaubel, was the director of motor vehicle operations in the Bendlerstrasse garage of the war department. He had dozens of automobiles at his disposal. So why not just drive out of Berlin and head toward the Elbe River, at most a two-and-a-half-hour drive from where they were?
There was a petrol shortage, for one thing. And secondly, these automobiles were all designated for the highest-ranking members of the Nazi party. With Alice’s father as chauffeur, were Posie and Alice supposed to be Magda Goebbels and one of her daughters? Or maybe Frau Bormann and one of her ten children? Could they pretend to be staff for one of those men? Alice was too young to pass for a secretary.
They went through every possibility and permutation, including one where her father wore a chauffeur’s uniform. They had even toyed with the idea of Alice and Posie hiding in the trunk, but there were simply too many checkpoints where they could be discovered.
“I could possibly find an old wreck of an automobile. Fix it up with no insignias and we could . . .” Alan Winfield’s voice began to dwindle.
“Could what, dear? Pretend we’re going on a picnic?” Posie said, getting up and turning the music louder. This was how their conversations went, in fits and starts, then quick whispered exchanges in an indecipherable Rasa code that was often composed of poems. Alan slowly began to recite one of the poems now.
“All quiet, said the star rising in the east . . . until the dawn break sea when the waves do curl and hurl their force upon this gaunt and hollow land.”
Both Alice’s and Posie’s eyes opened wide. Posie tipped her head and indicated that Alice should fetch a piece of paper and pen to write with. She came back.
“Oh, Papa, what a lovely poem. Can you say it again?”
“There’s probably more. That’s just one short verse . . . but I can’t remember it all, dear child.” This too was code. Which meant, invert the third and sixth words of each sentence and apply the grid. The Morfitt grid was a basic decoding grid that could be applied to encrypted messages.
Within ten minutes Alice and her mother knew what their father was suggesting. They must be patient until the roads were clear of snow, then get bicycles. With any luck they could get to the Elbe in two and a half days.
“Two and a half days! I’m not that old, dear,” Posie exclaimed. “Two days, tops.”
“Weather permitting.” Alan grinned at his wife. “We can take the underground from Alexanderplatz, if it hasn’t been bombed by then.”
“But where do we get the bikes?” They had turned the music even louder.
“I have some ideas. But keep your eyes open for wrecked ones. I can fix them up in no time. That I can assure you.”
There was a knock on the door. The three Winfields exchanged glances.
“Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Posie asked as she got up. “Coming!” she cried out.
Alice had a fleeting thought. She caught her breath. Could it be Louise? A kind of Christmas miracle? Their family made whole again! Of course she had never mentioned to her parents that she had spotted Louise three times. She wasn’t sure if they would believe her. And then there was the lingering doubt that Louise could be a spy for the Nazis. The dreadful words they had exchanged in the alley came back to her.
What are you? You can’t be a spy for them!
And if I am?
You’ll have to kill me, won’t you?
Or you me?
But how could she bear to be snuggling up and kissing that horrid Werewolf Fritz? Louise had not really had that many boyfriends. Just a few in Rasa camp when she was younger, and the fellow in Norway, but he couldn’t ever remember her. But Fritz was unimaginable, with those cruel sky-blue Nazi eyes. No, it was absolutely inconceivable to Alice that her sister had kissed that man. She couldn’t bear to think of it.
“Walter!” Alice’s mother exclaimed. “What brings you out on Christmas Eve?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have interrupted, but a message came through.” He took a deep breath that seemed almost painful for him.
“Please come in and sit down. I’ll get you some schnapps.”
“Not necessary.”
“The Red Army has almost surrounded Budapest. I am to inform the director that both Goebbels’s auto and Himmler’s need to be made ready.”
Alice’s father was standing up now. “Yes, of course.”
“I shall be happy to stay on and help you. I believe there were some fuel injector issues with one and then some idling problems with the other.”
“The fuel injector issues were with the late Colonel Stauffenberg’s auto. Both Himmler’s and Goebbels’s have problems with idling when letting up on the throttle. You need not stay. I can take care of this.”
“If you need me, sir, I can stay.”
“No, you need to go home to that young wife of yours.”
Walter turned gray. “I am afraid, sir, that my wife died last night.”
“What?” Alan said in dismay, and Posie emitted a little shriek.
“We were caught out during that raid. We went to the nearest shelter over on Potsdamer Platz. Bad air, you know. So we moved up to the next level. But my wife had been sitting on the floor. She got too much of it and fainted and . . . and then I carried her up to a higher level in the shelter, but she was dead by the time I got her there.”
“Oh . . . oh my goodness, Walter!” Posie gasped.
“Would you like to stay here? We can fix something up for you.”
“No, Frau Schnaubel. I really must go and look after my mother and grandmother.”
“Yes, of course,” Posie said. Alan Winfield came over and gave the young man a pat on the shoulder.
Just before he walked out the door, Walter turned. “What does it all mean, Herr Schnaubel? What does it all mean?”
“It means, for one thing, that we are losing this war, and that the Führer is deluding himself.”
“Herr Director Schnaubel,” Walter said in a tremulous voice. “That is a dangerous thing to say, is it not?”
“It’s the truth. But lies are even more dangerous. There are eight thousand Russian airplanes concentrated on the Vistula River and the East Prussian front. Göring has convinced the Führer that they are decoy airplanes, dummy ones, just to frighten the Germans. And the Führer believes him. That, son, is dangerous.”
“Ja, Herr Schnaubel, I heard the same. The planes aren’t dummies. But now I have nothing to lose.” He walked out and shut the door behind him.
When Alice went to bed that night, she thought about Walter. Walter and his dead wife. And then she thought of Louise. Louise and Fritz. She couldn’t bear it.
1945,
Berlin, Germany
Thirty-Two
More Fiddling
Things began to move very quickly. On January 12, 1945, the offensive began. It began at five in the morning, but word did not come through to Berlin until later that day. Less than twenty-four hours later, on the morning of January 13, the attack on East Prussia began, scant miles from the Wolf’s Lair. On January 16, Hitler moved into the Berlin Führerbunker permanently.