Page 89 of Hell to Pay
Frau Neumann’s entry in the Where’s-Hitler lottery: He killed himself in the Führerbunker in Berlin. “Mark my words,” she says, “he won’t have wanted to go the same way as Mussolini. Men like that are always cowards, in the end. No, he’s shot himself and had his minions burn his body so the Russians couldn’t do to him what theItalians did toIl Duce.You won’t findhimhanging by his heels! Beneath his dignity, oh, yes, certainly.” What an uproar that caused! Frau Lindemann was heard to utter the words “my husband,” but Frau Neumann only scoffed. “What will your husband do about it, then? He’s taken by the Red Army already, most likely.” We may have to begin assigning them separate arrival times; I honestly feared bloodshed, or hair pulling at the least.
Dr. Müller’s hypothesis (a widower, he does his own shopping): Hitler was flown out of Germany by Goering himself, and the two of them are hiding somewhere in South America. Everyone scoffed at this one. “When was the last time any of us have even seen aLuftwaffeplane?” Also, “How can you think Goering would even fit in the seat? He’d get his fat bottom stuck fast, and there he’d be, half in and half out, waiting for the Red Army to come take a shot at him.” That last was Frau Neumann, of course. If Hitler were in disguise, though, and traveling more humbly,withoutthe very recognizable Goering, would it actually be impossible? What does one know of his appearance, after all? An unhealthy, puffy sort of man, ordinary-looking but for his toothbrush mustache and distinctive forelock. Without the mustache, wearing spectacles, perhaps, his hair cut short like a soldier’s and dyed gray, dressed as a laborer or a common soldier, who would even know him?
Meanwhile, I continue to stretch our baking supplies and we wait here in limbo. Frau Adelberg asked me today about my “heirloom.” I would gladly sell the brooch, but to whom? There are very few Americans here. I’d imagined they’d be more of an occupying force, but that hasn’t happened so far, at least not here. We limp along, nobody knowing what the rules are. Ration coupons are no longer issued, and we hear there will be a new system under theAmericans, but when? It will take time, I imagine, for a new authority to be set in place. I hope it’s soon. We are all very tired of potatoes. But then again, who will offer us anything else? Does a conqueror normally feed the conquered? Not in the Slavic countries, by all accounts, after the Nazis took them. How I wish my father were here to answer such questions! I fear we are all very much in the dark.
And Joe:
May 5, 1945
Dear Dad,
Things are changing every day now. We’re still moving south and east, as we have been all along. Some of the guys say we’ll end up in Austria. Fine by me. At least they’ve surrendered there!
We left Munich yesterday afternoon, taking more prisoners along the way—and equipment, too. There were only 100 or so planes on the ground at the airport. No wonder the Krauts couldn’t muster any air cover!
Nobody seems to know much more than we do. The German soldiers we capture now are oddly jubilant, celebrating the end of the war and not seeming to care much that they’re prisoners. “At least we’ll eat!” one jolly guy told me. “Will you send us to England, do you think? Do they still have steak and kidney pudding there?” I told him I had no idea. There’s been no overture for peace as far as any of us have heard, so the war’s still going on, though these guys are sure done with it. We just gather them up and take them to the nearest mustering point, and they come along quite happily. Hitler had practically any man who could walk and any boy over 10 shooting a rifle. I hope, wherever he is, alive or dead (dead, theGermans say, but they would, wouldn’t they?), there’s a special Hell waiting for him. Not very Jewish of me, I know. Maybe it’s all the pork I’ve had to eat! No choice, if I don’t want to starve. No Kosher rations in the U.S. Army!
Oh—one last rumor making the rounds: that we’re down here because they’re about to send us to the spider’s hideout in the Alps. Berchtesgaden is almost in Austria, so I guess it makes sense—if he’s there. That’s an assignment I’d take on with pleasure.
Love to Mom,
Joe
May 7, 1945
Dear Dad,
Well, it’s happened—you’ll know long before you get this letter, I’m sure! The German generals have signed a surrender, and it’s over.
We don’t feel much like celebrating, to tell you the truth. For one thing, the guys in the Pacific are still in the thick of it. For the other, we mostly just feel tired. Too much has happened, and maybe we haven’t taken it all in yet. When I think that we landed in Marseilles just five months ago, some of us convinced it would all be over before we could get our licks in—half hoping for that, and half disappointed—well, I’m not sure I even know those green kids anymore, playing cards and making jokes and wondering if we’d meet any pretty girls. I remind myself that I’m still nineteen, that I still have all my living to do, and I’m just … blank. I can’t even imagine my life after the war. I’m sure the Brits can imagine it even less. I’ve been here five months; they’ve been at it five YEARS.
Maybe we’ll feel better once we’ve had some rest. That’s supposed tobe the brief for now: at least a week off to rest and repair our equipment. Meanwhile, we held a service in a cemetery today and said a prayer for all the Allied soldiers who’ve lost their lives over here. A solemn moment. What a waste this thing has been, and all because nobody believed such an insignificant, crazy little man would really do what he did—even after he’d started doing it.
Don’t pay too much attention to this. I seem to be in a blue mood tonight.
Love to Mom,
Joe
May 23, 1945
Dear Dad.
Sorry about that last letter. I did feel a little better after a week of rest. Guess I was just tired. Guess we all were.
We’re in the Tyrol now, in Austria. Things are crazy here, just nuts. We’ve become traffic cops: stationed on every road and trail and checking every mountain cabin or hotel, stopping all movement. Why? Because so many high-up Nazis are running away from Germany, like rats from a sinking ship, and where are they going? Not east, you can count on that, and not to jolly old England! Someplace that speaks German, of course, which means Austria and/or Switzerland, then looking to get through to neutral Spain or Portugal and go on from there. They’ve ditched their uniforms and their Party buttons and are trying to blend in. Meanwhile, civilians still need to travel, so the Army’s job is to try to figure out who is and isn’t a war criminal pretty darn quick. I’m becoming fairly good at it. Still interpreting, of course, for the Counter-Intelligence Corps this time, but interpreting my interpretations!
You know how I can tell?
The Nazi officials and SS officers are the only ones who aren’t skinny. That’s a tell right there. I haven’t seen anybody half as fat as Goering in five months over here, and they’ve just kept on getting thinner.
