Blind Will

By Jim Jorgensen

The story unfolds in Berlin, as Karl Hecker discovers his wife's grandmother was Jewish. In the last year of the war, he had nowhere to turn and watched her climb into the back of a truck on the way to a death camp. From that moment forward, his life was filled with revenge and hatred of the Nazis. As his trip to Bern is full of danger, which he overcomes, he experiences a satisfying outcome at each turn as he defies the Nazis. Of course, the sorrow of his wife's death is always present, driving our hero to become a spy. As a courier from the foreign office in Berlin to the OSS in Bern, he carries secret papers, where discovery would mean certain death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Jorgensen
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781499067828

Jim Jorgensen

Jim Jorgensen is the author of six books on personal finance, including The Graying of America, and is cohost of the nationally syndicated radio show It's Your Money. He is a frequent speaker at conventions and meetings and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Book preview

Chapter One

My name is Karl W. Hecker, Director of Documents and Record Distribution in the Foreign Ministry in Berlin, and my life changed forever on April 2, 1944 when I became engaged in the search for my wife Anna, lost due to the heritage of her Jewish grandmother.

The day I remember began like any other early spring morning with daffodils starting to peek through the light snow, dusted in smoke from last night’s bombing. Anna and I wore the same seldom-washed, worn clothes and ate the same breakfast: leftover bread from last night topped with what we could scrape out from an almost empty jar of jelly, and drank some of last night’s ersatz coffee. As pangs of hunger gnawed on our insides, we each hit the sidewalk at six-thirty and walked in opposite directions to begin our work day.

Those reading the Berlin daily papers that morning would have learned almost nothing about last night’s bombing and the advancing Russians, they would not have read of the terrified people who lost their homes, stumbling through the streets carrying bags and pushing carts overflowing with household goods, nor would they know of the empty shelves at the local grocery store where ration coupons were becoming virtually worthless. Most of the news came from the imagination of the Propaganda Ministry: Newspapers were filled with stories of how brave people helped in the war effort and made victory possible, while the paper’s front pages painted a picture of a city in which life appeared to be continuing in a normal way.

But in the fifth year of the war, Berlin had become a charred ruin of itself. Each night an acrid odor tainted the air as the rumble started; a rolling thunder that came nearer and then a wave of explosions turning what was left of the city into rubble. Once the bombers left, masses of dark-gray dust filled with smoke and sulfur-yellow fog hung over the city. In the filthy rooms of our flat, pungent dirt coated our tongues. Each night we sat by a candle facing the damp and the cold from the open windows and doors to minimize the damage caused by the pressure waves of any nearby explosions.

Shortly after six o’clock that evening I arrived home from work. But as the clock struck seven, the realization dawned on me that Anna had never been this late. Oh, God, what has happened? When will she come home? In the stillness of the room I could see her laughing and teasing me in such a way that we inevitably fell into each other’s arms. But this time, as I stood staring at an empty flat, the pit in my stomach told me something was wrong.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my faded work pants and swallowed my fluttering heart into place, took two steps at a time and ran to the second-story window overlooking the street.

Waiting in the darkening flat, I could clearly remember yesterday when I’d bought flowers for our anniversary, Anna’s favorite bouquet of daisies, and what she’d worn to work this morning, a clean white blouse with a magenta scarf. But as darkness began to descend on the city, the muscles in my jaw tightened as I continued pacing the room. As time dragged on, I sat waiting, staring straight ahead, nerves screaming, all of my frightened thoughts fused into one: When will my wife come home?

I grabbed the ringing phone and Hans from the office told me he’d found Anna wandering the streets of Berlin.

Someone pinned a Jew patch on her coat and she’s banged up. Her face is scratched and she appears to be in a daze, but I think she’ll recover. I should be at your place within fifteen minutes.

My hand held the phone but my mind went blank. I kept looking at the door, dreading the scene I knew would play out. Then I heard the familiar squeaking from old wooden stairs and the footsteps grew louder; the sound of someone in a hurry. I raced towards the door. My breath caught in my throat. Blood pounded in my ears. Please God; let me find a way to help her. The door opened and I found myself staring at Hans holding Anna in his arms. My heart almost stopped. Her eyes turned toward me, the natural color in her face drained to white, her voice sounded panicked, her features were twisted with fear and disbelief.

They’ve discovered my Jewish grandmother. I’ve lost my job.

Her words shook me, as panic spread deep inside me. My pulse quickened as I focused on her eyes filled with fear, her legs behaving like they could hardly carry her. I reached out to hold her as I saw the tears sliding down her cheeks; tasted the beads of perspiration on her face; and felt her go limp in my arms. When Anna finally broke away, she stared up at me, her eyes filled with pain and yet so empty. I could see the fear in her face so palpable that I could hardly breathe. From the frightening truth acknowledged in her eyes, she whispered in my ear, I know I’ve just received a death sentence.

My heart constricted when the full realization hit me; our lives together were over.

I reacted in the only way I could to protect her. I’ll find some way to hide you where the bastards will never find you.

I wish you could, but Berlin is virtually free of Jews and there are no remaining hiding places.

What about your aunt in Magdeburg? Once your parents divorced, you grew up living with her, and I’m sure she would hide you. You told me she lives near the Cathedral only a few blocks from the train station. You could walk from the station to her home.

In the last letter I received from her she said her husband was killed in Poland and her home was bombed, when many of the bombs missed the big rail yards just west of her. I have no way of finding her now.

What if I suddenly became ill and missed work? We could take one of the remaining buses to Potsdam, and then with the help of some people in the office, you might locate a place to stay, away from Berlin.

I felt her hands trembling, and then shaking from fear, she hesitated for a moment before speaking. "From what I’ve learned at work, the country is covered with turncoat catcher Jews who will betray you to save their own life. The only way I could survive would be hiding in an upper room all day waiting for discovery. Her face radiated her fear. I don’t believe I could live each day on the edge of death, knowing that I could also put those who hid me at great risk."

Seeing she was cold and wet, I sat Anna near the pot-belly stove and threw some wooden legs from a chair I’d broken up, onto the fire; a faint glow broke the darkness. We sat in silence and looked at each other, realizing that this late in the war we might not have the option of another plan.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter Two

The next morning my muscles tightened, my gut fell to my boot tops. I realized that if I hadn’t taken a job at the top of the pile in the Foreign Ministry in Berlin just under von Ribbentrop, the Office of Racial Purity would never have traced our family history. Wrapped up in my work, I missed all the clues that should have told me to keep the bastards out of my private life. I felt like shit. But I couldn’t stop thinking the most gut-wrenching thought possible: I could be responsible for her death. My heart was racing now, my mind pondering my guilt. How can I tell her I love her and yet be responsible for her death?

I gave her a guilt-ridden glance as we sat at the breakfast table. Finally she pursed her lips and gave me a nod.

I’ve never met my grandmother, she began, almost as if she was describing some Nazi decree. "She died before I was born and I had no idea she was Jewish. My grandfather and my father were Aryan, but the line of the mother determines the ethnicity of the children. Under the new racial laws I’m a Mischlinge of the second degree—part-Jewish. Those with two Jewish grandparents are Mischlinge of the first degree. As far as I know, she said, the sad inescapability of her death now etched on her face, this group has already been rounded up and sent to the death camps."

After a few tense seconds, I took Anna in my arms. I knew she wanted some way out of a dreaded Gestapo visit. But I didn’t have answers. My body filled with rage and I found I could barely speak. In a whisper I told her, I’ll talk with Hans at the Jewish desk at the office. He might help us.

She sucked in the still air around us, and silence fell over the room, her eyes continuing to search mine for answers. When do you think they’ll come for me?

The whirring inside my head grew louder, as if I could somehow bury my fear and take a rational approach to the problem. Maybe in a week, I said softly. Hans says they schedule pickups in different zones of the city.

For just an instant I saw stark fear in her eyes, then she closed them and we kissed as we’d never kissed before. I gently hugged her, wanting to cry for her as I put on my coat. A kiss before the door closed that morning gave me the chills. It might be the last time I would ever see her..

Later that day at work I had the frightening experience of talking to Hans at the Jewish desk. Think of me as a reference library, I remember him telling me. If someone in the Ministry wants to know about the Jewish problem, I’m supposed to have the information.

With fists clenching and unclenching from anger, I gazed around his office. Hans, I need your help. You must have some ideas for Anna.

I saw fear ripple across his face. I read about your wife and I’m not sure I can help. Today most of the Jews have already been sent on the trucks, he said, as if he was dealing with numbers on a sheet. "But last week Goebbels promised the Fuehrer that Berlin would be Juden-frei, Jew Purified, and finally be rid of the last Jewish scum by his birthday. The code name is Fabrik-Aktion, Factory Action, where the Gestapo and SS raid a number of factories. Your wife must have been caught in the raid with the discovery of her Jewish grandmother. But from what I hear Goebbels is having trouble finding enough Jews to give his program the appearance of cleaning up the city."

So anyone who is close to being a Jew, he wants?

Ja. He needs to show numbers, and look like he’s clearing out the Jews from Berlin. I’ve heard stories that some near-Jews, or even people caught stealing ration coupons, have been grabbed. He doesn’t give a damn who the Gestapo throws in the truck. And there’s nothing more important for that bastard than to look good in the eyes of the Fuehrer.

What happens to the people the Gestapo picks up?

I don’t think you want to know. But if you insist, he shrugged, reaching for a recent report on his desk, it’s part of the Jewish Transfer Program. You’re not supposed to see this Report, but as a friend, I’ll let you give it a quick read.

The Jews are taken in unheated railway coaches packed double normal capacity and most of them have to stand in cramped corridors without sleep and food for forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Once in a camp those who survived the trip work fourteen hours a day and are nourished by thin watery gruel. Many of them die in the bitter eastern winter, which they suffer in their skimpy clothing, made for the cities they lived in all their lives. The death rate including women and children after the first month is between seventy and eighty percent.

Well, there’s some good news, Hans shrugged his shoulders slightly, his face an expression of hope. With the trickle of Jews now arriving at the camps, she could live for some time. She’s young, healthy, and with her skills in the office the Camp Commander could find her useful.

A growl of anger burst from my throat. I asked the only question I could manage. So you’re telling me there’s not a goddamn thing I can do to save Anna?

Karl, from what I know today, if she tries to escape she will be caught by Catcher Jews trying to save their lives and their families’ lives from the death camps, or by Hitler lovers who want to denounce her to build favors with the Gestapo. My guess is that if you hide her you’ll be at risk for protecting a Jew from the trucks. Hans squirmed in his chair and shot a glance at me across his desk with his intense blue eyes. This late in the war you simply can’t hide a Jew. I wish I could help.

Later that evening I couldn’t sleep a wink after I slid between the cold sheets of our bed. When I pulled the covers over my head, my thoughts quickly reverted to the possible knock on the door. I lay in the dark believing the Gestapo had lost the paperwork. But after years in the Foreign Ministry watching the way they worked, I knew that anyone who had ever been in contact with the SS had a card on file with notes on his or her name, birth date, Aryan status and family history. No matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise, the reality was that it was only a matter of time before the completed pickup forms landed in the hands of the Gestapo.

What kept me wide awake in the dead of night was the terrifying thought that continued to cross my mind. I was thinking the unthinkable. If Anna’s death could come from hard labor in a camp, lack of food and a nightmare of pain, was there another alternative? Would it be more merciful if she died at home?

Each time I sat up in bed I could hardly breathe. Was I thinking about killing my wife? My God, I told myself, have I gone mad? Could I murder my wife? Could she take her own life? Would I find a white envelope some morning telling me she had taken the only way out?"

Unable to find the courage to kill Anna and unable to suggest that she take her own life, I felt helpless while I waited for this frightening, God-awful story to be over.

Before I fell asleep I marveled at Anna’s ability each evening to welcome me home with a cheerful face, a kiss and a hug. She had to know the next day could be her last day of freedom.

The room was alive with memories and I could not face the thought that it was just the start of the Gestapo dance of certain death, a dance where I would be left alone.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter Three

The next morning I watched Anna stare at the people in the street who walked to work as if it was a normal day. I wrapped her in my arms and gave her a hug. She closed her eyes, and with a tear running down each of her cheeks, she must have been inundated with despair.

Her eyes suddenly warmed and her mouth touched mine. She tried to say something and then she threw her arms around me as if she didn’t want to let go and kissed me with all the passion she could muster. We clung together, as I held her heart tight against mine. When I pulled myself from her embrace I could see in her eyes how much my leaving hurt her. She put her head between her knees and sobbed like a baby for a life that would never be the same again.

Watching her, I felt her future tug at my heart while hopelessness gnawed on my insides. I was leaving her in a prison waiting for the Gestapo to knock at the door and there was nothing I could do. I no longer had any words of comfort to share and I simply closed the door and descended the stairs.

A few days later I fell asleep just before the pounding on the door rattled across the flat. I pulled my wits together after an evening of remembering our past. The bitch of it was that for the last week, all we had was our past. I squeezed my wife’s hand gently and got out of bed as quietly as I could. A few minutes later I opened the door and found myself staring at a dreaded Sicherheitsdienst officer. Below his silver-braded hat his eyes were centered above a thin, almost lipless mouth. I couldn’t help noticing the black square on the sleeve containing the menacing silver embroidered letters, S.D If I looked frightened, I was. What struck me most was his rigid stance as he repeatedly, impatiently, snapped his baton against the side of his leg.

Are you Karl Hecker?

I found myself nodding.

Your wife is Anna Hecker?

Ja.

You are hereby charged with violating the Reich Citizenship Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honor. You are further accused of marriage and sexual relations between a Jew and an Aryan. As an Aryan, the law presumes you did not know of your wife’s Jewish blood; therefore, you will be set free.

Reading from a prepared statement he gave me a solid stare and continued, The property of the Jew will accrue to the German Reich and such other persons will be unable to inherit anything from the Jew. Any subsequent claims by the Jew will be null and void at the end of the month in which this order becomes effective.

When the well-fed bastard came to the final statement on the paper, a twisted smile crept across his face. "I have one more question; are you living in a Mischehe, a racially mixed marriage with Christian children?"

No, I said.

That’s too bad, he continued with a straight face. "I can only offer favors to a privileged Jew with Christian children from a mixed marriage. Although those children are not recognized as true Aryans, they are Halbariers and protected under the law."

The way he spoke his lips curved over his words as if he were talking about an animal. She has fifteen minutes to pack, but she can only take what she can carry in one suitcase. The smug bastard stood in the hallway waiting for me to follow his orders. But from what I learned growing up in the back alleys of Hamburg, I could crack his skull and break his neck so fast he would fall like a limp sack. But if I killed him, his backup stood just behind him, and in the hallway, and outside the door, were several more. Looking at the creepy son of a bitch I told myself my death could not help Anna. If I lived I could make the Nazis pay.

Finding her sound asleep, I nudged Anna awake. The look on her face told me she knew what I had to say. I reached for her as I saw her tears once again start to fall. She hesitated, then grabbed me as if she would never let go. I know, she said, they’re waiting for me. I need to hold you one more time before it’s time to go.

Maybe somehow we were ready for this. We’d never been closer, nor communicated more deeply with one another than when she came into my arms and touched my lips.

Overcome with anguish, watching her march toward the bedroom door, I felt the impulse to do something, anything, to save her life, become almost irresistible. It was a physical force inside me literally pushing me into action.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter Four

I could feel my strength dissipating, like the wind had been knocked out of me. The room began to fade like a