V Alexander - The Taster

In front of the house, spread across the narrow strip of earth between the door and the woods, lay six bodies in a neat row: the four tasters and Peter and Victoria, the owners. Their heads pointed toward me, facedown in the snow. Blood pooled around each of them, shining red on the slushy coating of ice. I crept close to the tree line in order to remain hidden from view. The women’s arms were outstretched over their heads while Peter and Victoria lay on the opposite ends of the row, their hands at their sides. It appeared that each had been shot in the back of the head. The yellow dog, snuffling at the bloody snow, circled close to his master.

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. Peter, Victoria and the tasters were Party members, but they didn’t deserve to die in this fashion. Then I remembered the photos Karl had shown me from the Eastern Front that corroborated the rumors of atrocities against the Poles, the Russians and the Jews. My heart sank under the weight of the advancing army’s capacity for retribution, to take “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

I fell to my knees on the wet ground, pulled my coat up to my mouth and sobbed. If only I had listened to their protests, the young officer and Else might be alive. I trembled from the realization that I was responsible for their deaths. But I had only wanted to save the others! Now they lay dead in front of the burning farmhouse that had sheltered me for several days. I couldn’t cry out in shame or in horror.

Memories of Karl flooded my mind. I had to have strength to go forward without him, but I wondered how long I could maintain his wish for me to live. His final note to me, I love you, hung before my eyes. He wanted me to live and I wanted to honor his intention.

I looked at the fire for several minutes, watching the flames grotesquely illuminate the bodies. Suddenly, the right hand of one of the women jerked against the ground. I didn’t know whether she was alive or if it had involuntarily contracted, but I knew I couldn’t leave my hiding place to save her. She would bleed to death on the cold earth if she was not dead already.

I struggled to make sense of what I saw. In the distance, like sound traveling through fog, men’s voices carried in the air. Gunshots rang out, some rapid fire. There was shouting, cries of pain and then silence. I knelt at the base of a large tree and pondered what to do. I couldn’t go back to the car; the sedan was useless. I couldn’t stay in the forest overnight, for I would freeze to death. My only option was to find shelter and warmth.

An unpleasant thought crossed my mind. An outbuilding stood several meters behind the house on the edge of the forest. Perhaps it was far enough away that it had not been destroyed. It was my only hope for survival through the night.

I circled through the thick woods, pushing aside branches and brambles, skirting around the house until I arrived behind it. The latrine still stood and the heat from the blaze extended well beyond it into the forest. I opened the door and stepped inside. The stench was overpowering, but the odor was a small price to pay for survival. A quarter moon was cut into the door. I stood for several hours watching the fire and breathing in as much fresh air as possible. Finally, exhausted, I sat between the door and the toilet and put my head down to rest.

I awoke to a watery light that seeped in through the cracks in the door. My watch read nearly eight. I pushed myself up and rubbed my neck, which was stiff and sore from the long night. I looked through the quarter moon. The fire smoldered, sending smoke and waves of heat into the air. I couldn’t see over the pile of ash and rubble, but I knew what lay beyond it—the bodies.

I opened the door and listened. The woods were quiet; not even a winter bird chirped in the frosty morning. A spark from the fire hissed and popped now and then, but the world was strangely calm, as if death had laid its hands upon the land. I stepped out of the latrine and skirted around the rubble, feeling as alone as I had ever been in my life. The sky was sullen and gray; the Earth, a bleak ball spinning through the cosmos. I looked down at my muddy shoes and torn stockings. My leg had scratches, some of which had bled and scabbed over. My coat was spattered with dirt.

When I rounded the smoldering debris, the bodies came into view. They were still there, the faces, grayish-blue and contorted, frozen now into the ground. The blood had pooled and soaked into the ice, creating rusty brown patches around their heads. The dog had disappeared. The sedan was not visible from where I stood, but I knew it was only a few hundred meters down the road. I took one last look at the bodies and then walked toward the car. I had not walked far when I heard the grinding gears of a truck. I darted into the woods and hid behind a large pine. As the truck appeared, I breathed a sigh of relief. Wehrmacht soldiers filled it, their heads showing over the metal guards of the open bed.

I ran into the road, waving my hands. The truck ground to a halt. Some of the men peered over the top of the cab and aimed their weapons at me.

“Stop,” I shouted. “I’m Magda Ritter, a taster for the Führer.”

One officer, from the Wolf’s Lair, recognized me. He ordered the men to keep their weapons sighted on me.

“I’m alone,” I said. “The others are dead.”

The officer looked into the woods and then opened the door. Several soldiers jumped out of the truck. The officer questioned me and I told him my story from the time the sedan had been attacked.

“We were on patrol,” he said. “I’m sorry we were too late.” He looked down the road. “There was intense fighting through the night. The Reds have temporarily fallen back, but our efforts won’t last. The Führer has ordered the evacuation of the Wolf’s Lair. You must come with us or you’ll miss the train to Berlin.”

I pointed toward the house. “What about the bodies?”

“The dogs will make short work of them,” the officer said.

I started to object, but he raised his hand and said, “We have no time to bury them. The Reds will have to do it. They killed them.”

A soldier extended his arm. I grabbed hold of it and he pulled me up into the bed. We turned in the road and headed toward the sedan. Its shattered windscreen glinted like a fractured mirror. I screamed for the driver to stop because I wanted to retrieve my luggage.

“Quickly,” the officer ordered one of his men.

A soldier jumped down. I pointed to the bag, which lay in the open trunk. My luggage had been searched, but I could see my few belongings were still inside it.

I didn’t want to look inside the car, but I couldn’t help but see the back of the young soldier fallen over the steering wheel. Else’s body lay slumped in the backseat. I could not see her face, but her hands were folded across her chest as if she were attempting to stop the bleeding from her heart.

The solider returned with my suitcase. The truck sped off, careening down the road. The men peered over the top of the rails, their weapons poised as if the Reds could attack at any moment. I sat on the slats and folded my collar around my neck. A cold wind cut through me. I shed a silent tear for Else and the others and wondered if I would make it out of the Wolf’s Lair.

In less than twenty-four hours, the atmosphere at the East Prussian headquarters had descended into chaos. I sensed the desperate energy in the air as the truck pulled up to the garage near the railroad siding. Rows of suitcases and files lay on the ground awaiting their loading onto one of Hitler’s private trains. SS officers, scribbling in notebooks, bent over them. A soldier helped me down from the truck. I felt relieved to be back.