Greg Iles - Black Cross

The normal procedure would be to report Schörner to the Herr Doktor. But denouncing an officer for violations of the Nuremberg racial laws was a tricky business when the man you had to denounce him to was guilty of the same crime, and to an even more disgusting degree. Sturm had considered going outside the chain of command and reporting Schörner to a higher SS authority — perhaps Colonel Beck at Peenemünde — but breaking the chain of command was practically a crime in itself. On top of that, Schörner came from a wealthy family. There was no telling how much influence his father might be able to bring to bear in Berlin — not to mention his stinking Knight’s Cross.

No, there was only one way. Private satisfaction. And Sturm had come up with the perfect answer. He would provoke the Jansen woman into some desperate act. Then he would be fully within his rights when he shot her. Brandt would have no complaint, and Schörner could do nothing without admitting he’d become romantically entangled with a Jewess. It rankled Sturm to no end that he had to plan this way. At any other camp he could simply walk up to Rachel Jansen and shoot her. Here, he had to have a good reason to damage one of Brandt’s guinea pigs. And that was where the diamonds came in. It would cost him the stones to get the bitch, but it would be worth it.

The spot Sturm had chosen for his ambush was a narrow alley between the SS barracks and the dog kennels. He had picked his day and his hour well too. Brandt was gone to Ravensbrück to witness some experiment or other, and Schörner was in Dornow, questioning the locals about the missing sergeant, Willi Gauss. Finally, it was the time of morning when the Jansen woman usually walked a circuit of the camp with the Block Leader, Hagan. Sturm’s plan for luring the Jewess to the alley was simple. All he needed was one of her children.

He chose the son.

“You’re digging your own grave,” Frau Hagan said. “Nothing good can come of it.”

Rachel kept her eyes fixed on the snow as she walked. “My children eat well. They are gaining weight.”

“But for how long? How long will Schörner stay interested? You don’t know how their minds work. Schörner was lonely enough to come to you, but soon he’ll hate himself for it. You’ll be the one to pay for his disgust with himself.”

“I have no choice. He can protect Jan and Hannah.”

“You believe that? If Brandt selected Jan tomorrow, what could Schörner do? If he disobeyed an order, Brandt would put him in front of a firing squad. He just tells you what will keep him between your legs. Like all men.”

“He chose me, remember? Let’s don’t talk about it.”

Frau Hagan raised her hands in a gesture of futility. “Always you listen to my advice. But not about this. You think I’ve never seen this before? How do you think I’ve survived so long?”

Rachel looked up at her. “I would like to know that.”

“Not by doing what you are doing. Or what the shoemaker does. Listen, in 1940 I and seven hundred other Poles from Tarnow were transported to Oscweicim — what the Germans call Auschwitz — in Upper Silesia. We built that camp. Digging all the time, no food or water. Only the strong survived.

“It was there that I became a Communist. We built a synthetic rubber plant at Buna. They called it Auschwitz Three, but that place was Hell on earth. There was a man there named Spivack, a Pole from Warsaw. Small, but wiry like a monkey. I worked with him, hauling bricks and cement. After a week, I knew he was the toughest man I had ever seen. At the end of the day when the big oxes had fallen down, he was still working. It was his mind that was tough, you see? He was a Communist. Nothing but death could beat him.”

Frau Hagan waggled a finger at Rachel. “It was the German Communists who tried to stop Hitler in the beginning. But the German people were afraid of Marxism. Even the German Jews. Cowards. Afraid to let go of their bourgeois comforts.” The big Pole laughed bitterly. “Where did all their comforts get them, eh? Up the chimney, that’s where.”

“What happened to Spivack?”

Frau Hagan shrugged. “I was transferred here. But I’ll tell you this. He didn’t let the SS treat him like a dog. Even some of those bastards respected him, all the punishment he could take. That’s what I’ve done, and I’m still here. Still alive. But you, Dutch girl, you’re riding on the back of a tiger.”

“Not everyone is as strong as you,” Rachel said. “I judge no one here.”

“ Rachel! Hagan! Hurry !”

An older woman raced into the alley between the hospital and the E-Block. Frau Hagan shouted for her to slow down, but she ran right up to them and grabbed Rachel’s shift.

“They took Jan! Hurry!”

A sudden heat suffused Rachel’s skin. “What?”

“One of Sturm’s dog handlers came for your boy! There was nothing I could do!”

Rachel grabbed the woman’s arm. “Hannah?”

“She’s safe.”

“Where is the boy now?” Frau Hagan asked.

“They took him to the kennels.”

Rachel started to run, but Frau Hagan grabbed her upper arm. “Walk,” she commanded. “Running will get you a bullet in the back.”

“I must go to him!”

“You must also be careful. Sturm has planned this well, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brandt is out of town, and Schörner left for Dornow this morning. Too much coincidence.”

“Schörner is away?” Rachel felt suddenly faint. “My God, what can I do?”

“I don’t know.” Frau Hagan set her jaw in a grim line. “But I will come with you.”

When Rachel rounded the corner of the SS barracks, she saw Jan standing with his back to the dog kennels. Sergeant Sturm was squatting in front of him, his broad face pressed close to the little boy’s. Jan was crying. An SS private stood to the side, his submachine gun pointed leisurely at the three-year-old.

Rachel screamed and raced toward her son, but Sturm stood up and caught her in a bear hug.

“Please!” Rachel shrieked, kicking wildly. “Let him go!”

“ Moeder! Moeder !” Jan whimpered.

Frau Hagan scooped up the boy and started to run, but the SS private backed her against the barracks with his submachine gun. Sturm lifted Rachel off her feet, dropped her beside the kennels.

“Against the wall!” he ordered. “Face the wall!”

Rachel craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Jan. Frau Hagan was holding the boy tightly against her bosom.

Sturm slapped Rachel’s face. “Bend over and grab your ankles, whore!”

“I will! Please don’t hurt my son!”

“I’ll do whatever I like. Now, bend over! Let’s have those diamonds.”

“Jan! Shut your eyes!”

Frau Hagan covered the boy’s eyes as Rachel bent over.

The Kubelwagen carrying Major Wolfgang Schörner barreled through the front gate of Totenhausen without slowing and screeched to a stop in front of the administration building. Schörner had learned nothing about Technical Sergeant Gauss in Dornow, but a little extra effort had paid off. He’d decided to question the occupants of some of the outlying houses between Dornow and Totenhausen, and the fourth house he came to belonged to Sybille Kleist. Schörner had scarcely gotten Sergeant Gauss’s name out of his mouth when Frau Kleist broke down completely.

“Something’s happened to Willi!” she sobbed. “I knew it! I wanted to come forward, Sturmbannführer, but . . . I swear to you, twice this morning I started to come to the camp to report, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not, madam?” Schörner had asked.

Frau Kleist attempted some semblance of haughty dignity. “I am a married woman, Sturmbannführer. Willi — Sergeant Gauss — assists me with certain heavy work around the house. There is nothing improper, of course, but if my husband ever misconstrued—”