The half-mile-long row of buildings, the Medical College, the theater, the hospital, were all shakily intact. The statue of Hinterseer was headless on its pedestal.
All that broke the awesome silence was the shuffling of their trotting feet as they split up, began flinging doors open, moving in well-learned sequence toward those places they had seen on paper for so many months. Sean found himself running full head for the City Hall at the opposite end of the square, with Dante Arosa and O’Toole puffing behind him. Before the great building the statue of the gods Berwin and Helga, of the legend, remained intact. Damned irony! Hinterseer is headless, Mary is gone, but the pagan remains!
The door had been blown off its hinges, revealing the marble foyer filled with statues of the Von Romstein family and coat-of-arms shields of each district. Sean’s team moved in behind him up the spiral stairs, shoving open the office door. Everything was in perfect order, set for a day’s work.
The corner office on the second floor bore the name of the mayor, Baron Sigmund Von Romstein. Sean entered. It was a magnificent office. On one side the windows looked down on the City Hall Square, the other afforded a view of the Landau and the country beyond. He could see puffs of smoke and tracer-bullet streaks across the river in the district. Dundee’s battalion had engaged the enemy, perhaps the Waffen SS from the Schwabenwald Concentration Camp. The scene on the square changed by the moment. A tank plowed through ... now two ... three. Soldiers began swarming in. The engineers moved to the waterfront. Both bridges were useless. A pontoon bridge was started so that tanks and artillery could cross to join the battle in Romstein District.
Then there was an ominous grinding sound. It rumbled over the square. The gears of the ancient bell clock in the cathedral tower wound up to toll the hour. It bonged nine times with earth-shaking veracity.
“Major,” O’Toole said, “there’s a kraut officer outside.”
“Send him in.”
Sean walked deliberately to the desk of the mayor and sat behind it. The German entered, stood ramrod before the desk, and bowed slightly. He was meticulously uniformed for this occasion of defeat, as though blood and mud were not a part of his trade. The German was a strange contrast to the dirty and tired O’Sullivan.
He rattled quickly that he was the senior officer and wished to know if Sean would have a surrender ceremony. Sean stood, turning his back to the German. “O’Toole, take this man to Blessing. Tell Blessing this officer is to round up his people, bring them to the square, and stack their arms.”
The German began to protest that it was no way to treat an honorable enemy commander.
“That is all,” Sean cut him off abruptly.
Events moved rapidly. The long training of Pilot Team G-5 was now put into play. They moved about their preordained tasks with such precision that even the cynical Maurice Duquesne was impressed.
Soon German soldiers began straggling into the square. A half-dozen tanks and a company of Dundee’s infantry formed a picket around them. The Germans limped in with the same dejection that had marked other beaten men from France to Rombaden. Their plight and their humiliation was intensified by surrender inside one of their own cities. The pile of arms grew higher, until the square held several thousand soldiers.
Some of them were beardless boys in their teens. Others were old men. These were the People’s Army. The last-ditch home defense.
The German officers stood in a clique away from their men as though the soldiers were contaminated.
Curious civilians began to peek about with caution. Walking close to the buildings at a creeping pace, holding a respectful distance from the prisoners.
“It is over.”
“It is over.”
“It is over.”
They milled about and gawked in dazed confusion. Some wept with grief and some wept with relief. “It is over.”
By late afternoon a dozen or more of the civic officials had been hauled in; however, neither Count Ludwig nor Baron Sigmund Von Romstein nor their younger brother Kurt had been found.
The square was now mobbed with frightened, glassy-eyed people. Sean O’Sullivan came downstairs and faced them from the steps of City Hall. He ordered the flags of the United States, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union hoisted above the building and his first order posted.
PROCLAMATION #1: APRIL 21, 1945
Attention! Citizens of Rombaden!
This city has unconditionally surrendered to Allied Forces. City Hall is hereby designated as Headquarters of Allied Forces Military Government.
No further resistance will be tolerated.
You are under the supreme command of the Allied representative.
All German courts, schools, banks, transportation and communications within city limits are hereby suspended. All business is suspended. The police force is hereby disbanded.
All members of the German armed forces will surrender themselves with their firearms immediately in the City Hall Square. All firearms will be deposited at the City Hall immediately.
All motor vehicles are hereby requisitioned.
All warehouses are hereby requisitioned.
All stores and petrol are hereby confiscated.
All German penal law is hereby suspended.
Rombaden is under curfew from 1900 to 0600 daily. Violators will be shot on sight.
All theaters, cinemas, radio stations, newspapers and other publications will suspend operations immediately.
The Mayor, Sanitation Officer, District Mayors, Medical Officer, Police Chief, City Engineer and their immediate subordinates will report immediately to Allied Headquarters.
All other civilians are hereby ordered to return to their homes and stay until notified.
By order of: Sean O’Sullivan, Major, United States Army. Military Governor of Rombaden/ Romstein.
Chapter Fifteen
DEAR GENERAL HANSEN,
As we planned, I am writing these informal impressions on the basis of the first 72 hours. Dundee’s Regiment is meeting stiff opposition from the Waffen SS in Romstein District so my Team has not crossed the river, yet. We’ve got our hands full, here.
In Rombaden, resistance collapsed. The population is demoralized, scared stiff and getting hungry. So far we have averted panic, epidemic and serious crime, but the place is one hell of a mess.
Here’s a thumbnail and unofficial survey. Hank Greenberg, my engineer, estimates 40 per cent of all housing completely destroyed, 20 per cent partly destroyed. He has a monumental demolition problem to raze the unsafe buildings. As for the rubble, he says it may be years before it is all cleared. The power plant is 60 per cent out but one of the generators is operable. No light or electricity for the civilian population is possible for months. The telegraph lines are completely down. The phone system is about 30 per cent in operation. All public transportation is kaput. The radio station is completely demolished and cannot transmit. Both bridges are down. The rail yard and boat yards are the damnedest messes you’ve ever seen. Both inoperable. The Machine Works is 85 per cent destroyed above the ground (but there is a vast underground assembly plant which used slave labor from the concentration camp) and the other factories about 80 per cent destroyed. Tell the fly boys their aim was pretty good.
Our urgent problem right now is that the sewage plant and waterworks are both out of order. Dr. Grimwood, my health officer, has declared the river contaminated. We have been using water wells and have rationed the Germans to one bucket of water per day per family.
As for sewage removal, we have set up a honey-bucket system. The buckets are collected daily and carted out of town. We have been using arrested Blacklisted Nazis on this working detail. It’s good for them.