Free Red Inferno: 1945 by Robert Conroy Page B

the Third Reich was so fragile that it would shatter into brawling fragments before the Allies could destroy Germany.
    Had Hitler been right? If so, what did this mean for Germany? For that matter, von Schumann wondered, was Hitler still alive to appreciate the situation? For what the führer had done to his beloved Germany, von Schumann fervently wished death for Hitler. Whatever approval he had once felt for the führer and the Nazi regime had disappeared in the snows of Stalingrad and the refuse dump where overworked surgeons had cut off and thrown away his gangrenous leg.
    He looked again at the people who had chosen to follow him out of the city. They were uniformly filthy, ragged, thin, and terrified. He looked to where he could see the young woman, Elisabeth, and the boy. The boy looked intrigued by everything that was going on around him, while the girl looked a little better than earlier. Amazing what some broth, a small piece of bread, and the realization that you are not alone can do for a person’s health and sense of well-being.
    She saw him watching her and ventured a shy smile. Von Schumann nodded at her and smiled back. She was young enough to be his daughter and pretty enough with her un-German black hair. The thought of his daughter sent a stab of pain through him. Where was she? Where was his wife, Hilda? He knew it would be a long time, if ever, before he would be able to find out. The last letter from them had been more than a year ago and it said they were heading for Hamburg. Hamburg had been destroyed by bombs and fire. Had they been consumed as well?
    Elisabeth watched as von Schumann turned and hobbled away. For the first time in weeks she was not afraid. Instead of lurking and skulking in the cellars and tunnels of her apartment complex in Berlin, she was out in the air and actually doing something. Better, she had found people who would help her and Pauli survive this horror. Her gums didn’t hurt as much, nor did her joints. The women in the group had adopted the two of them, and a number of food scraps easily became a meal. For the first time since leaving Berlin she felt that she might just survive and that both she and Pauli might have a future.
    Pauli stared at the departing von Schumann. “Is he our new papa?”
    For the first time in weeks, Elisabeth laughed, causing others to turn and glance at her in case she had gone mad. “No, Pauli. He is not our new papa. He is a friend, a very good friend.”
    Pauli nodded solemnly and prepared to digest that piece of information. He dug a piece of stale bread from his pocket and began chewing on it.
    But what in God’s name was von Schumann talking about? The ever-present sounds of battle meant nothing to her. She’d presumed that the Germans were fighting the Russians. But had he said that the Americans and the Russians were fighting each other? Even though the Russians were animals, they were on the same side as the Americans. If they were indeed fighting each other, what did that mean to her feelings of safety?
    Foreboding returned. “I think we might have gone from the frying pan into the fire,” she said.
    Pauli looked puzzled. “Is somebody frying something?”
    M ORE THAN FIFTY people were jammed in the smoke-filled conference room in the West Wing of the White House, filling it well beyond capacity. When Steve Burke arrived along with General Marshall and a number of other army officers, Truman was already there. To his surprise, Marshall formally introduced Burke to Truman and reminded the president that he was the man who had received the message from the Russian.
    “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before, Colonel, but it was a good job,” Truman said tersely and shook his hand. “Your quick actions may have saved a lot of our boys’ lives.”
    Burke had found out a little earlier that he was being put in for a commendation, perhaps even a medal, for his actions that night. While pleased, he was a little embarrassed. All he