Logan rolled his eyes. There was a picture of plump, blond, and pretty Marsha Singer on his bedstand. “Can’t imagine what that might be. And don’t you Jewish types have most of it cut off at an early age?”
Singer laughed. “That’s because there’s so much that, if we didn’t, you Gentiles would feel deprived. Now, what’s this crap going around about the Russians?”
“They did it again, David. The bastards have crossed the Elbe and are taking on Bradley’s army. Happened last night. That’s why I can stay only a little while. Everyone’s tensed up about the possibility of the Reds attacking here.”
“Gawd,” said Singer. “What a mess. I hate to be greedy, but you’re telling me it could be a long time before anyone’s evacuated from here, either.”
“Looks that way.”
They talked for a few more minutes until Singer said he was tired and wanted to sleep. Logan left, after promising to return when he could. It was a promise he intended to keep.
The way from the hospital back to the platoon went by the old barracks and other buildings and bunkers used as General Miller’s headquarters.
As he passed, a slight, dark-haired girl emerged from a doorway. Instinctively, he nodded and said, “Good morning.”
“It is indeed,” she said softly. “I just hope it stays that way.”
“You speak English,” he blurted, realizing immediately that it was one of the truly dumb comments he’d ever made.
The girl smiled at his gaffe, and he realized she was the girl he’d noticed before and that she was indeed older than he’d first thought, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. She was also fairly short, which somewhat accounted for his originally thinking she was a child, only a couple of inches over five feet. She was thin, and dressed in very poorly fitting man’s pants, shirt, and jacket. She did, however, have large, expressive eyes, and had bestowed a wide smile on him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m usually not that foolish in the face of the obvious.”
“Goodness, Lieutenant, I would hope not.” She softened the rebuke with her smile. “Before you ask, I learned to speak English in Canada, where my father was a member of the German diplomatic corps, and now that skill is being put to use by my translating for refugees and German prisoners. My mother was Canadian and I have dual citizenship, for whatever that is worth in this terrible war. Now that you Americans are fighting the Russians, there is a belief that we may soon be on the same side.”
Logan thought that one over. Allied with the krauts? Incredible. He realized that they had been walking alongside each other and that he wanted to see her again. “My name is Jack Logan.”
“Elisabeth Wolf,” she responded.
He didn’t see a wedding ring and she hadn’t said frau or fraulein. “I hate to ask, but are you alone here?”
“I have my nephew, Pauli. He is six, and to the best of my knowledge we are all that is left of the German side of my family. We still have a number of relatives in Canada, near Toronto.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It must be rough for you.”
Elisabeth’s eyes clouded. “We lived very near Berlin, where it was a good deal more than rough, and someday you may find out about it. It’s amazing that we are, for the moment, in an oasis of relative peace. Something tells me it won’t last, particularly since the Russians have once again attacked your soldiers, but we must enjoy each moment of tranquillity that we are given. But I thank you for your sorrow about my family. Many Americans aren’t yet ready to accept the fact that we Germans have suffered enormous pain as well from a war that many of us never wanted. Tell me, Lieutenant Logan, have you lost friends and loved ones in this terrible war?”
He mulled that one over. “Friends, yes, but not loved ones. Someone said love is not for the military.”
He often wondered about that. Sometimes the pain he had felt on the death of a fellow soldier had been so bad and so wrenching that he and others had blocked out forming relationships with new people. This was horribly unfair to the replacements who were alone and terrified, and this attitude only reinforced their fears. He had intentionally, but incorrectly, trivialized what combat was like in that long-ago discussion with Singer.
“This is where I get off.” She grinned, and he realized that they had walked to the refugee encampment. He had also walked about a half mile out of his way.
“How often do you translate for the almighty generals?”
“I’m on call. They contact me when they have something. Otherwise I am here, helping out as best I can. Why?”
“Perhaps I could stop by. We could talk again. I could bring some food, perhaps.”
She frowned. “Please do not misunderstand me, Lieutenant, but I am not certain that bringing food is a good idea. Some of the women are trading their bodies for food and cigarettes, and that I will not do. If that is what you have in mind, do not even think of coming back to see me.”
“No. Not at all,” he stammered truthfully. While he knew of guys who were ignoring the rules and taking advantage of German women who were sometimes very willing to make the trade, it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that she might be that type. He was shocked at his unintended implication. “I was only thinking of food to help out.”
He dared not say she really looked like she could do with a couple of good meals.
“If you bring food for me, I will not accept it. Because I help out with your officers, I do get some additional rations. A little while ago I was quite hungry and sick, but that is no longer the case.”
“Consider the food forgotten.”
“On the other hand,” Elisabeth smiled gently, “my nephew is only six and he is very sad.”
“Does he speak English too?”
“Yes, fairly well.”
“Gotcha,” said Logan. He turned and walked away briskly while Elisabeth smiled at his large, retreating back. Americans, she thought, were so very much like large toys.
Pauli saw her and got up from where he was sitting. He walked over and hugged her tightly. Every time she had to leave him he was afraid she wouldn’t come back. Could she blame him, with all that he had endured? She hugged him tightly in return and drew comfort from the presence of his small body. Pauli was all she had as well.
CHAPTER 10
The rumbling sound of the diesel engines of a score of Russian tanks made attempts at normal conversation a difficult task. Sergei Suslov wondered precisely where in Germany he and his men were and what was happening to the rest of the world. All he was certain of was that he was a couple of miles west of the Elbe, and that they were fighting the Yanks instead of the Nazis.
The crossing of the Elbe had been uneventful for him, although he had seen a handful of burned-out T34 hulks and the remains of a shattered pontoon bridge that told him earlier crossings had not been as peaceful as his had been.
The ground he was driving on was fairly level and he could see the silhouette of a number of buildings and a church steeple ahead. Word had earlier come down that there were Americans in the village. This had resulted in a nighttime attack that had been a disaster.
The battalion had gone forward in improper order with the infantry well behind the tanks instead of alongside for mutual protection. When the lead tanks had gotten to the buildings, they were assailed by antitank weapons, machine-gun fire, and bazookas. American bazookas, he’d been told, would not penetrate the armor of a T34. But that referred to the front armor, and the damned Yanks had waited until the tanks passed by and fired into their more vulnerable rear. In the confusion, a half-dozen T34s had been destroyed and a hundred belatedly arriving infantry were killed or wounded before the order to withdraw had been given.
Now they were going to go into the damned village the way they should have. Artillery had pounded it and Stormovik fighter-bombers had sought out targets, although rumor had it there were no American tanks in the village for the Soviet planes, whose specialty was killing enemy armor. Even more important to Suslov’s personal safety, Russian soldiers were trotting alongside his tank. No more would American infantry get behind him.