Down on the deck of the ferry, Matthias Schook found himself being carried along with the body of the crowd. There were almost a thousand passengers on the ferry, one small portion of the stream of demobilized soldiers being evacuated from the pocket of land held by Army Group Vistula. He was one of the lucky ones. His unit had been amongst the first to surrender to the Russians. There had been rumors that they would all be shot, that all that awaited them was a mass execution and an unmarked mass grave.
Some had even suggested that they mutiny against their orders and try to fight their way out but cooler heads had prevailed. Field Marshal Rommel had ordered the surrender and he wouldn't send men to a pointless death they had argued. See what the Field Marshal has planned. How many times has the situation been hopeless and the Field Marshal has got us out? We can trust him.
So the men had surrendered and been taken to a camp in the forest. Their officers and most of their NCOs had been taken away then the “NKVD had come in and taken those whose names were on lists they held. Curiously, Schook had noted, those who had spoken in favor of mutiny and a gallant escape attempt or fighting to the last round were the ones whose names were on the lists. The rest had been interviewed, the questions casual but pointed and then taken to Riga where they'd been put on ferries. Some were going to Denmark, some to Sweden, some to Norway. A few men had asked if they could go back to Germany; they'd been told that would be their decision later but first, they had to go to refugee camps.
So here they were. As expected, being divided up into alphabetical order by family name. It was a long wait, but eventually Schook stepped into the tent for the S group. An official was sitting behind a trestle table, tired and slightly irritable. It had been a long day and showed no sign of ending yet.
“You are Schook? Please remove your uniform and other clothing and place them in the container to be burned. Keep any personal property of course. Then go over there for a medical examination. After that, you may select some civilian clothes to get you started and you will be introduced to the people with whom you will be staying. But first, show me your arms please.”
Schook frowned slightly and stretched out his arms. The official looked carefully then turned them over and checked again. “What are you looking for Sir?” Schook couldn't help asking.
“Tattoos of your blood group.” “But only the SS have those.”
“Exactly. You would be surprised how many members of the SS turn up with identification papers of Heer soldiers. We presume they killed the original owners. Doesn't matter, when we find them, we send them back to the Russians. The Ivans didn't know about the tattoos at first; they do now of course.”
“Sir. may I ask what happened to those who were taken away?”
“As far as we know most have been taken to Russian cities where they have been put to work repairing the damage they caused. We believe that some, the hard cases, have been sent to the gold mines in Kolymya. There are rumors that those against whom the Russians make the most serious allegations are being sent to the uranium mines at Aksu. The Russians will be staging war crimes trials soon for the most senior ranks. Now. move along please.”
The medical inspection was routine and was followed by a delousing. It was actually the second since the surrender, the evacuees and their uniforms had been deloused before getting on to the ferry out. Still, Schook couldn't blame the Swedes for being careful. Then, he was sent through to the clothing section. There was a list up on the wall, each man was entitled to three sets of underwear, two shirts, two pairs of trousers, one suit and one overcoat. A gift from the Swedish Government to help the evacuees get back on their feet. Once he'd picked up his clothes and dressed, Schook was sent though to the next stage, meeting the people with whom he'd be living.
The couple looked prosperous and well-fed. As Schook emerged from the clothing section, they stepped forward, smiling hand outstretched. Schook almost saluted out of sheer instinct then stopped himself and seized the outstretched hand.
“Herr Schook? I am Sven Gundersen and this is my wife Helga. We would like you to stay with us until you get back on your feet.” Gundersen looked at the young man in front of them with his haunted eyes. He'd been worried about his wife until now; food rations in Sweden were short because the Baltic fisheries were out of business. The fishing boats had the long trip out of the Baltic into the Arctic - and a lot of the fishermen were giving up because they were getting sick. He'd thought Helga was looking pale on the restricted diet, now, compared with this young man, she was the epitome of bouncing good health.
“Tomorrow we will take you to the town hall where you can look through the job vacancies here. There are many of those so you shouldn't have trouble. What did you do before you became a soldier?”
Schook thought for a second, it was so long, 'before becoming a soldier' seemed like a different world. He had to work hard to remember. “I was an apprentice carpenter.”
The Swedish couple spoke quickly: then the man turned back to him. “Helga's cousin owns a small carpentry shop in town. Makes and repairs furniture. He is looking for an assistant. Perhaps you might like to speak with him. He will not pay as well as a big company but if one is a small fish, perhaps it is better to be in a small pond, yes?”
“Yes. I would be very pleased to meet your wife's cousin. Please thank your wife for her concern.” Schook caught sight of himself in a window. Talking about getting a job. My God he thought to himself I'm a civilian again. At last.
Administrative Building, Nevada Test and Experimental Area
“l would like to welcome you all to this facility. We are starting early today, once the sun comes up, the temperature rises very quickly and briefings can be quite uncomfortable. I will start by introducing the participants to this First Air Defense Exercise Series.” Colonel Pico looked around at the room. There was another reason why the meeting was being held so early but they'd come to that later. Or, rather, it would come to them. “Most of you are already known to each other but we'll do the formalities nonetheless.
“Firstly, I would like to welcome Colonel Francis Gabreski of the 56th Fighter Wing and his F-74B Furys. Also with us is Colonel Joseph McConnell of the 51st Fighter Wing with their P-80G Shooting Stars. Take a bow, gentlemen, please. Modesty does not become fighter pilots.” There were a series of cheers and some war-whoops from the assembled pilots.
“I would also like to extend a warm welcome to Guards-Colonel Aleksandr Pokryshkin and the MiG-9s of the Fourth Guards Fighter Division.” There was a burst of cheering and some of the nearer fighter pilots clapped the Russian on the back.
“The piston-engined fraternity is not forgotten. A big hand please for Colonel Robert Johnson of the 352nd Fighter Wing and Colonel James Jabara of the 4th Fighter Wing who have brought their F-72D Thunderstorms to the party. We would also like to welcome Major Dominic Gentile of the 479th Fighter Wing whose F-63G Kingcobras always add a certain level of style to any event.
“We would not like it to be thought that we have anything against the twin-engined community so to carry the flag for the multiply-screwed we have Major Manuel Fernandez with his F-58A Chain Lightnings and Major George Davis with that rarest of fighters, the F-71A Stormbird. In fact, I think the eight F-71s George brought with him are the only serviceable fighters of that type left. One of the questions we'll be investigating over the next two weeks will be whether we should recommend production of that aircraft be resumed. Finally, we have Colonel George Preddy and his F-65G Tigercat night fighters to help make sure nobody gets any sleep.