V Alexander - The Taster

The next morning, the other tasters, except for Else and me, had left by the time it grew light. At breakfast, Peter mentioned the shelling and shook his head in disgust. “The Wehrmacht will push back the enemy invaders,” he said. “There is nothing to fear.” Victoria seemed less convinced as she paced in the kitchen. Dark circles had formed under her eyes from a bad night’s sleep. She said to me after Peter left the table, “I’m afraid of what might happen.” She clutched a towel in her hands and absentmindedly wrung it. “The Führer says we should protect ourselves from the Asian horde at any cost. They will burn our homes, kill our men and rape us.”

Else’s face went white and she cried out. I had not seen her so visibly upset since the day we arrived at the Wolf’s Lair.

I was also shaken by the advance, but I wanted to be strong for Else. “You can’t believe everything you hear,” I said, trying to put on a good face. “The Reich will prevail.” I didn’t believe those words, but they seemed to cheer up Victoria, who returned to her duties in the kitchen. I dried the dishes as she washed. Else tidied the table and brought the plates to us. She frowned as she worked; cleaning was an unsatisfactory distraction against the black thoughts of the day.

The snowfall ended by late morning. The sun peeked through the high gray clouds and cast long shadows through the trees. I read in the living room and Else played with two cats until it was time to get ready for work. The SS car arrived about three to pick us up. The returning tasters departed from the car with long faces. The SS driver leaned against the long black sedan and lit a cigarette. As Else and I were getting into the car, he said, “This may be one of your last days at headquarters. The Reds are within twenty kilometers. The situation is grim.”

I stepped out of the car. “Else, gather your things—you may need them.”

“You don’t have time to pack,” the driver said. “I’m on a schedule.”

“It will only take a minute,” I said. On the way to the door, I told Else to cram as much as she could into her bag. “If anyone asks, say we have orders and leave it at that.”

We took about five minutes to get everything together. It didn’t take me long because I had never really unpacked, feeling we wouldn’t have long to stay at the farmhouse. I threw my stuffed monkey into my bag and closed it. Else had a few more things to pack than I, but she did so quickly and soon we were able to leave. We didn’t say good-bye to the other tasters or Peter and Victoria—we headed straight for the car. Our irritated driver hit the accelerator, spraying mud and rocks as he sped away.

When we arrived at the mess hall, we placed our bags in Cook’s office. She also seemed dismayed by the approaching Red force and struggled to keep her distracted mind on cooking. “You were right to bring your bags,” she said. “The order to evacuate may come at any time.” Her eyes clouded. “All we have built and fought for will be destroyed.”

I wanted to tell Cook about the pictures I’d seen, the information Karl had gathered about the camps and the atrocities, but I knew the time for the truth had passed. Her illusions would be shattered soon enough.

As Else and I were about to taste the evening meal, the thud and shock of cannon fire vibrated through the building. The brick and wooden walls shook from the blast. The hall was not a bunker. Cook and I looked at each other and Else took a deep breath. A wave of fear washed over us as another blast hit only a few kilometers away.

“Leave,” Cook told us, “go to the farmhouse. You will be safer there. I have much to do.”

“I don’t want to go,” Else said. “Can’t we stay here?”

“Where do you think the shells and bombs will land?” Cook asked. She took Else’s hands in hers. “Get out now. I pray I will see you in the future.”

Cook ordered a young SS officer to take us back to the farmhouse. We gathered our bags and followed him to the car. Once we had departed from the checkpoints, the man accelerated the sedan down the road. As we traveled the short distance, I saw bursts of orange light to the east, followed by thunderous rumbles. The shock waves hit the vehicle with such force the car shook, like a gigantic invisible hand was pushing against it.

Else shivered in the seat and I tried to console her, but I was having a hard time being brave. “Hurry,” I shouted to the driver, and looked frantically to the east. My throat grew dry from fear.

As we drew near the house, the driver slowed the car.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pushed back his cap and pointed ahead. Flames licked the sky and black smoke billowed from a spot deep inside the forest.

“It’s the house,” I said. “We have to help them.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “We could be ambushed. I’m turning around.”

I slammed my hand on the back of the driver’s seat. “Do you really want to be responsible for the deaths of four members of the Führer’s staff? Could you justify your actions to your superior officer?”

He turned his head toward me. Even in the dim interior I could make out the expression on his face. He looked like a child who had been scolded. I guessed he was hardly over eighteen. He scowled, then faced the windscreen again and said, “I will go another half kilometer. You can go on foot from there.”

Else tugged at my coat. “Don’t be a fool, Magda. The Reds may be here. Please, let’s turn back.”

Else had always been protected since I met her, first by Minna, and then Cook and me. “We’ll be all right,” I told her. “The other tasters may need our help.” I ordered the driver to proceed.

The young man turned off the sedan’s headlights and inched forward. The smooth Mercedes engine purred in a whisper. We swayed over potholes, crunching the rocks in our path. The artillery fire had slowed, but the flames in front of us soared higher in the air.

“Here,” the man said. “This is far enough. If you wish to—”

A spray of bullets splintered the windscreen. One pierced the young soldier’s head. His blood spattered backward in warm droplets as he fell on the steering wheel. I screamed for Else and tugged at her arm. She fell limply against my side, her eyes lolling. Blood seeped from a hole in her coat. I screamed again and struggled to open the door. I sat on the right side of the seat nearest the woods. I pushed it open and tumbled into the forest, falling across a log. Fortunately, my heavy coat protected my body. The cold and the snow that fell upon me from the branches above added to the shock coursing through me.

Men’s voices, from in front of the car, carried down the road. I cut deeper into the forest, feeling nothing but panic pushing me forward until I came to a small outcropping of rocks. I hid behind it and listened to the approaching men over the wild thumping of my heart. They spoke Russian and I didn’t understand what they were saying. I heard the sedan doors open and slam shut. The men laughed and shouted what sounded like curses. The voices then disappeared down the road we had taken to get to the farmhouse.

I shivered in the darkness and pulled myself up from the ground. The fire, spewing orange flames into the sky, still burned a hundred meters away. Its heat warmed my face when I looked toward it. I stumbled through the forest toward the house, away from the men on the road. The closer I got to the fire, the brighter the woods shone. Dark branches glistened in the light. The snow covering them had begun to melt, creating cold drops, which fell upon my shoulders and head.

Soon I reached the edge of the forest. The light was so bright I needed to shield my eyes with my hands to see into it. I gasped. The farmhouse was consumed by flames. Large columns of fire and smoke swirled into the air, dropping sparks and ash to the ground.