Opposite Sides (53 page)

Jan was stunned. He must
have written that letter shortly after their first meeting, even
before she had time to make any amends for her own
outburst.

“
But why?
How?”

“
You need not
know why. How is of no consequence. It is important only that it
has been done. I wish you well, Jan and hope one day you will
return so England. Let’s both hope things will be better next time
we meet. In England again. I may even see you in London sooner than
you think.”

“
After the
war. But that may take years.”

“
England
still may decide to join the Reich: the greatest army in the world
together with the greatest navy. One never quite knows!”

Jan held out her hand,
the flat of her palm towards him as if she were touching some
invisible wall.

“
I don’t
think so, Hans. That . . . will never happen. Mr Churchill would
never join forces with your present leader.”

“
Maybe not.”
He gave a small laugh. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
There was an air of slight amusement in his tone so that she could
not fathom if he were not being entirely serious.

“
Not in
London.”

“
Then it will
have to be in Berlin.”

“
I don’t
think I could take kindly to Berlin. How about Salzburg?” She
attempted a little laugh. “Isn’t that where you’d really like us to
meet?”

“
Yes, much
better.” His face lit up into a wide smile as he savoured the
image. “In Salzburg, then.”

She turned the envelope
over several times in her hand.

“
Thank you
for this, Hans. I’m most grateful. I hope you haven’t taken too
much of a risk.” She took the envelope, adorned with the Reich’s
black swastika of officialdom, and folding it in two, pushed it
deep into her skirt pocket. “Thank you.”

“
Don’t
mention it. I hope it will be of use.”

He put on his hat, ready
to escort her to the outside just at the same moment when she
turned around and made a hasty move towards him. Before he could
react, she placed a brief kiss on the very cheek she had so cruelly
slapped only a few days before.

“
Please
forgive me, Hans. I want us to leave with good memories. Keep
yourself safe. Some day, all this will end.”

He escorted her out of
the office and down the steps and as he watched her move away and
merge into the background, he wondered what fate had brought them
together again. He reflected on the unusual coincidence of their
meeting and wondered whether their paths would ever cross
again.

On October 3rd, 1941,
Hitler addressed the German people:

I declare
without any reservation that the enemy in the East has been struck
down and will never rise again
.

By October 20th, the Nazi
armoured divisions spearheaded their attacks and were poised ready
to take Moscow. Everything in this war was moving along splendidly,
just as the Führer had foretold. Very soon, the propaganda minister
told them in his broadcast to the forces, the Russian Bear would be
shackled and would only be capable of dancing at the whim of the
invincible Nazi leader.

For several weeks, the
land link with the occupying forces failed as tanks and trucks
ground to a halt. The late autumn rains had set in; the Rasputiza
or mud period had arrived early. The lines of communication needed
to be re-connected if the campaign were to be
successful.

Hauptmann Resmel opened
the folder containing his new orders. He wondered whether
Sturmbannführer Ott had had something to do with it. It was
frightening the way those in the SS were able to have an influence
over other military departments. It was not usual policy to move a
man away from his assigned unit but Hans had been told that this
was only a temporary position and that he would rejoin his unit as
soon as the assignment was completed.

In the meantime, the few
weeks leave he was due would give him time to enjoy the comforts of
home again and become more acquainted with Fräulein Kohler. He had
welcomed her letters when they arrived even though three or four
would arrive at the same time.

His staff car pulled in
to the curb just infront of the exclusive restaurant which
overlooked the Spree boats sliding up and down that part of the
river which flowed through the picturesque part of Berlin’s Mitte.
There was Elisabeth in a smart, tailored skirt and jacket complete
with narrow-brimmed hat, gloves and handbag. She waved, then walked
quickly towards him, grabbing him first by the arm and then running
her gloved hand up until she touched his shoulder.

“
Father
booked a table for us, Erwin” she said smiling. “It’s been paid for
and everything so all we have to do is enjoy ourselves.”

“
I did not
expect this.” Hans had been taken by surprise and was at a loss as
to what he should say next. He was finding things difficult being
first torn away from a regimented army life and now being thrown
back into a bustling, vibrant city in which anything to remind him
of the war seemed out of place. It was an adjustment all servicemen
had to make every time they were given leave.

“
We do not
have to get the train, either,” Elisabeth carried on as they walked
arm in arm through the front glass doors and into the large hall of
well-presented white draped tables set for fine dining and
companion conversation. “Father has arranged for his chauffeur to
collect us at two but as he is new and not as familiar with the
city as Horst was, it may be some time after two when he arrives.”
She laughed and fluffed up the back of her hair as one of the
waiters approached them.

“
Major. Can I
be of assistance?” The man was stiff but most polite.

“
I believe
you have a table for
Herr
Resmel and
Fräulein
Kohler.”

“
Certainly,
Major. Will you come this way?”

“
After we can
sit and watch the river ferries and I can tell you everything that
has happened since I saw you last.” Hans let Elisabeth go ahead.
When they reached their table, the waiter pulled out a chair and
indicated that the young lady sit.

A few well-spent days
with Elisabeth and a far gentler life consisting of dinners,
concerts and conversation was exactly what he needed to remind him
how good life could be and for the things he was fighting for. But
when he really thought about it, it made little sense. He had
noticed this time that food was not as plentiful as before the war
and that the expressions on people’s faces were more weary and
drawn. Were these the people he was fighting to protect? He guessed
that his English friends would be thinking that they were doing
exactly the same thing: protecting the homeland, the families and
their way of life. He looked at Elisabeth, hanging on his arm,
content to be with her hero, living for the moment because what was
to follow would sadden her again.

It was always an
upsetting time when one had to part. Hans never knew whether he
would return to savour the comforts, however slight, of normal
domestic life. But Elisabeth did her best. She was his perfect
hostess and never complained when he fell asleep in any one of the
plush Kohler armchairs which he did frequently during the first
week of leave but Elisabeth was always there, watching over him
whenever he awoke.

Outside, the air was cool
and the clouds hung low. After the desert heat and the hot, glaring
sun, the misty mornings in Neubrandenburg seeped like freezing
riverlets between the layers of his clothes and his skin shivered
somewhat. Only two weeks; not enough to allow his body to
acclimatise before his new orders were to catapult him into far
colder regions. He told Herr Kohler that it would not be a long
campaign and he hoped to be back within a month and a half. He had
only been assigned to the job to make sure reinforcements and
provisions got safely through to the divisions in the
east.

The last reports sent
back to those in charge of the front, was of the army convoy trying
to push forward across the flat northern plains. The armies needed
more tanks, more men and more food and with this delivery, a new
thrust could be organised. In reality, their vehicles had become
bogged down in sticky, squelching mud. The convoys tried pushing
forward, men digging out tyres and straining their shoulders like
draught animals to keep the vehicles moving forward. It was
imperative that supplies get through to the front lines but
progress was painfully slow.

Temperatures had begun to
drop rapidly. The first sleet showers tore into the men like
knives, wild winds tugged at their army coats, trying to pull them
up into the billowing black clouds. Without thick gloves, their
fingers began to freeze so that the foot soldiers could no longer
hold on to their rifles. Men cried out in pain as the toes of their
sodden feet began to turn purple. These men had not been equipped
for such rough conditions. They had been told they would be home
again by November at the latest.

To compound matters, the
following convoys of supply trucks became further and further
spread out along the route as communication between them and their
command headquarters ground to a halt. Lashing blizzards set in.
The biting winds howled across the land and the sweeping snowstorms
buried everything in its path until there was only a wide whiteness
that stretched and became one with a distant horizon. Soldiers
froze while their bodies became hardened monument mounds for the
dead. The heroes of the Reich and Soviets alike had no soft graves
in which to rest. Ice crystals were their blankets, stiff and
brittle beds were all they were given to silently share the
miseries they had witnessed in this wasteful war. Those left alive
became a miserable collection of half-starved wretches shivering
and cursing in louse-ridden fox holes; two armies facing each
other, praying to the same God for an end to their continual
torture.

Full communication
channels were finally resumed early in December. A faint,
intermittent wireless report got through to the headquarters in
Poland, giving details of a reconnaissance battalion of the 258th
Infantry division being in sight of the final objective . . . the
Kremlin in Red Square.

Just after daybreak the
following morning, a weak, broken and crackling message came
through from the front. Hundreds of men had been mown down and lay
like dead locusts across the fields. The entire Infantry had been
forced to pull back.

On the 4th,
temperatures had fallen to sub-freezing degrees. Into this vast
winter hell-hole Hauptmann Resmel finally made contact with the
surviving units behind the front lines. But . . . not in any
condition to please the
Führer
. The glorious army consisted
only of a scattering of shivering, demoralised men, together with a
handful of junior officers who had survived the attack.

“
What the
hell are we supposed to be doing here? This is sheer
stupidity!”

The young officer in
charge was at his tether’s end. Command had been rudely thrust on
him before he had the experience or age to lead. He had managed to
gather up the remainder of men in his unit and lead them to the
relative safety of a group of badly shelled farm buildings in which
they could wait for the blizzards to subside. He was pinning his
hope just as much on food and blankets as ammunition and tanks to
survive, for without the basics, there would not be enough men left
to fight or withdraw.

At first the soldiers had
greeted Hauptmann Resmel and his men with high expectation.
Supplies had got through but they were scanty supplies and bellies
were full for only one meal. Tinned sausage, dried potato and
something like soup soon elaborated the truth of their isolation
and the mood of desperation began to re-emerge.

“
Can’t those
bastards in Berlin see what’s happening out here? It’s suicide!
Total madness!”

“
Damn the odd
PKW they send us. We need more blankets and food. Hot food. How can
an army survive on these scanty bits you have given us? We’ll
starve if we have to rely on what we manage to prize off the
peasants round here. By the time we reach a village, there’s
nothing: no animals, no crops and no stores.”

A long-suffering soldier,
young and in his early twenties, yet old and worn down like a man
four times his age, sat staring into his metal dish at the fat and
pork pieces floating in a sea of broth. Despair had made him bold.
Bold enough to throw his reason as to why the ground troops were
beginning to crack.

“
There’s
nothing left because our Stukas have shot the place up. And the
Russians have burnt down anything that remained. How the hell are
we supposed to fight? No food, no blankets, no bloody ammunition
and the way things are going, no bloody soldiers left to do the
Führer’s fighting!”

“
Keep your
thoughts to yourself, man, if you want to survive!” The warning had
come from another of the men who had drifted towards the new
arrivals.

“
Where are
the tanks we were promised?”

“
We need more
ammunition first!”

Complaints were fast and
furious. The men felt betrayed and forgotten. They had been ordered
to plunder the countryside and smash buildings. They had driven the
inhabitants away as their tanks and their trucks had pushed further
into the Russian heartland. Now there was nothing: burnt out hulks
that had been tanks amid deep snow and empty fields. Only winter
darkness, coldness and the constant howling of an biting wind were
there.