“They will be examined… each individual,” the lieutenant stated feebly.
“Sure, Lieutenant, every one of them. A half a million individuals or more.”
A long pause followed. I knew that my violent outburst would be of little use but it made me feel better to have set the record straight for at least five American servicemen. Again they appeared ill at ease.
“What are you… up to now?” the lieutenant finally asked. He spoke hesitantly, as though fearing to hear my answer. I knew what he was thinking.
“We are up to—home, I hope.”
I told him.
“You will never make it. We have roadblocks at every village. Every bridge is guarded by the MP’s and Germans need passes to travel from one place to another.”
“The Russians had roadblocks too, Lieutenant,” I answered firmly. “They couldn’t stop us.”
He stepped to the jeep and withdrew a carton of Camels, trying to smile. “Do you want some cigarettes?”
“You don’t have to bribe us, Lieutenant.”
“We have plenty.”
“So I have heard. You Americans seem to have plenty of nearly everything—except common sense and political wisdom. You keep your cigarettes. We have come a long way without smoking.”
His face clouded. My refusal sent him back to his former worries about their immediate future. “What do you intend to do with us?” he asked hesitantly.
“It depends. I hope you understand that you could be of great peril to us with your jeep and radio. Having come this far, we wouldn’t like the idea of ending up in one of your jails, waiting for the rope.”
“We won’t give you away!” he said quickly. “Honestly we won’t!” The others nodded in consent.
“That, Lieutenant, we will have to make pretty sure of!” He paled again and ran a nervous hand over his face. “You aren’t going to shoot us, are you?” Then squat little Joe said in a shaky voice, “You have just disassociated yourself from the war criminals. You want to go home, you said. Hell, man, so do I.”
I took Schulze and Eisner aside to discuss our next move. We agreed that it was about time to break up. A couple of men together might have a better chance to get some papers and make it home. If we stuck together sooner or later it would have come to fighting the Americans too, which I wanted to avoid.
Our low-keyed conversation only increased the consternation among the Americans and they could not stand our whispering for long.
“Listen, officer!” the lieutenant exclaimed, stepping forward. “We will not hinder you in getting home. You have taken our weapons and having been a soldier you surely know that I cannot return to base and report to my commanding officer that we were disarmed by a group of stray Germans. I could lose my rank for that.”
“You may have a point there, Lieutenant,” I conceded.
He seemed relieved. “Why shouldn’t we call it quits?” he insisted. “You let us go and we saw nothing of you.”
We stood for a while facing one another, then on a sudden impulse I motioned him to follow me. I walked to the edge of the woods. Pointing inward to the forest line about two miles away, I handed him my binoculars. “There is a wooden tower there,” I said. “A shooting stand for deer hunters.”
“I can see it,” said he.
“We shall leave your weapons in that tower, so that you won’t lose your shoulder bars, Lieutenant. Is it a deal?”
“It’s a deal!” I ordered my men to remove the jeep’s distributor cap and some wires of their radio set. “I am afraid that you will have to walk all the way there and back, Lieutenant. We will leave the parts with your guns. And don’t walk too fast.”
I gave them a brief salute and we began to move. I was a dozen paces from the jeep when the lieutenant suddenly called.
“Officer!” I turned.
“Keep away from the highways and don’t go toward Bayreuth,” he yelled. “The commander of counterintelligence there is a Jewish major whose entire family was killed by the SS in Poland.”
2. THE TARNISHED FATHERLAND
We ate our last supper together in an abandoned stone quarry near Cham, in the Bavarian forest. Some of the men were talking in low subdued voices, discussing the pros and cons of their long trip home to the various parts of the battered Fatherland. Men who had lived in Bavaria or in the Schwaben could be more optimistic than those who were to traverse the entire country if they wanted to rejoin their families in Hamburg or in Aachen. None of us could anticipate what might come on the way or what to expect at home. Whether there was a home at all or a family to embrace.
The thought that we were dispersing lay heavily on everyone’s mind. Together we had come a long way and together we felt strong. Now with our weapons at the bottom of a pond, wearing civilian clothes after so many years, we felt defenseless and exposed.
I gave them my last advice. No more than two men together, I told them, and remember that you are supposed to be Czech refugees looking for brothers, sisters, and friends in Germany. Should someone shout an unexpected command at you in German, do not freeze but keep on going. Or just look around confused. Forget that you un-de/stand German. Not many Americans will speak Czech. You will have a fair chance of getting away with it. Behave innocently and submerge among the people, I told them. The peasants will always help you but you should beware of the cities where the occupation troops are probably quartered. There might be many turncoats who would betray you for a tin of beef or a loaf of bread.
Whenever you see a chance disguise yourselves by pretending to be engaged in some peaceful activity. Carry a shovel or a log on your shoulder and cut across the fields. The enemy will think that you belong to the next farm. Get hold of a wheelbarrow, load it with hay or manure, and never mind if it stinks to high heavens. The more it stinks the less eager the Americans will be to embrace you. They are clean boys. You should never try to get hold of a vehicle but you may thumb a ride on an American army truck. A genuine Czech refugee would do it.
And should you find life impossible, come to Konstanz, my hometown. It is on the Swiss frontier. We shall have people there to help you. I gave them my address.
I was the only one among them who could be sure of still having a home. Konstanz had never been bombed and its lucky inhabitants had suffered less hardship throughout the war. It was located only a few dozen yards from the Swiss town of Kreuzlingen, and the frontier actually ran across the center of a built-up area which, from the air, appeared a single, undivided unit. Konstanz was one of the very few German communities which never experienced blackouts. Throughout the war the city had been kept fully illuminated just like the nearby Swiss towns and villages, to confuse the enemy bombers.
The sun had dipped beyond the horizon. Our farewell was a brief one. We shook hands and those who had known each other for years embraced. “Glueck auf!… Good luck!” When dusk set in, the men began to leave singly or in twos and threes; one after another they melted into the woods, the darkness. I embraced Eisner and Erich Schulze. They had a long way to go to Frankfurt and to Miinster. “You have my address,” I reminded them. “My people can always tell you where to look for me.”