GREATER GERMANY

By Eric Hausker

In 1989, Europe lies under the vast shadow of the Greater German Reich, Grossdeutschland. Following their unexpected triumph in World War Two, Germany has maintained its grip over Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and segments of White Russia. The turning point? The sudden assassination of Adolf Hitler in

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Hausker
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798892281140

Eric Hausker

Eric Hausker was born in Minnesota and soon discovered that he loved European History above all other subjects. As he delved into the stories of such nations, he learned German and Spanish, which enabled him to acquire even more insight into his favorite topic. He is retired and lives with his wife in New Jersey.

Book preview

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An Alternative History Novel by

Eric Hausker

Copyright © 2024 by Eric Hausker.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without a prior written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by the copyright law.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2024904898

ISBN:   979-8-89228-112-6   (Paperback)

ISBN:   979-8-89228-113-3   (Hardcover)

ISBN:   979-8-89228-114-0   (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1    The Bomb in the Bottle and the End of World War II

Chapter 2    Stolen Eggs

Chapter 3    The Stadium

Chapter 4    Robert Davison, Journalist

Chapter 5    Helmut von Mannhausen, German Army Lieutenant

Chapter 6    Zdzislawa Reshevsky, member of the Polish Resistance

Chapter 7    Jerzy Paluchowicz, son of a Resistance Hero

Chapter 8    Davison’s Assignment

Chapter 9    Close Call

Chapter 10  Zdzislawa’s Mission

Chapter 11  Post-Nazi Germany

Chapter 12  Seduction

Chapter 13  Arrival in Grossdeutschland

Chapter 14  Poem

Chapter 15  Her Mission Succeeds

Chapter 16  Thank You Neville!

Chapter 17  The Foot-Washing Doctor

Chapter 18  I Know Who Are You . . .

Chapter 19  Davison Takes a Day Off

Chapter 20  A Visit to the Farm of a Retired

SS Man

Chapter 21  A Visit to a Farm of the Polish Resistance

Chapter 22  A Tale of a Resistance Hero

Chapter 23  Eight German Schoolgirls

Chapter 24  Ambush in the Countryside

Chapter 25  Davison Must Leave Poland Alive

Chapter 26  Argument in the Park

Chapter 27  Davison Escapes with his Life

Chapter 28  Plans to Kidnap Davison

Chapter 29  Army Base

Chapter 30  A Body Identified

Chapter 31  The Last Battle of the War, 1943

Chapter 32  Cenotaph

Chapter 33  Zdzislawa Finds Weapons

Chapter 34  English Lesson

Chapter 35  American Businessman in Minsk

Chapter 36  Jerzy and Zdzislawa Form a Plan

Chapter 37  Report from Prague

Chapter 38  A Key is Copied

Chapter 39  Polish-German Friendship Hospital

Chapter 40  A Secret Revealed, in a Brothel

Chapter 41  Davison Escapes with his Life, Again

Chapter 42  Jutta Pleads with Davison

Chapter 43  Zdzislawa’s Defiant Leaflet

Chapter 44  Mannhausen’s Final Nightmare

Chapter 45  Centennial Birthday Celebration, April 20, 1989

Chapter 46  Stolen Weapons

Chapter 47  I am a Polish Woman. I must be very brave now...

Chapter 48  The Grenade

Chapter 49  Righteous Retribution

To my wife Nancy, who patiently waited till late at night as I worked on the manuscript, and to my on-line Polish tutors, who offered valuable advice and insights, Monika Podkomorzy and Patryk Chanas.

INTRODUCTION

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On March 13, 1943, Adolf Hitler boarded a transport plane after a brief visit to a German Army base in Smolensk, in the Soviet Union, which was then under German occupation. An army officer named Fabian von Schlabrendorf requested that the crew of the airplane take a box containing two bottles of cognac and deliver them to an acquaintance of his upon arriving at the destination, an airbase at Hitler’s headquarters in East Prussia.

Inside the package was an ingenious English-made explosive device. Before giving the box to the crewmen, Von Schlabrendorf broke a small vial of acid. The acid was designed to slowly dissolve a steel wire which held back a detonator. When the wire gave out, a spring mechanism would cause the detonator to snap down and set off the powerful time bomb. It would go off a half hour after the bomb was primed by the assassin.

Two hours later, the Fuhrer’s plane landed without incident at its destination.

Stupefied, von Schlabrendorf fought off his despair and quickly caught another Luftwaffe transport flight to the same airport where the airplane carrying Hitler had landed. He was miraculously able to retrieve the package, thereby keeping this assassination attempt a secret from anyone unloading the cargo. With nerves of steel, he opened it in an attempt to see why the bomb had not blown the plane out of the sky.

He saw that the wire had been dissolved, as the acid was designed to do so. The trip hammer of the detonator had sprung downward, as it was designed to do. But the explosive charge had not gone off. Von Schlabrendorf assumed that the extreme cold in the cargo hold at high altitudes had prevented the explosive from igniting. The anti-Hitler conspiracy to which von Schlabrendorf belonged could do nothing but bide their time and plan for another opportunity.

Over a year later, the famous suitcase bomb of Count von Stauffenberg blew up Hitler’s headquarters on July 20, 1944. Again, the Fuhrer’s luck held. He survived with minor injuries and went on to lead his nation to utter defeat less than a year later. Stauffenberg was arrested and executed the same day.

Von Schlabrendorf was arrested as a co-conspirator this time and tortured by the Gestapo to make him reveal the names of the others who were involved. But he withstood the pain and kept silent. Through some lucky confluence of circumstances, he was acquitted by a Nazi court and survived the war. He was described as one of the boldest and bravest of the anti-Nazi German officers.

In post-war West Germany, Fabian von Schlabrendorf had a distinguished career as a federal judge. He died in 1980 at the age of 74.

If the bomb that he placed on that transport plane had exploded, the history of the 20th Century would have been incalculably different.

CHAPTER 1

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The Bomb in the Bottle and the End of World War II

It was just after the pilot had radioed a routine position report north of Minsk that Adolf Hitler’s Focke Wolf Condor transport plane was shaken by a small explosion. It was one week before the beginning of Spring 1943. The German dictator was returning from a visit to the Wehrmacht Headquarters in Smolensk. He was due to land in East Prussia in an hour and a half.

The men flying the two ME-109 escort fighters near it noticed the yellow tongue of flame spurting from the rear of the aircraft. They watched in horror as the Fuhrer’s plane began to burn. Over their radios, the escort pilots heard the agonized gasp of the transport’s pilot, They’re shooting at us! Our own people on the ground! But no burst of German anti-aircraft fire had shattered the air.

Did anyone see any flak? I didn’t! shouted the senior pilot into his throat microphone.

Nein! came the hoarse reply over the airwaves. Something in the aft cargo compartment must have gone off! suggested one pilot. What the hell do they have on board?

The man flying the transport had recovered his composure. I am losing altitude. I will have to make an emergency landing. His transmission carried faint background noises which sounded like metal scraping against concrete. It froze the blood of the escort fliers - they had heard the screams of doomed human beings in stricken airplanes before.

The aircraft was losing tail fragments and starting to swerve from side to side.

Give him room! came the squadron leader’s command, and the ME-109s turned away in unison.

He’s going down like a lead bird! screamed one of the Messerschmitt pilots in despair. By now, the Fuhrer’s plane was far below them, orange flames engulfing nearly half the fuselage.

I’m losing control of the aircraft! bellowed her pilot, as his death panic overcame him.

The escort pilots turned off their radios, so unnerving were the wails of terror in the background. Soon, only a ball of fire could be seen heading toward the ground.

It was not an easy death. At that very moment, all over the Eastern Front, infantrymen were dying in less time than it took Adolf Hitler’s airplane to complete its earthward plunge to destruction in the forests of German-occupied White Russia.

* * *

In the memory of Reich Chancellor and Fuhrer Adolf Hitler, his successor Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering declared a 30 day period of mourning. His first statement to the German people upon assuming the leadership of the Third Reich was a promise that he would follow the late Fuhrer’s path. All of Hitler’s war aims would be carried out, including the establishment of a new economic and racial order in Europe. The fighting would be brought to a successful conclusion to save the continent from the Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy which menaced it.

The German people responded to the announcement with great hope, stunned though they were by Hitler’s death. They felt relieved that Goering, rather than any of the other top Nazis, was now at the helm. He was one of the most admired and popular men in the Third Reich and vastly preferable to, say, Heinrich Himmler or Joseph Goebbels. The Germans were resigned to more warfare, yet they wished desperately that the Reichsmarschall and the Luftwaffe would do something about the increasing Anglo-American bombing attacks.

The conspirators listened carefully for any rumors that the Fuhrer’s death might be considered other than accidental. They heard none, to their immense relief, and were delighted when the Soviet press soon claimed that their partisans operating in the area had, in fact, downed the Fuhrer’s transport plane. The conspirators feared, of course, that either the SS or the Gestapo would hurry to the site of the wreckage and start an investigation. In any event, the partisan bands would have made an inquiry into the cause of the plane crash most difficult. Eventually, photographs taken by cameramen with the partisan units of the barely recognizable bodies of Hitler and the other crew and passengers on board reached the world’s press. Images of the funeral pyre, too, of their cremation were also eagerly distributed by the Soviets. The German people were carefully prevented from seeing them.

Many of the anti-Nazis were of the opinion that Goering, overbearing and self-seeking though he was, did not suffer from megalomania to the extent that his late predecessor did. It was hoped that he would be more of a realist and look for a reasonable way to end the war.

The only group of Germans, besides the few Jews sheltered here and there, who downright exulted in the Fuhrer’s demise, was the German General Staff. The Army’s highest-level officers, of course, knew better than anyone else that the tide of war had turned against the Fatherland. Generals Manstein, Guderian, and others had been reduced to mere observers by the sheer force of Hitler’s personality, as an entire army had been surrounded and destroyed at Stalingrad just six weeks earlier. None of their suggestions that might have averted the disaster were heeded by the former Austrian corporal.

In a dozen hushed conversations among Germany’s finest military minds, it was agreed: Hitler’s string of luck of ignoring sound war advice had run out, so the best thing for him to have done was to depart from the scene. Moreover, the Wehrmacht on the Eastern Front now had a couple of months to prepare for the expected Soviet summer offensive. The prospect of a huge Russian push westward was haunting everyone, from the men in the trenches to the highest levels of the German High Command.

The front was now stabilized for the time being, thanks to Manstein’s recapture of the city of Kharkov a few days before. The Germans could ready themselves for a long series of defensive battles, which they expected to begin with the coming of spring. All that was required was to carefully husband Germany’s resources and, for God’s sake, put an end to that foolish adventure in North Africa. The Afrika Korps had spent a year and a half fighting in the sands of Libya and were about to be caught in the Anglo-American nutcracker. The British were advancing west from Egypt; the Americans, who were now entering the war in ever greater numbers, were pressing eastward from Algeria. Only a quick evacuation could avoid a second Stalingrad - this time in a desert setting.

But Hermann Goering had no such intention. He felt it would be bad for German morale if he suddenly permitted the withdrawal of General Rommel’s army from Africa after fighting there so hard and long. He felt he could easily arrange adequate air supply to the Afrika Korp and keep the battle going. The air route from Sicily, where the Luftwaffe had bases, to Tunisia was shorter and easier than the conditions of taking supplies to the trapped army in Stalingrad, where he had failed badly. Goering wanted to erase the Luftwaffe’s failure by succeeding in North Africa. Besides, the presence of a powerful German bastion there would certainly work in Germany’s favor when peace negotiations eventually began with the Western Allies.

It was not to be. The Americans and British now had gained air superiority in the Mediterranean theater and shot down dozens of German transport planes bringing ammunition and reinforcements to the quarter million German and Italian troops in Tunisia. By the end of the month of April 1943, it was clear that this army also had no choice but to surrender, which they did on May 13th. It was a decisive loss of prestige for Goering. The German military now counted three major failures of his Luftwaffe to fulfill his promises: The Battle of Britain, the Battle of Stalingrad, and the North African campaign. Another charge shrewdly directed against Goering was that he had permitted as head of the Luftwaffe only two fighter planes to be assigned to escort Hitler’s airplane that night.

The German High Command felt self-confident enough to move against Goering within days. The Reichsmarschall was replaced as head of state by a junta of six German generals, three of them on active duty – Manstein, Guderian, and Rommel, who was ordered back from Tunisia before the surrender of the Afrika Korps. Three more capable generals whom Hitler had dismissed, von Bock, List, and Halder – none of whom had Nazi loyalties – were called out of retirement to serve.

The first order that the junta issued was to command three Panzer regiments to form a cordon around Wehrmacht headquarters in Berlin to guard against any attempt by the SS under Heinrich Himmler to intervene. With Goering’s demise, no general needed to feel intimidated by any Nazi official in any matter. Historians have dated the decline of National Socialism from this point.

The generals now had complete control over all decisions regarding the war. Goering continued as head of the Luftwaffe but was advised in no uncertain terms to suspend air operations over England. Shortly thereafter, the German Kriegsmarine was ordered to withdraw all U boats from the North Atlantic, where they were suffering heavy losses, and re-deploy to the North Sea to engage in defensive patrols only.

The Western Alliance – Britain, France, and the United States – had declared two months earlier at the Casablanca Conference that their terms for ending the war against Germany would be nothing less than unconditional surrender. But now, with Hitler dead, London and Washington were advised via diplomatic contacts in neutral nations that Berlin was sending out peace feelers. The generals selected a brilliant young staff officer, a colonel named Claus von Stauffenberg, whose anti-Nazi mindset was known to many in the Wehrmacht. He was elevated to a high position in the new government and given the task of coordinating Germany’s gradual extrication of the dangerous situation the nation was in. The Army High Command knew that eventually the Ango-American armies would land in Normandy and force an unwinnable two-front war upon Germany. As soon as Stauffenberg recovered from severe wounds suffered in North Africa, he threw himself into this mission.

By late May 1943, Fate seemed to be smiling at Germany. Her mad dictator was dead, his hand-picked successor neutralized. A half dozen of the world’s ablest strategists of the era were directing Germany’s defenses. On all fronts, her armies were well-positioned to repel attacks. The frightening prospects of a two-front war were diminishing. Above all, world opinion was beginning to take note of a small Russian village named Katyn.

Several weeks before, German occupation authorities had discovered eight mass graves in a forest near the town. Investigation showed the dead to be Polish officers. Eventually, 12,000 bodies were unearthed, and from bits of newspaper and personal letters on the bodies, the Germans estimated that the luckless men had been shot in the spring of 1940. This confirmed the worst fears of the Polish Government in Exile, which had calculated that 22,000 prisoners of war of the several hundred thousand captured during the Soviet invasion of Poland in September of 1939 were unaccounted for. This could only mean that a mass slaughter of Poles had been ordered by the regime of Josef Stalin.

The German propaganda machine, still headed by Joseph Goebbels, did not reveal this find until after peace feelers went out. Neutral journalists were brought to the grisly scene. As they filed their reports of what they saw, many in Western government circles began to voice their doubts about supporting the Soviets in their war against Germany. Officials who had accepted the necessity of aiding a regime like Stalin’s against Hitler now began wondering if this was the wisest course to follow. Such men were, of course, aware that without Hitler’s disastrous influence on German military decisions, the subjugation of Germany by force of arms would now be a very tall order. In any event, the Americans still had to deal with the Japanese in the Pacific.

Bombing attacks by Allied warplanes began to drop off as German diplomatic contacts regarding negotiations intensified. Soon, the only enemy aircraft over Germany were those on armed reconnaissance missions. The Luftwaffe continued to challenge them at full strength. But the trend was away from all-out war.

In the meantime, the Eastern Front erupted. The Soviet Union’s massive offensive to recover her lost territory began in June. The offensive put an end to the 70-day lull in the fighting on the European continent. Savage combat broke out all along the front, from Leningrad to Ukraine. But the Wehrmacht generals had anticipated this eruption of fighting and had prepared plans to gradually withdraw in good order while inflicting maximum casualties on the attacker.

As the summer wore on, Germany slowly yielded Russian territory back to the Red Army. The price paid by the attackers was staggering. Each new thrust against the German perimeter was followed by weeks of recuperation as nearly extinct Russian units waited for reinforcements.

In August of that year, the Polish Underground launched a full-scale insurrection in Warsaw. The leaders mistakenly believed that a Soviet attack would be coordinated to aid them. But Stalin was content to leave the Poles to their own devices since many of the leaders of the uprising were known anti-Communists of no use to him in the event Poland was liberated by the Red Army. This heartless lack of support by the Soviets to the anti-Nazi crusade was duly noted by the Western Allied commanders and governments. It became one more reason to doubt the wisdom of continued aid to the Red Army as it approached the heart of Europe.

The German SS put down the revolt with an appalling level of barbarity after two months of street fighting. Most of Warsaw was destroyed utterly in the process. During this period of blood-letting, all inmates of the concentration camps on Polish soil were liquidated, and the camps were torn down.

Allied materiel reaching the Soviet Union began to lose its effectiveness. The convoys arriving in Russian ports were soon bringing more sacks of wheat and corn and less military hardware. As Radio Berlin kept repeating, each American artillery piece unloaded at Murmansk brought Communism closer to the heart of European Civilization. The Russians had no choice but to accept. By October, it had become nearly impossible for the Red Army to undertake further offensives against the Germans. By then, the Eastern Front outcome was a matter of who would become exhausted first, the Wehrmacht or the Red Army. In five months of combat, they had inflicted nearly three million casualties on each other.

The German line stiffened again in White Russia. The fighting came to a halt, with the Soviets having advanced to a line from Lithuania to the Black Sea. No armistice was ever signed; the Soviets had simply been bled white.

At this point, another sinister bargain between Berlin and Moscow took place. The Germans suggested through diplomatic channels that the German garrison would be withdrawn from Finland soon after the first of the year 1944. The Soviets understood that this small nation was being tossed to them as a cynical consolation prize. The Red Army still had enough effective strength to conquer a little neighbor, even a tough little one. The heartless offer from Berlin was heartlessly accepted, and the Finns lost their independence again in June 1944. As in 1939, they electrified the world with their courage and tenacity before submitting to Soviet conquest.

By that time, no German soldier was on duty west of the Rhine River, those troops having been withdrawn from Western Europe in accordance with the General Peace Settlement of 1944. All Wehrmacht forces had been evacuated from the Nordic countries, Greece, and Yugoslavia. Germany’s 1940 borders, encompassing Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland, stood unchallenged. A vassal state of Belarus, run by local anti-semite ruffians under German protection, had been set up. Friendly governments were still in power in Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and Croatia. This state of affairs, together with the new boundaries, was frozen for all time by the development of nuclear weapons by America one year later and by Russia and Germany soon after the war was over.

Germany emerged from World War II as the most powerful state ever to exist on the European continent. The resources contained within her new borders assured her of a standard of living unequaled by any nation in the world. Since 1944, Germany had attained a level of invulnerability undreamed by previous empires in recorded history.

And now, nearly half a century had passed.

CHAPTER 2

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Stolen Eggs

The sun had already disappeared behind the rolling hills of Joachim Fetscher’s farm. The stars were out; the chill of the spring evening descended upon everything. The Polish farm worker Jan Kaczmarek was grateful for the insulating quality of the hay in which he had hidden himself. His ragged overcoat would not have offered much protection against the cold tonight had it been his turn to walk to the nearby town of Sulejowek.

The barn in which he was crouching was immense, nearly as big as the original structure, which had served as a field hospital for the Imperial Russian Army in 1914. It had belonged to a nobleman from Brest, and perhaps for that reason, it had been burnt to the ground by the Bolsheviks when they had attacked in 1920. Rebuilt by a Polish landowner after the war, the huge building found itself once again in military use in World War II. Polish artillery horses had fed on its haystores during the retreat back toward Warsaw from the Russians in the early fall of 1939. When the German Wehrmacht advanced into the Soviet Union two years later, the entire property was requisitioned and occupied by a quartermaster unit. Jeeps and staff cars were parked in the barn for the duration of the war. Miraculously, it suffered no damage during those years.

The barn did, however, acquire numerous bullet holes in the fighting between Polish irregulars and German soldiers after 1944, when the war ended. The present owner of the estate was a German colonist from Hamburg, who caulked over and painted as many holes as he could find, But the Polish farmhands who worked for him found three rounds from a submachine gun stilled embedded in the wood frame of the roof cupola, and left them there. It was said that in 1949 when the fighting had nearly died down, a Pole had killed a German using the roof of the barn as an observation post. Kaczmarek often gazed proudly at the cupola and murmured a quick prayer for his country.

Poor Anton Dombrowski must be half frozen, he thought, and hoped that the man would remember to cross to the far side of the barn to avoid the watchman.

At the foreman’s desk, he found the metal coffee cup used by the man. Kaczmarek lit a candle and devised a way of suspending the cup over the flame using a short length of sturdy fence wire. He was careful to shield the flame from anyone who might be passing by and glance in the window. Presently there was a knocking at the door. It was the correct number of knocks on the correct door, a small side entrance on the unlit side of the barn. Kaczmarek opened the door a crack, and a rangy scarecrow of a man popped in.

Anton! Did everything go smoothly?

Not a soul saw me between here and the village, I believe, said Dombrowski, pushing strands of blond hair out of his weary face. Business was good, better than I expected.

Before Easter, business is always good, observed Kaczmarek, grinning to reveal a row of crooked teeth. How much did you collect?

Everybody paid in full except that rascal Slawomir. He still owes from last time, answered the younger man, still shivering.

The water was just warming up enough for a weak cup of tea. Sit down, Anton, and drink the tea I have made for you.

Thank you. Let’s count the money.

On the barn floor, the men tallied the proceeds of the night. Eighty-eight Reichsmarks and 62 pfennigs, chortled Dombrowski and divided the cash into two equal amounts. The farmhands pocketed their shares and leaned back in the hay.

Another month like this, and I’ll have enough to buy Nadya a radio, said Dombrowski contentedly.

If you don’t drink it up first, teased the older man.

I don’t do that anymore. Not me. Things have been going too well lately.

Don’t say things like that, warned Kaczmarek. You’ll put a curse on our good luck up till now. If you must say something, say a prayer to the Virgin and shut up.

Come on, old man. Don’t be superstitious. Fetscher doesn’t suspect a thing. Whenever it’s my turn to go collecting, I return to find you gloomy. We’ve had another good night!

Kaczmarek was silent for a moment. Because I have worked for them longer than you have. I have endured much that you have not.

Yes, Grandfather. And you never dream of what you’ll do with the money, do you? I happen to know that you’re preparing for your daughter’s communion banquet - you will be able to afford a tremendous feast. I will expect champagne, you know.

You are indeed an optimistic young fellow, retorted Kaczmarek, with some humor in his voice. First, we’ll never get caught; then, you invite yourself to her communion feast. Both men chuckled, then stood up and began to pull aside armfuls of hay, revealing cartons of eggs that Kaczmarek had hidden earlier that day.

Dombrowski carried six dozen eggs over to the flatbed pickup truck parked inside the barn. Kaczmarek raised the canvas tarp covering the platform so that his companion could pack them away. For several months their theft of food had gone unnoticed. It was their only way of accumulating cash, for their weekly wage and food allowance, though adequate, was hardly enough for any of the amenities of life. With a few ill-gotten Reichsmarks in their pockets, Polish farm workers could dream of the little pleasures of existence that their salaried compatriots in the cities took for granted. Besides, stealing from the Germans was the duty of every honorable Pole.

Is everything well covered? asked Dombrowski.

Yes, my friend. Just make sure you are waiting at the right unloading point at the right time tomorrow.

Of course. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means the grove of trees at the edge of the wheat field. You will drive over there at 9:30 and wait for us to meet you.

With a sudden loud scraping noise, the main entrance of the barn opened. A rush of cold air filled the barn.

The foreman Kramer appeared, his massive bulk and ugly profile, hated for miles around, seemed to fill the barn entrance. Kaczmarek saw his friend grab the edge of the truck to keep himself from collapsing with fear. He tried to remain calm and think up a story. He had his share of the Reichsmarks in his pocket; perhaps a bribe would work.

Then more shadowy figures filled the barn, and he knew that all was lost. Fetscher’s three burly middle-aged sons stared at Kaczmarek and Dombrowski with venom in their eyes and began to take off their jackets. And then he heard a scratching sound on the pebbled ramp leading into the barn as if a man was slowly shoveling gravel into a pile. I’m going to die, gasped Kaczmarek as the crippled form of Joachim Fetscher came into view.

Fetscher’s walking stick had the swastika emblazoned on the handgrip. His florid, wrinkled features shone with sadistic delight as he shuffled slowly across the floor of the barn. With vigorous gestures, he waved the cane at his foreman, who understood the cue. Kramer grabbed Dombrowski by the arms and dragged him close to Fetscher. Kaczmarek was watched by Fetscher’s sons and could do nothing to help.

Herr Fetscher! cried Dombrowski in broken German, we pay you for everything!

Kramer was holding him by the hair and suddenly jerked his head back. Dombrowski whimpered in pain. Kaczmarek looked away and prayed for him.

Fetscher’s eldest son supported his father by the arm. Thus steadied, the old man plunged the tip of his cane into the young Pole’s stomach. He grinned silently and malevolently as Dombrowski collapsed and writhed on the ground. Kramer put his foot into the back of his ear.

Close the doors! barked Fetscher excitedly at another of his beefy sons. No noises are to be heard. Now bring the other one here!

Kramer and the last son pinioned Kaczmarek’s arms behind his back and brought him into position in front of Fetscher.

He turned his large blue beast’s eyes toward him as the barn door slammed shut. Fetscher struck viciously at Kaczmarek with his stick. But the older Pole had time to harden his muscles to resist the blow. The tip of the cane hurt fearfully but did not immobilize him. A mass of spittle flew from his mouth and landed in the German’s right eye.

A surprisingly loud bellow of rage burst from the old man, followed by a gasp of frustration as he vainly tried to wipe away Kaczmarek’s well-aimed spit. Kramer! Kramer! he whined.

One of Fetscher’s sons released Kaczmarek’s arms in order to hand his father a handkerchief. Father, here - let me...

Desperate courage welled up in Kaczmarek, and he was able to shake himself free of Kramer’s strong grip. I am a Pole, he shouted to himself over the frenzied beating of his heart.

German bastard! he bellowed and swung his fist at the foreman’s face. But fear loosened his fingers and weakened his blow.

Kramer flinched at the ringing slap. He grabbed the farmhand by the collar and kicked him in the groin.

Ridiculous Polish scum! You damned thief!

Beat their brains out! snarled Fetscher, but no blood!

The farmhands were stood up and held by powerful hands. The blows began to rain down on their temples. Their necks whipped from side to side as the Germans put all their strength into each unhurried punch. They hit the Poles with open palms swung from behind their backs, with sickening impact.

The crippled Fetscher watched grimly from a few feet away. His eyes were fixed on the heads of the two farmhands as they slumped ever downward under the cyclone of brutal blows. He had presided over many such beatings, which were simply part of running his farm.

Two Polish sons of bitches who will never steal from me again! he exulted aloud. He gripped his swastika-adorned cane tightly and shook it at the sound of each punch. The only other sound in the barn was the heavy breathing of the two sons who delivered the brain-addling smacks. They were near exhaustion and staggered off balance as they swung their arms.

Get the pair of swine out of here and leave them where it will do some good, ordered Joachim Fetscher as he left the barn for his farmhouse.

The utterly limp bodies of the comatose men were loaded in the truck near the items they had been caught stealing. Kramer and one son drove down the road two kilometers toward the village and dumped them next to a telephone pole.

This should be a lesson to the rest of the around here, said Georg Fetscher. These two will remember this beating for a long time.

Maybe, maybe not, replied Kramer in his gravelly voice. Poles have hard heads.

It was a bitterly cold night in late March 1989.

CHAPTER 3

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The Stadium

Zdzislawa had passed Reichenau Stadium countless times on her way to work. Until that morning, she had never bothered to look closely at it.

The grand entryway of the stadium was guarded by a huge, ugly, German-style eagle carved in limestone, but the quality of its architecture was quite impressive. Around the circumference of the structure, sixteen immense arched portals grew out of the upper rim of the stadium. The top of the stadium consisted of an equal number of slanted revetments, like half-pyramids. After every four of these, a tower sprouted from the top wall. One could walk all the way around the stadium up on the roof