The Doomsday Decree Page 7

  Paul hardly heard him. His thoughts were still swimming. Gottfried and Anna and the two children … eliminated! Killed. Sent off to some camp and executed. But why? For what reason?

  ‘Doctor!’ The Luftwaffe man’s voice was sharp. ‘Doctor, please … I do not have much time. Listen carefully. A convoy of lorries will reach Dortmund from Peenemunde on Friday, February ninth. That is in about a week’s time. They are bound for Project Wotan.’

  Paul tried to concentrate his mind. ‘Project Wotan is in Dortmund?’

  ‘We don’t know. The records show that the orders for the convoy are to proceed to the railway marshalling yards at Dortmund. They are to wait there on the morning of Friday the 12th until an escort from Project Wotan collects them and takes them to the project site … wherever that may be.’

  ‘So to discover where they are going one would have to follow them?’

  The pilot nodded. ‘I am to tell you that the General has his hands full and says that if you want to follow this up, you must do so yourself. He has no one to spare.’

  ‘Damn it! I don’t have any transport, even if I managed to get to Dortmund and recognize the lorries.’

  ‘Recognition is one thing we can help with. The lorries will be marked with the blue and white flashes of the 65th Corps Waffen-SS.’

  The young pilot rose abruptly to his feet. ‘That is the message, Herr Doctor.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘That’s all. I’ll be on my way. Best of luck.’ He raised a hand in casual salute and left, saying loudly as he passed through the door into the corridor: ‘Thanks, Herr Doctor. I’m glad you think it is nothing serious.’

  Then he was gone, leaving Paul shocked, angry and confused. What was so secret about Project Wotan that Gottfried and his family, who were so non-political, had to be slaughtered? Out of Paul’s shock and anger came the grim resolution that he must, come what may, track down the secret. But how could he? How could he follow a convoy of military lorries when he did not even have a car, let alone petrol?

  There was a soft tap on his door and then Magda Kelter put her face around it. Seeing him alone, she smiled and entered.

  ‘I thought I’d see if you had any news,’ she said.

  He told her briefly what he had just heard. She too was shocked at the fate of the Klaus family.

  ‘What could this Project Wotan be?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘I don’t know … and I won’t know unless I can beg, borrow or steal a car.’

  Magda frowned, thinking. ‘I know where I can get my hands on a car,’ she said suddenly, surprising him. ‘My brother has a Porsche saloon. The only trouble is that it’s in Xanten.’

  ‘Won’t your brother mind you asking to borrow his car?’

  ‘Erwin was called into the army early in the war and was killed during the occupation of Crete. The car is still in our barn on the farm. My sister and her husband are there.’ The girl’s expression did not change as she spoke.

  Paul turned his mind to the next problem. Xanten was a small town about 90 kilometres southwest of Münster.

  ‘The main problem, then, would be how to get there?’

  ‘That’s easy. Every morning and evening a truck takes workers to Xanten and back. It’s run by the Todt Organization. I have often used it. I have a pass showing that I have relatives there and all I need say is … ’ she hesitated and blushed, ‘that you are my fiancé.’

  Paul looked thoughtful. ‘Let’s say your sister was willing to let you have the car, and we managed to get to Xanten, do you know what condition it’s in. I mean, when was it last used?’

  ‘I think … ’ she said, hesitating as she tried to remember, ‘I think it was about a year ago.’

  ‘And your brother-in-law doesn’t use it?’

  ‘Rolf, my sister’s husband, has only one arm.’

  Paul sat back and weighed things up.

  ‘If we can get the car running, I might be able to do something about petrol,’ he mused. Two possibilities sprang to mind. First he could ask Ilse to get him a Vehicle Priority Pass from the city hall. After all, such a document would be easy to obtain through the office of Victor Schoerner. The second possibility would be to use his credentials as a doctor to obtain a petrol ration. Doctors were allowed to cover an area with a 30- kilometre radius. Certainly, in these times, it was simply impossible to get petrol for private purposes. There were severe restrictions and only officials and the military had a claim on the meagre supplies.

  ‘We can try it!’ he said finally.

  Magda smiled. ‘We could catch the truck to Xanten tonight and we’d probably be there before midnight.’

  ‘Yes; tomorrow is Sunday and I’m not working. How about you?’

  ‘I can go directly from here. I’m not on shift tomorrow either.’

  ‘Then tonight it is.’

  ‘The truck leaves from the main gate of the Reichsbahndirektion at six o’clock. Will you have to go home first or shall we go from here?’

  ‘I needn’t go home. I’ll telephone Ilse at the city hall.’

  ‘Does she know … ?’ began Magda.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Paul said curtly.

  Magda was about to say something else, but Paul spoke first: ‘Meet me here in my office at five-thirty.’

  *

  The journey to Xanten was far easier than Paul had expected. They arrived outside the Reichsbahndirektion just before six o’clock to find a truck already waiting. It bore a sign labelling it as a transport for the Todt Organization, the civil labour and construction force, a motley collection of German and foreign workers. It was a heavy vehicle whose engine, because of fuel shortages, had been converted to burn charcoal. There were many of these vehicles about; cumbersome, noisy machines which seemed to belong to another age. A member of the Sicherheitspolizei, the security police, took only a cursory look at their papers before they were allowed to crowd in with a host of others.

  Most of the workers were French, voluntary workers as opposed to the many forced-labour gangs he had seen in the city. However, they had little choice but to work in

  Germany because the Occupation of France meant that there was neither food nor work there. And since the Allied landings in Normandy and the slow, remorseless pushing back of the German forces into Germany itself, literally hundreds of thousands of these foreign workers had been caught within Germany. Most of them, like the chattering bunch in the Todt vehicle, seemed to be making the most of it. ‘C’est la guerre!’ they seemed to be saying with a sad shrug of their shoulders.

  Besides the French there were only a few Germans, mostly women, and some other foreigners, Belgians or Dutchmen.

  They had barely crossed the city to the southwestern suburbs when the wild wailing of the air-raid warning shattered the air. At once the truck pulled over to the side of the road and its occupants fell silent. The driver climbed out and came round the back to ensure that no one left the vehicle. One old man, trembling, put a cigarette in his mouth but before he could light it, the driver screamed: ‘Licht aus!’ They waited, listening intently for the drone of the aircraft. Paul felt Magda nervously pressing against him. Automatically, he put an arm around her. It was an unconscious act and seemed to bear no connection to his relationship with Ilse. It was not long before the cheerful call of the ‘All Clear’ sounded. The aircraft must have passed on their way to other targets within Germany. The driver climbed back into his cab and the vehicle set off once more.

  It was nearly midnight when it stopped before the foreign workers’ hostel in Xanten. As most of their fellow travellers disappeared into the hostel, Magda took Paul’s hand in the darkness.

  ‘I know the way blindfolded,’ she said confidently. ‘But I’m afraid it’s a two-hour walk to the village from here.’

  In fact it was nearer to three hours’ walking down a small, dark country road before they came to a cluster of darkened buildings which constituted what Magda called ‘the village’. It was really no more than
a hamlet.

  ‘The farm is about half an hour further on,’ she confessed.

  Paul resigned himself. He had thought she had meant the farm was at Xanten or close by. But he was a city dweller. Country people had different ideas of distance.

  They were passing through the hamlet when a figure suddenly loomed out of the darkness. It was the burly form of a policeman.

  ‘Halt! Your papers, please!’

  To Paul’s astonishment Magda chuckled.

  ‘Uncle Otto! Don’t you recognize me?’

  A flashlight beam moved towards Magda’s face and the policeman muttered an exclamation.

  ‘Fräulein Magda! Why, it has been a long time.’

  The policeman let out a sigh, lowered the torch and switched it off. ‘I suppose you have come for a visit, eh? Well, things are changing all the time, Fräulein Magda. I’m sure that I don’t know where it will end. They say the British and Canadians are scarcely twenty kilometres away from here. You can hear the sound of their artillery every now and again.’

  The dark form of the policeman’s head turned in Paul’s direction.

  Paul said in a conversational tone, ‘It’s a bad time, that’s right enough.’

  Magda seized the initiative and said: ‘Well, we’ll be on our way, Uncle Otto. I’ll tell Erika and Rolf that we saw you.’

  ‘Goodnight, Fräulein Magda. Goodnight, mein Herr.’

  The burly form vanished into the darkness.

  ‘Uncle Otto?’ queried Paul.

  The girl chuckled. ‘Oh, he’s not really my uncle. Otto Klunse has been the village policeman here for years. All the kids used to call him Uncle Otto, that’s all.’

  Paul smiled. It was as if Magda were speaking about another time, another society.

  They walked along the black, winding country lane for perhaps another half-hour or so, and then Magda turned off along a muddy track which led through three fields. Then, almost abruptly, a group of buildings loomed out of the darkness: the dark silhouettes of a barn, several sheds and a farmhouse. As they approached, a dog started barking.

  Just as Magda was preparing to knock at the door, an upstairs light went on. A window opened.

  ‘Who is there?’ called a stern male voice.

  ‘Rolf! It’s me, Magda.’

  ‘Magda!’There was a pause. ‘I’ll be right down.’

  After a few moments there was a scraping sound as a bolt was drawn. The door was flung open. A young man stood there in a dressing gown. Paul had time to observe a pleasant, handsome face with tousled red hair and an impish grin. He also had time to note that the man’s right arm was missing from just above the elbow. Magda embraced him.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Rolf. How’s Erika?’

  ‘Fine, she’ll be down in a moment; the dog woke up young Heinz.’

  They could hear the distant petulant whimper of a child.

  Rolf went on: ‘Erika and I were wondering how you were … ’ He paused, catching sight of Paul. Magda turned quickly and took Paul’s elbow.

  ‘Rolf, I want you to meet … a good friend of mine. Doctor Paul Horder. We work in the same hospital.’

  Rolf’s left hand stretched out and Paul stepped forward to shake it. He noticed that the young man’s eyes flickered down, taking in his limp, which was worse than usual after the long walk. He felt the firm grip of the man’s hand and the friendliness of his appraisal.

  ‘Good to see you, doctor. Luftwaffe?’ The curt question was aided by a jerk of the man’s head towards Paul’s leg.

  Paul smiled. ‘No. Wehrmacht. Panzerarmee Afrika, Medical Corps.’

  ‘El Alamein?’

  ‘No. A few days before at Alma Haifa.’

  Magda frowned in mock annoyance.

  ‘Now don’t you two start reminiscing about the beastly war. We’ve walked here from Xanten after leaving Münster at six o’clock last night.’

  With a muttered apology, Rolf drew them into the farmhouse kitchen, went to the cast-iron kitchen range and began to poke at the glowing embers there. Soon the sparks were dancing and he piled on more wood. Within moments a bright fire was warming the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll go upstairs and help Erika with Heinz,’ Magda said. She glanced at Paul. ‘Heinz is my two-year-old nephew,’ she explained.

  ‘Sit down, doctor,’ Rolf said. ‘Let me get you a drink.’

  Paul sat. ‘Fine, but don’t stand on ceremony. Call me Paul.’

  Rolf grinned and took down a couple of glasses and a bottle from a shelf. ‘Schnapps,’ he said. ‘But it’s homebrewed.’

  The Schnapps was strong and nearly took Paul’s breath away.

  ‘You must be pretty tired after your walk,’ Rolf observed.

  Paul confessed he was.

  ‘I’ll go up and get the rooms ready. You and Magda had better get some rest.’

  A short while later Magda returned with a woman who was obviously her sister. She was older than Magda, with slightly darker hair. She shook hands politely, glancing from Magda to Paul.

  ‘Rolf is preparing a bed for you. Would you like something to eat first … ?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘I think I’ll get my head down for a few hours,’ he said. ‘Shall I go up and help Rolf?’

  Magda turned hurriedly. ‘I’ll take Paul up to the spare room, Erika,’ she volunteered.

  Her sister nodded.

  On the stairs, Magda said quietly: ‘Be circumspect about offering to give Rolf a hand. He does things with one arm better than most people with two, but he can still be slightly touchy if he thinks people are offering help simply because he has one arm.’

  ‘I understand,’ Paul said. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘He was a fighter pilot and was shot down.’

  ‘I see.’

  They met Rolf emerging from a room at the top of the stairs. He smiled cheerfully.

  ‘I’ve made up a bed. You rest as long as you want.’

  Paul nodded his thanks and bade Magda goodnight. He had scarcely climbed into the bed before sleep made him oblivious to his surroundings.

  Chapter Nine

  Paul awoke to an enticing aroma of cooking and blinked, reaching out a hand to lift his wristwatch from the bedside table. To his consternation it was nearly noon. He jumped from the warm bed and peered out onto the landing. On the far side he saw the door of a bathroom opening. Magda was just coming out, looking as if she had been up for ages.

  She grinned. ‘Good morning. You’ll find some shaving tackle of Rolf’s in the bathroom. Help yourself.’

  Paul automatically felt his stubbled chin and pulled a wry face. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep so long.’

  ‘Well, don’t be too long in the bathroom. Lunch is almost ready.’

  He waited until she had gone downstairs and then went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he stepped into the kitchen. A large pot was steaming on the cooking range, giving off a pleasant odour. The table was laid for four and there was some black bread already laid by the plates.

  Rolf was taking a bottle from a cupboard. Erika was just finishing feeding a fair-haired two-year-old boy, whom Paul guessed to be Heinz. There was no sign of Magda. Paul entered and mumbled an apology for sleeping late.

  Rolf turned, his almost perpetual grin lighting up his face. ‘That’s okay, Paul. You’ve had quite a trip to get here.’

  Erika motioned him to a seat at the table. ‘Sit down, doctor … ’

  ‘Paul,’ he insisted.

  Rolf had placed the bottle on the table and gone over to the pot to stir it.

  ‘One thing about having a farm, Paul … we can still enjoy some form of vegetable soup, although bread is hard to come by. We bake a little ourselves when we can get the ingredients together.’

  ‘We’ve been lucky this week,’ Erika said, nodding. ‘I managed to barter a few items for some yeast, so we have a passable loaf.’

  Paul watched as Rolf, with considerable dexterity, carried the cooking pot to the table.

  ‘
Magda told me you had been in the Luftwaffe,’ Paul said before realizing it was, perhaps, an undiplomatic thing to say.

  Rolf grimaced wryly and shrugged with the shoulder of his missing arm.

  ‘Yes. I was flying a Focke Wulfe 190 with Jagstaffel 5. About eighteen months ago a Spitfire did for me. I got off a burst at him, but he sent a cannon shell into the side of the cockpit. I managed to bail out, but minus an arm.’

  He spoke nonchalantly, as if it were nothing. Erika was ladling the soup into bowls; she glanced sharply at Rolf.

  ‘Give Magda a shout, darling,’ she said. ‘She’s gone to look for eggs!’ She brought her gaze back to Paul. ‘We’ve only got four hens these days. Sometimes they lay and sometimes not.’

  Just then they heard a sudden curious sound, like distant thunder reverberating to the west. Paul frowned. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, noticing that Erika’s face had paled and she suppressed a shiver.

  ‘The British. You can hear their artillery getting nearer almost day by day. I think they are about twenty kilometres away.’

  Magda and Rolf returned.

  ‘Did you hear it?’ Magda asked as she slid into her place.

  ‘Yes,’ Erika answered quickly.

  ‘Has anyone told you what to do if they get over the Maas?’

  The River Maas was the main obstacle along which the German border ran.

  Rolf looked at Erika and answered for both of them. ‘We are going to stay put.’

  ‘What if there is fighting here?’ pressed Magda. ‘I heard that the SS have orders to fight for every yard of territory.’

  ‘We’ll take our chances down in the cellars,’ Rolf said. ‘Besides the farm is well away from the main highways here. The Allies might go around us.’

  Erika’s chin came up defiantly. ‘I am not leaving the old place, Magda. This has been home to the Kelters for generations. Here we are and here we stay.’

  The topic of conversation turned awkwardly to the subject of living conditions in Münster. Then the talk turned to other matters and it became obvious to Paul that Erika and Rolf had formed the idea that he was more than just a friend to Magda. Paul was slightly amused at reaching the conclusion that they were assessing him as a potential brother-in-law. He registered a faint astonishment in his mind that he could happily accept the idea. The farmhouse atmosphere was warm and friendly and he liked Rolf and Erika. And Magda …