Romanov Quest 6ep6

BOOKS BY SAM CROMARTIE

HISTORICAL NOVELS Romanov Curse Romanov Quest Himmler’s Mistress

THRILLERS Ultimate Duty Good Fortune’s Curse An Innocent Lie

NONFICTION Family Survival Guide

NONFICTION WITH RICHARD JOSEPH DUMA, MD, PhD High-Tech Terror: Recognition, Management, and Prevention of Biological, Chemical, and Nuclear Injuries Secondary to Acts of Terrorism, Charles C Thomas Publisher Ltd

COMING SOON

The Weather Girl’s Assassin, a political thriller

Romanov Quest

ROMANOV LEGACY TRILOGY

VOLUME TWO

Sam Cromartie

Copyright © 2017 by Sam cromartie.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017909955 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-5434-3206-0 Softcover 978-1-5434-3207-7 eBook 978-1-5434-3208-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/23/2017

Xlibris 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected] 760572

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sam Cromartie M.D. is a graduate of the University of North Carolina and a veteran of the Vietnam War. He served as a thoracic and cardiovascular surgeon on the faculty at Indiana University School of Medicine and as Chief of Thoracic and Cardiovascular Surgery at Halifax Medical Center in Daytona Beach, Florida. He has published numerous articles in medical journals and is co-author with Richard Duma M.D. of High-Tech Terror: Recognition, Management, and Prevention of Biological, Chemical, and Nuclear Injuries Secondary to acts of Terrorism (Charles C Thomas, Publisher). He lives on an island off the coast of Florida. For detailed information, check his webpage, www.samcromartie.com.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Christy Aquilla and Dr. Leonard Indianer, author of A Bridge to Elne and The H Factor for reading early drafts of this historical novel and for making valuable suggestions to improve it. Bryce Courtney, author of The Power of One, provided important insights and guidance that helped me with this novel and the ones that followed. This work would never have been completed without the patience of my wife Elaine, who accompanied me on trips to the Soviet Union, Poland, England, , and to research the sites covered by this historical novel.

Contents

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1: MOSCOW (September 2, 1939) CHAPTER 2: MOSCOW (September 2, 1939) CHAPTER 3: MUNICH (December 1939) CHAPTER 4: MOSCOW (December 1939) CHAPTER 5: FINLAND (January 1940) CHAPTER 6: MOSCOW (March 1940) CHAPTER 7: LENINGRAD (March 1940) CHAPTER 8: , BELGIUM, and (May 10, 1940) CHAPTER 9: (May 1940) CHAPTER 10: (May and June 1940) CHAPTER 11: MOSCOW (June 14, 1940) CHAPTER 12: MUNICH (June 14, 1940) CHAPTER 13: LENINGRAD (July 1940)

CHAPTER 14: ATLANTIC OCEAN (July 1940) CHAPTER 15: EUROPE (1940-1941) CHAPTER 16: SOVIET UNION (June 21, 1941) CHAPTER 17: BERLIN (1941) CHAPTER 18: LENINGRAD (August 1941) CHAPTER 19: UKRAINE (September 29, 1941) CHAPTER 20: MOSCOW (October 15, 1941) CHAPTER 21: MOSCOW (October 15, 1941) CHAPTER 22: MUNICH (November 1941) CHAPTER 23: SOVIET UNION (November 1941) CHAPTER 24: SOVIET UNION (November 1941) CHAPTER 25: SOVIET UNION (November 1941) CHAPTER 26: SOVIET UNION (December 1941) CHAPTER 27: SOVIET UNION (May 1942) CHAPTER 28: SOVIET UNION (June 1942) CHAPTER 29: UNION (June 1942) CHAPTER 30: SOVIET UNION TO POLAND (July 1942) CHAPTER 31: STALINGRAD (September 1942) CHAPTER 32: ATLANTIC OCEAN (September 1942) CHAPTER 33: STALINGRAD (September 1942) CHAPTER 34: BAVARIA (1942)

CHAPTER 35: MOSCOW (February 1943) CHAPTER 36: MUNICH (February 1943) CHAPTER 37: BAVARIA (February 1943) CHAPTER 38: SOVIET UNION (1943) CHAPTER 39: SOVIET UNION (1943) CHAPTER 40: MUNICH (August 1943) CHAPTER 41: POLAND (Fall 1943) CHAPTER 42: MUNICH (Fall 1943) CHAPTER 43: (Early December 1943) CHAPTER 44: POLAND (December 1943) CHAPTER 45: POLAND (December 1943) CHAPTER 46: BERLIN (June 1944) CHAPTER 47: POLAND (October 1944) CHAPTER 48: (December 1944) CHAPTER 49: BERLIN (December 1944) CHAPTER 50: POLAND (January 1945) CHAPTER 51: POLAND (January 1945) CHAPTER 52: POLAND (January 1945) CHAPTER 53: AUSCHWITZ (January 1945) CHAPTER 54: MOSCOW (March 1945) CHAPTER 55: POLAND TO (March 1945)

CHAPTER 56: MOSCOW (April 1945) CHAPTER 57: MOSCOW TO (April 1945) CHAPTER 58: (April 1945)

CHAPTER 1 MOSCOW (September 2, 1939)

Yuri stared into darkness and marveled that he was alive. Lifting his head brought on a wave of dizziness. He surrendered to it, collapsing back onto the bed. When he reopened his eyes, the only light came from a dim kerosene lantern on the dresser. His gaze turned to the woman sleeping beside him. Her flannel gown failed to conceal her tall, slim figure. He wanted just to lie there watching her breathe. Nothing seemed important except being near to her—not even the dead NKVD agent in the woods behind the cottage. He moved a lock of blonde hair from her face but recoiled when he saw the blood on his fingers. He sat upright and fought the dizziness that swept over him. We should not be here. Tania sprang awake, placed her hand on his chest, and guided him back to his pillow. “Lie still, Yuri. The bleeding will start again.” He stared at the blood-soaked dressing on his arm. Clots covered its surface, but they were dry. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “We can’t stay here.” Tania frowned. “I know, but you’re too weak. I could barely get you to bed.” He recalled the flowers he had brought and the wine, dinner, and sex that had preceded the arrival of the secret police agent who had staked a claim on her. “All you had to do was ask.” She blushed. “I meant after the unpleasantness.” Yuri thought that was an odd description of the way Valdislav interrupted their love making, slashed his arm with a knife, and tried to kill them. The bastard would have succeeded if Tania had not struck him with a stool and given Yuri the opening to stab a knife into his heart. Yuri had no regrets for killing the man.

It was something he had planned for a long time. Valdislav had sent him with his stepparents to the gulag. They died there. His goal in life had become revenge until he met Tania. Now he just wanted to be with her. Last night had been a turning point. She had at last itted her feeling for him, and he had realized he did not want to live without her. Valdislav would not bother Tania again, but their lives would never be the same. “I left his body in the woods. I should have buried it.” “You lost a lot of blood. I was afraid you would die.” “I’m fine now.” He stood and walked into the kitchen. The dizziness returned. He slumped onto a straight chair at the table. Tania removed the dressing from his arm. The gash from Valdislav’s knife was deep, but the bleeding had stopped. He touched the bruise on her face and thought of what had almost happened. She turned away. “It’s nothing.” She peeled off his torn, bloodstained shirt. “You still have glass in your back.” “I know. It hurts like hell.” He had fallen onto a broken wine bottle during the fight. Now with every movement, he could feel the shards shift under his skin. “Hold still.” She picked the pieces of glass from his wounds and washed the cuts with soap and water. Yuri gritted his teeth and tried not to move. This was not the way he had planned to spend his first morning with Tania. He had hoped for a day for earning her trust and for telling her how he felt. She tossed his shirt to him. “We have to dispose of the body.” “I know.” Until yesterday, Valdislav had been her friend. She had been his personal pilot and had lived in his house, helping him recover from a bullet wound. She had left when he demanded more than friendship and she realized that she wanted to be with Yuri. His henchmen would come looking for her as soon as he failed to report for work. As Yuri fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, Tania turned her back to him and removed her robe. Seeming oblivious to his presence, she dressed quickly, never

once glancing toward him. He, on the other hand, tried to look away but failed. Her smooth skin and sleek body made him forget his pain. He wanted to hold her again and to relive the part of the last evening before the “unpleasantness.” Tania walked outside without saying another word. Yuri retrieved his flight jacket and followed. “Do you have a shovel?” She kept walking. “We don’t need one.” “Why not?” She stopped beside the stiffening body. “We can’t bury him here. His friends know about me.” He stared at his dead enemy and thought he should experience some sense of triumph. Instead, he felt nothing except relief that the body on the ground was not his own, or worse, Tania’s. “What do you want me to do?” Tania bent over the body and gripped its ankles. “Take his shoulders. We need to hurry.” Yuri lifted the corpse. “Where are we going?” Tania stepped backward, straining to hold her half of the weight. “To Valdislav’s car. I need to drive him to the airport.” “Why?” She kept walking. “This is my day to fly the cargo plane. Valdislav is going to take his last flight.”

Tania slipped the gears of the shiny, black ZIS into first and pulled onto the deserted dirt road. She felt more comfortable soaring through the sky in an airplane than driving an automobile. After all, she had been flying for years but never owned a car. Her first lover had been a pilot. Pavel had taught her to fly when she was only fifteen. She would have married him if he had not died in a plane crash. Yuri said that Valdislav had sabotaged the aircraft. At the time, she had not believed him. Now she suspected it was true.

She looked at the man who had lured her away from Valdislav and thought how much he had changed in the brief months since she first met him. When he had arrived as a new student at the flight school, he had been so thin that she wondered if he was sick. She had not realized that he had just escaped from the gulag. He had gained weight and put on muscle by running and working out at least two hours every day. It was as if he were training for an athletic contest. In retrospect she realized that he had been preparing for one night—this night. Driving in darkness with no headlights proved to be difficult, but she managed to stay on the road as they approached the airport. One hundred meters from the gate, she pulled into the woods and stopped under a canopy of trees. Yuri stepped out of the car before she applied the emergency brake. He opened the back door, grabbed Valdislav’s hair, pulled the body off the seat, and tossed it over his shoulder. Tania placed a finger over her lips and walked through the woods toward the terminal. They reached the edge of the trees about twenty meters from the entrance. She helped him set the corpse on the ground. “Stay here. I’m going to distract the guard.” She returned to the road and walked to the tall fence. Matvei stood at the gate. The thirty-year-old Siberian native had served as a guard since Tania had arrived as a kid. He was friendly then, and his interest had grown as she matured. She hoped that would give her an edge and that he would not call the NKVD. Removing her hat to allow her hair to flow over her shoulders, she stopped in front of him. “Hi, Matvei.” The huge man lifted his head and grinned. “Good morning, Tania. It is only five o’clock. You’re early.” She smiled. “I know. I have the cargo flight this morning. Do you know if I will have any engers?” She already knew that no one would accompany her, but she had to get him to abandon his post. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” “Could you look at the manifest and see?” Frowning, he shook his head. “It’s in the main building. I can’t leave my post.”

“Please. I can stand here and watch for you.” She moved closer to him. His eyes filled with doubt. “I could get in trouble.” She folded her hands in a begging motion. “It will only take a minute. I will call you if I see anything at all.” He clasped his big hands over hers. “All right.” Tania kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Matvei. You’re a dear friend.” He headed toward the terminal building. Before he was out of sight, Yuri approached with Valdislav in a fireman’s carry. She waved to him as the terminal door closed. Yuri sweated and panted for breath as he reached the gate. Tania pushed it open. “Be quick. He will be back any second.” Yuri hurried into the hanger. Matvei stepped out of the terminal building and stared at the closing door. He ran toward it. Tania yelled, “What’s wrong?” Matvei pulled his pistol from his holster and slammed through the door. “No!” Tania barreled after the guard into the hanger and almost collided with him. Yuri stood by the airplane with the door open. Matvei aimed his pistol at him and then spun it toward Tania. “Who is this?” Tania breathed so heavily that she could hardly speak. “It’s only Yuri. He’s my co-pilot.” The disbelief on Matvei’s face intensified. “What is he doing here?” Yuri answered for her. “I’m a flight student. I came to check out the plane.” Matvei extended his arm, pointing the pistol between Yuri’s eyes. “So why sneak in here in the middle of the night?” Yuri kept his hands in the air. “It’s not the middle of the night. It is five o’clock in the morning, and we leave soon. I just wanted to study the controls and to get

my feel for the plane.” “Answer my question. Why did you sneak in here?” Matvei’s face grew red. Tania saw that he was getting more agitated, and less in control. She was sure the gun would discharge just from the trembling of his hand. Taking a deep breath, she stepped between the pistol and Yuri. “He didn’t sneak in. I opened the gate.” The guard’s body tensed. “Why?” Tania struggled to keep her lips from trembling. If Matvei was going to shoot Yuri, he would have to send the bullet through her. She placed the palm of her hand against the muzzle of the pistol. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. He arrived right after you left, and all he was doing was checking on my plane for me. I was going to tell you as soon as you came back.” Matvei cocked the weapon with his thumb. “He arrived the minute I entered in that building. Why?” Tania sighed. “We were supposed to meet here at five. He was just a few minutes late.” Matvei shook his head in frustration and motioned Yuri out of the way. He stuck his head into the fuselage of the plane and looked both ways. Stepping back, Matvei holstered the pistol and turned to Tania. “You should not have let him in. You were supposed just to watch until I came back.” “I’m sorry. It will not happen again. I promise.” He stormed out of the hanger, slamming the door. Tania ran to Yuri and wrapped her arms around him. “I thought he was going to shoot you.” He winced as she squeezed his arm, but it did not stop him from kissing her. “You saved my life.” He was covered in sweat and needed a bath, but never had it felt so good to hold someone. “I guess that makes us even.” “There is an old Chinese proverb that says if you save someone’s life, you’re

responsible for them forever.” Tania rolled her eyes. “You made that up.” “Maybe, but it is a good concept.” “Sure, but we aren’t Chinese.” She released him and looked around the room. “Where’s Valdislav?” Yuri nodded at the corner of the room. “Under that tarp.” “You moved fast.” “I heard you calling.”

Yuri held to his seat as Tania taxied down the runway at 7:00 a.m. She leaned back in her seat and exhaled slowly as the plane gained speed. Flying was second nature for her. She smiled as they took to the air. “We’re safe now.” Yuri was not enamored with flying, and safe was not the first word to enter his mind when they left the ground. His twenty-second birthday was only weeks away, and it would be nice to reach that landmark. He had soloed once and had been relieved to land alive. If he had learned one thing in flight school, it was that he was no pilot. Becoming one had a single purpose for him. It was a means to escape from the Soviet Union. He did not like being in an airplane, but he had to agree that it felt good to be away from the airport. If someone had checked the fuselage before they left, he could not have explained the cold body on the floor. The remainder of his and Tania’s lives would have been brief and painful. “I’ll feel a lot better when we have one less enger.” “It’s a little soon.” “I know.” He put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.” Tania kept her eyes on the trajectory of the plane. “At least you showed me how dangerous Valdislav was. I thought he was my friend.”

“If you could have seen him the day he sent my parents and me to the camps, there would have been no doubt. He was evil.” He still had not revealed to her, or for that matter to anyone, the details of his heritage. He wanted to tell her the whole truth—that it was actually his stepparents who had died in the gulag. He had never known his real mother and had only met his father a few months ago. Their story was as tragic as his, and even now, their safety, as well as his own, depended upon it remaining secret. Tania flew for an hour before she slowed the aircraft and brought it low over the deserted wilderness. “I think it is time.” Yuri climbed to the back of the plane. Valdislav’s body lay between several stacks of wooden crates. Yuri gripped it by the hair and dragged it to the door. Moments later he watched the corpse tumble through the air. His only regret was that Valdislav was not alive and that he was not watching the ground as it beckoned his body to destruction. He returned to his seat. “It is done.” Tania touched his face with her hand. “We are is so much trouble.”

When they reached their destination, Yuri stayed in the co-pilot’s seat while workers unloaded the cargo. Tania insisted that he stay out of sight so he remained in the cargo area until the plane returned to the air. The sky darkened, and rain splashed against the windshield. The turbulence of the flight matched his mood. Valdislav had made no secret of his attraction to Tania. His NKVD friends would consider her to be the prime suspect for his disappearance. “I think we should just keep flying until we cross the Polish border. They can’t follow us there.” Tania shook her head. “We don’t have enough fuel. Besides, the Germans invaded Poland yesterday. If our own people don’t shoot us down, the Germans or the Poles will.” She was right. They had no choice except to return to Moscow. As the storm grew worse, Yuri wanted to land anywhere. The plane bounced so much that he was sure it would break apart.

When Tania landed the plane and pulled it into the hanger, he wanted to give her a standing ovation. His relief evaporated when the door to the shelter flew open and a wet guard announced to Tania that several men were waiting to talk to her in the terminal building. Yuri fought to control his fear. He had only known Tania a few months, but already he felt their lives had fused. The thought of anything happening to her brought him to the verge of panic. “We should not have come back.” Tania kissed his cheek. “They know nothing except Valdislav did not show up for work today. I’m sure they are just questioning all his acquaintances. You worry too much.” Yuri saw the way her hands shook. She is trying to protect me. “I’m going with you.” Her eyes widened. “You can’t. If they see your wound, they will know, and we will die.

CHAPTER 2 MOSCOW (September 2, 1939)

Tania left Yuri in the hanger and took her time walking to the terminal. She wanted to give him time to get as far away as he could. NKVD agents had interviewed her in the past, and she knew how cruel they could be. She had told Yuri not to worry because she was afraid he would do something stupid if he thought she was in danger. The wind blew the rain sideways, and a burst of lightning struck a tree less than fifteen meters away. The thunder shook the ground. Tania wondered if it was an omen. The guard led her down a hallway to a small room. Two uniformed men stood by the door. A short man with a closely trimmed mustache sat behind a desk. He pointed to a wooden chair. Tania took her cue and sat. The man waited for the guard to leave the room and to close the door. He did not bother to introduce himself. “Do you know why you’re here?” “No.” There was a chill in the air. Tania held her hands against her thighs to keep them from shaking. “Are you not Valdislav Figner’s girlfriend?” “He’s a friend—a good friend—but we do not have a romantic relationship, if that is what you mean.” He slammed his hand on the desk, splashing coffee onto his papers. “Then why was he at your cottage last night?”

Yuri left the airport and walked into the woods. The wind bent trees almost to the ground and flung rain sideways. The storm had changed all his landmarks, and

he was not sure exactly where he had hidden the car. It was nowhere in sight, and he worried that NKVD agents may have found it. He looked back at the building where they were interrogating Tania. He wanted to run back through the gate to rescue her, but he knew it would be futile and would only increase the danger for her. He ran from shrub to shrub, ignoring the mud that splashed over his pants and shoes. He found the ZIS parked behind a clump of trees. He had never owned a car and had only driven one once. He opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine cranked on the second try. He looked in every direction. Sheets of rain obscured his vision. He pushed on the accelerator and released the clutch. The car rocked forward, but the wheels spun. He stopped and then tried once more with the same result. He got out and looked at the holes that the back wheels were digging. He stepped back into the car and gave less gas this time. The wheels dug deep into the mud. He tried not to think of the consequences if Valdislav’s cronies found the vehicle near the airport where Tania worked. He pulled branches from the shrubs and threw them under the wheels. Then he climbed back into the vehicle and cranked the engine. The car rolled forward a few inches but slipped back into the holes. He opened the trunk. It contained a bag with a change of clothes. Yuri stuffed the shirt under one back wheel and the pants under the other one. This time the motor would not start. He waited ten minutes before turning the key again. The engine sputtered and then roared to life. He rolled out of the mud and proceeded onto the highway. He struggled with the clutch and prayed the car would not stall. If Valdislav’s friends discovered him in the man’s ZIS, the penalty would be death.

Yuri parked the car on a side street in Moscow and stepped out into the rain and heavy wind. He locked the door, tossed the keys into a vacant lot, and walked away. After an hour, he reached a small house a couple of kilometers from the Kremlin.

It was not a place to which he had planned to visit. He had only seen his father once in his life and would have preferred to leave it that way. Ivan Maximov had abandoned him as an infant. He had no time for a child. He was a comrade of Lenin and a leader of the Bolsheviks. The only thing that mattered to him was imposing their insane system on the world. Yuri would have preferred to never see him again, but Ivan was the one person who might protect Tania from the NKVD. Yuri stopped fifty meters from the house and scanned the neighborhood until he was sure that no one was watching. The NKVD spied on everyone, even friends of Stalin. Seeing nothing suspicious, he approached the building and ascended the stairs to the porch.

Ivan Maximov sat at his kitchen table, turning the knobs on his short wave radio. Static interrupted the German voices, making interpretation of the words next to impossible. He had studied the language in secondary school and in Moscow University, but these people spoke with a different dialect from what he had learned. So far all he could decipher was the transmission originated in Poland and German soldiers were swarming across that border. The invasion was progressing just as Stalin had told him it would. A tapping sound came from beyond his headphones. He removed them and looked toward the front door. The knocking came again. He slipped the cover over the radio. Stalin knew he had it, but in the political climate in which he lived, it was not a thing to . He considered ignoring whoever was on his porch. Too many friends had disappeared after answering their doors. Stalin had executed or sent to the gulag millions of people. Ivan had won his trust early by ing him during the transition after Lenin’s death. If he had only known then what a tyrant the man would become, he would have ed his opponents. Maybe then that great communist experiment would have had a chance to succeed instead of evolving into the miserable failure it had become. Being the Deputy Minister of Transportation provided him no protection. Stalin had executed most of the leaders of the revolution and had decimated the officer

corps of the army, all in an attempt to destroy anyone who could stand in the way of his power. He had sent Ivan to Lubyanka, the dreaded NKVD prison where he had languished for months. He was now free, at least for a while, but his strength had not yet returned. He knew that he would never survive another visit there. The only reason he had not fled the country was his position in the Kremlin empowered him to protect Yuri. He wondered if the person waiting on the other side of the door had a weapon and if he intended to arrest him. After all, Valdislav had disappeared, and Stalin knew the animosity between the two men extended back to the revolution. Valdislav had done things during that time that Ivan could never forgive. He had murdered the family of the only woman Ivan had ever loved—the woman who bore his twin sons. He was the reason Valentina had fled to with their other son to live with her mother’s sister. He was the reason that she was not living with Ivan now and that Ivan had been forced to hid Yuri on a kulak farm. Ivan cracked open the door and recognized his son standing on the porch. He pulled him into the house. “Yuri, you should not be here.” Yuri winced when Ivan touched his sleeve. “We need to talk.” Ivan motioned for him to sit on the couch and pulled out a straight chair for himself. “What’s wrong with your arm?” Yuri removed his jacket, revealing the bloody bandage. “I killed Valdislav.” Ivan sat bolt upright in his chair. “What happened?” It seemed impossible. Yuri had no training at all, and yet he had succeeded in assassinating one of the more feared leaders of the NKVD. Yuri started at the beginning, describing his courtship of Tania, the gory fight with Valdislav, and Valdislav’s last flight. Ivan smiled. “You did good, Yuri. He deserved to die.” He walked to the bar, found two glasses, and filled them from a bottle of vodka. Yuri accepted his glass and lifted it to his lips. “I couldn’t let him hurt Tania. I plan to marry her.” Ivan placed a hand on his shoulder. His son was about to make a deadly mistake.

“You can’t do that.” Yuri pushed his hand away. “You’re not going to stop me. You have no right.” Ivan stepped backward, surprised by his son’s anger. “Sometimes we have to give up the ones we love to protect them. Why do you think I sent your mother to ? The Bolsheviks would have killed her if I had kept her here.” He could hardly believe how much memories of Valentina still bothered him. The disappointment, the crushed dream, the doubt, and the guilt all still lingered just beneath his consciousness. “What has that got to do with Tania?” “She was Valdislav’s lover. The NKVD will—” “She was not his lover.” He gripped his glass so tightly that Ivan thought it would break. Ivan regretted his years of separation from his son. There was no bond of trust on which he could call to convince him to heed his warning. They were strangers who happened to share the same blood. “You can be sure the NKVD suspects she was. They will want to question her.” “That’s why I’m here.” Yuri swallowed the last of his vodka. “They were waiting for her when our plane landed. They’re interrogating her now.” Ivan gritted his teeth. “She will tell them about you.” “Tania will not tell them a thing.” “She may not want to, but the NKVD can be very persuasive.” He knew their techniques all too well after his time in Lubyanka. “They won’t touch her.” He banged his glass on the table beside the couch. Ivan took a deep breath. “How can you be sure?” “They don’t know that Valdislav is dead. They will not risk angering him by aggravating his friend.”

“You may be right for now, but when he does not return soon, that will change.” “So, what do you suggest?” Ivan returned to his seat and leaned toward Yuri. “First, you need to stay away from her. If they think she has another lover, then the two of you will become their prime suspects.” “I can’t do that.” “You can if you want to avoid getting her killed.” He tried to lock his gaze with Yuri. “And that is not all. You both need to get out of the country.” “How are we supposed to do that?” “You could the army. has just invaded Poland. Everyone is afraid Hitler will continue into Russia. No one would question your decision to do your patriotic duty.” Yuri lifted his hands in frustration. “How will that help me get out of the country?” Ivan leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “Stalin has made a deal with Hitler. We are going into Poland in two weeks. If you can be assigned there, you may be able to go AWOL and slip across the border.” “We are going to be allies with ?” The disbelief in his voice was palpable. “Let’s just say we will be fighting a common foe. Stalin plans to deal with in due time.” It was a devious plan, and Ivan had thought Stalin was insane when he first voiced it. He had seduced Hitler into starting a war by promising to attack Poland from the east after attacked from the west. What he failed to tell Hitler was he would wait until and England had reacted before making his move. That way, their retaliation would be directed at , and the Soviet response would seem to be defensive. If things went according to his plan, the western nations would destroy each other and then the Soviet army could sweep unopposed across Europe. “So, you think if I can get to Poland, I could escape across the border to

?” “It is your best chance to get away from here. Once you get to , your mother can help you. She has a lot of influence there.” Yuri paused. “I don’t even know what she looks like.” Ivan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. From it, he retrieved a very worn picture. He held it out for his son to see.

Yuri studied the old photograph. A teenage girl dressed in an ornate gown looked forward with a mischievous grin on her face. Her eyes were full of life in contrast to the formal nature of the picture. “She’s beautiful.” “Yes. Valentina was seventeen when that was taken. It was before we met. Her father would never have approved of her seeing a commoner and certainly not a Bolshevik. He must have been livid when he discovered she was pregnant.” His voice faltered as he handed the photograph to Yuri. “It’s the only picture I have.” Yuri tried to return it to his father. Ivan held up a hand. “You keep it. Valentina would prefer you to have it.” “Don’t you want it?” He could tell relinquishing it had not been easy. Ivan frowned. “You never had a chance to know your mother. You should, at least, have her picture. When you see her, tell her that I saved it for you.” Yuri realized he knew almost nothing about his mother. “Do you have any regrets?” “Yes. I still think about her every day. I never got married because no one could compare to her, but if I had to do it all over again, I would still send her away. At least she is alive.” Yuri wondered why he eliminated the other obvious choice. “You could have gone with her.”

“No. My whole life was dedicated to the revolution. I could not leave Russia just as it was unfolding.” His voice sounded confident, but his eyes betrayed doubts. “But look how it turned out. Do you sometimes wish you had gone with her to ?” Ivan sat back in his chair. “Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if we all could have run away together—better than it has turned out, I think. Still, I keep hoping the revolution can be salvaged and that my life may still serve a purpose.” “Where is my mother now?” “She lives in Bavaria, near Munich. She’s quite wealthy and is married to a navy officer who is a friend of Hitler.” “And my brother?” “He’s there too.” “My mother has made no effort to you in all these years?” Ivan’s eyes drifted to the floor. “Valentina hates me. She blamed me for deserting her and for not saving her family. If I had only known what Valdislav had planned, maybe I could have done something to stop him.” “He really messed up both our lives.” “Yes, he did, and you have got to leave while you still have a life.” “All right.” Yuri opened his wallet and slipped the picture into it. “I shall the army, and I will escape across the Polish border.” “Good. I think it is your best option.” He paused and then put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “When you reach Bavaria, I want you to me and let me know you made it.” “How could I do that?” “By shortwave radio.” He told Yuri the frequency to use.

“Then it is settled, but what about Tania?” Ivan frowned. “She’s an excellent pilot. She should the Air Force.” “Then she could fly across the border and meet me in .” He could not conceive of the notion of never seeing her again. There had to be a way for her to escape too. “Perhaps.” “I think it is a good plan. I will tell her tonight.” He hoped she would understand. Their relationship was tenuous, to say the least. Ivan shook his head. “No. You can’t go near her. They will be watching her.” “I’m not leaving without talking to her.” “You have no choice if you want her to live. I will get a message to her, and when you call on the shortwave radio, I will let her know where you are.” Yuri did not like leaving without talking with Tania himself, but he realized Ivan was right. “And what about you. Don’t you want to escape?” “Not now. I see a terrible war coming—possibly the worst the world has ever known. Stalin has tricked Hitler into believing Russia is going to sit back and let him conquer all of Europe. It is all part of his plan to lure the capitalist nations into a great war that will leave them devastated and unprepared for his conquest. I cannot leave Russia when he is about to put her in mortal danger.”

CHAPTER 3 MUNICH (December 1939)

Valentina parked her Mercedes-Benz in her garage and shut the door. Ignoring the falling snow, she approached the front of her home with determination. She would apologize to Rebecca and try to persuade her to stay. Her young friend thought that she could walk all the way to Switzerland and then just slip across the border. It was a stupid plan and would get her killed. A pretty, twenty-two-year-old woman walking alone could not help but attract attention. For Rebecca, that could mean the camps or worse. It was a bad time to be a Jew. Of course that was why Rebecca wanted to leave. A year had ed since the Gestapo murdered her parents, and she had tired of hiding in Valentina’s mansion. At first she had been frightened and then depressed. In recent weeks, her despondency had turned to anger. She had announced her plans to leave, and Valentina had told her it was a childish dream. The argument that followed had turned ugly, and Valentina left the house to give them both a chance to calm their tempers. She hoped they could now sit with their morning hot chocolate and talk rationally. Valentina understood only too well the stress of her young friend. Twenty-two years had ed since her own parents had been murdered, but the horror still crept into her dreams. It had been a very different time and a very different place, but the Bolshevik mob that slaughtered her parents and two sisters had not been that different from the Nazis who now controlled . She had been a cousin to Tsar Nicholas, and having Romanov blood in 1917 in Russia was just as dangerous as having Jewish blood in in 1939. She climbed the front steps and unlocked the door. Pushing it open, she stepped into the foyer and called, “Rebecca.” Silence greeted her. She walked through the hallway to the kitchen. Two coffee

cups sat on the table, still half full. Valentina walked through the living room, dining room, guest bedrooms, and even through her own bedroom before walking to the foot of the stairs and calling again. She hurried upstairs and looked into Rebecca’s room and in all four of the other bedrooms. Rebecca had gone. She rushed back to her car, threw it into reverse, and backed out of the driveway. She was not sure which direction to go but turned south. If Rebecca was fleeing to Switzerland, that was the route to take. Valentina wondered how long she had been gone and if anyone had seen her yet. Perhaps the bad weather would help, but it was unlikely she would get far without being stopped. Ice covered the road. Valentina had to restrain her urge to floor the accelerator. She would be no help to Rebecca if the car skidded into the ditch beside the road. She drove through the snow, looking in every direction, cursing the poor visibility, and seeing no sign of her fugitive companion. Then at an intersection, she saw what she had feared. A man in Gestapo uniform held Rebecca by the arm. She pulled her car to the side of the road and opened the door. The man glared at her. He did not release his grip on Rebecca’s arm. “What do you want?” Valentina stepped out of the car. The scowl vanished. “Mrs. Schneider. I’m sorry. I did not realize it was you.” Valentina put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing to my housekeeper?” “I didn’t know. She looks like a Jew.” “I can assure you that she is not. My husband does not hire scum.” She gripped Rebecca’s other arm. “Get in the car, Greta. You’re late for work.” Rebecca’s hands trembled. She said nothing but followed Valentina as the surprised officer let go of her arm. Valentina cranked her car. She directed it toward home. Her heart pounded. She knew the incident would be recorded in a Gestapo file. Soon someone would appear at the house to check out “Greta.”

Rebecca stared out the fogged window for several minutes before breaking the silence. “You were right. I should not have left. I’m sorry. I just felt trapped. I had to get out.” Valentina wondered if Rebecca had learned anything from her mistake. “Just be glad that officer was afraid to aggravate my husband. Paul is an asshole, but his being a friend of Hitler does have its advantages.” “I guess so. What are we going to do now? “You wanted to escape. Now you’re going to have to do it. My house is not safe anymore. Not after the Gestapo saw you. That man was too surprised to do anything today, his friends will visit soon, and that will not be pleasant.” “I know, but what can I do?” “I will talk to Andreas. His mother was a Jew. He will know if there is a way.” Rebecca turned in her seat to face Valentina. “Your husband lets you keep a Jew as overseer of your estate?” Valentina smiled. “Paul does not know. Andreas is a Lutheran, like his father. His mother was Jewish, but she converted to Christianity when she married. Andreas was born here and worked for my aunt and uncle until they died. I sort of inherited him along with the lumber mill and ranch.” Rebecca laughed. “So the gentleman who financed Hitler’s rise to power is harboring not one, but two, Jews.” Valentina thought of the man she had once loved. Now she felt only contempt. “Let’s hope he never finds out.” She was glad that Hitler made him a U-boat captain. Now that the war had started, he was at sea most of the time, and when he came home, he spent the time checking on his lens factory. It was more important than the farm since it made periscopes for his submarines.” Rebecca leaned back in her seat. “How did you get hooked up with him anyway?” Valentina had often wondered the same thing. “He was not always a Nazi. He was very kind when I arrived here from Russia. It was 1918, and I was only 18

years old. The Bolsheviks had massacred my family, and I had barely escaped with my baby. Karl needed a father, and if nothing else, Paul was a good father to Karl.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Yeah. He made him a Nazi.” “Karl is not a Nazi.” The Nazis are evil. My son may sympathize with them, but he has a good heart. There was an edge to Rebecca’s voice. “Not technically, but he thinks Hitler is ’s messiah. How could a nice boy come to think like that?” “He does not hate Jews. You, of all people, should know that. He had a crush on you several years ago.” “Yeah, until he ed the Hitler Youth.” Valentina sighed. “He just wants to recapture her pride—to regain what she lost in the war. Hitler is an animal, but he is rebuilding .” “Into a police state.” “I know.” She could not deny Rebecca was right. “It scares me to think where he’s taking us.” “Well, I can tell you. Straight to hell.”

Valentina pulled the car into her driveway and led Rebecca into the house. They walked into the kitchen, and Valentina made hot chocolate. She set two full cups on the table and sat across from Rebecca. Her young friend took a sip and said, “You should come with me.” Valentina smiled but shook her head. “I wish I could. Nothing would make me happier than to move to , or England, or even the United States. has lost its soul.” Rebecca folded her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t see a ball and chain

around your ankle.” Valentina paused, realizing Rebecca was serious. “I would leave Paul in a minute, but Karl is another story.” “He’s an adult now. He can take care of himself.” “Not if the SS decides his mother is a traitor. I left his brother in Russia. I will not leave Karl in .” “Karl has a brother?” “Yes. At least he did.” Her mood darkened as it did every time she thought of her lost son. “I just never told anyone.” “Why not?” “Because talking about it raises doubts and fears I don’t like to think about. When the Bolsheviks massacred my family, the man that brought me to told me Yuri had died with them. Several years later, as he was on his deathbed, he said something to make me think he had lied and maybe Yuri lived. I agonized about it for years, but there was nothing I could do. I could not leave Karl to go look for him, and I certainly could not take Karl into the Soviet Union.” Rebecca’s eyes widened. “How awful. You don’t even know if he’s alive?” “No, and I guess I never will.” He would have been handsome with blue eyes and brown hair like Karl and Ivan. What if he grew up in Russia without even knowing who his mother is? Did his father raise him? He promised to bring him to me. It came out of his mouth like a sacred oath, but I knew at the time that it was a lie. “What happened to his father?” “Ivan stayed behind.” “Why?” “He was a Bolshevik.” Valentina was still angry at Ivan after all these years, but

she could not deny that she would have died with her family if he had not forced her to flee. She had not seen him in over twenty years until a year ago he appeared at a restaurant in Munich and killed a terrorist who tried to shoot her. He fled without a word, and she had heard nothing from him since then. “The revolution was all that mattered to him.” “Then you should be glad he stayed.” Valentina realized there was nothing she could do about Ivan or Yuri, but maybe she could help Rebecca. She placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Shall we find Andreas?”

CHAPTER 4 MOSCOW (December 1939)

In December Ivan received a summons to meet with Stalin. Having endured three different interrogations regarding the disappearance of Valdislav, he knew that he was a suspect. Everyone knew that he and Valdislav hated each other. He wondered what Stalin thought. Does he think I killed him? What if he has had another mood swing? Reaching Stalin’s office, Ivan checked with the secretary and waited on a hard wooden bench. An hour ed. He struggled to appear calm but could not stop the sweat that soaked through his shirt. His relationship with Stalin had been awkward since his release from Lubyanka. He felt as if he were on probation and that if he displeased his leader in any way, his days of freedom would end. His main consolation was the knowledge that Yuri had avoided interrogation by ing the army, although he had been unable to escape to . The war in Poland had ended before he finished his basic training. He was now with the troops invading Finland. He watched the hands of the clock on the wall. It seemed that they were frozen in place. He paced from one end of the room to the other. The door opened. Stalin appeared. The lines in his face arranged themselves in a way that provided no solace. “Come in, Ivan Nikolayevich.” He stepped into Stalin’s office and looked with hidden disdain at the portrait of Marx on the wall. Stalin walked to his desk but stopped without sitting. Ivan watched the frown on his face deepen. He knows. They must have interrogated Tania. He had no idea what she would have revealed. He had intended to talk with her as he had promised Yuri, but when he left the Kremlin the next day, he had seen a man following him. He realized that Tania and he were both suspects in

Valdislav’s disappearance and that they could not be seen together. The best solution was for her to leave the area. He arranged for her to be drafted into the air force. She no longer resided in Moscow, but the NKVD could drag her back for interrogation any time it wanted. He knew from personal experience that the organization’s agents could be relentless. He waited for Stalin to speak. The silence grew awkward. He tried to control his breathing to avoid hyperventilating. Stalin fixed his gaze on him and said, “Tell me about Finland.” “What about Finland, sir?” Stalin scowled. “I think you know. Something here is rotten.” Ivan studied his face for any sign of what he meant. His anger was obvious. “I’m not sure I understand?” “Finland is a fiasco. We had no difficulty conquering eastern Poland. How can 150,000 Finnish soldiers humiliate 600,000 of our troops?” He released his breath. Stalin was concerned about the war, not about Yuri. Ivan wanted to remind him that he had decimated the leadership of the Soviet army with his endless purges of 35,000 officers, which encomed half of the officers’ corps. He knew such honesty could be fatal. Instead, he tried to be tactful. “Motivation. The Finns are fighting with their backs to the wall to defend their homeland. Our troops are there to try to annex a small piece of someone else’s land.” “And?” Stalin took the seat behind his desk. Ivan stayed on his feet. He knew of Stalin’s temper, but he hoped, for once, the man would listen. Someone had to guide him to keep Russia from losing the war. “Our army is not ready for war. The leadership is inexperienced, and the troops are green.” “So what do you suggest we do?” “Keep hammering them.” He paced in front of Stalin’s desk. “The Finns will

start to give way soon. We can replace our losses. They can’t. They’re already down to 100,000 troops.” Stalin seemed doubtful. “So you think time is on our side?” “I think the Finns will be asking for soon. We have to persevere to win this war.” He realized that Leningrad’s border was much too close to Finland. The only way the city could survive the next war would be for the Soviet Union to annex much of the Karelian Isthmus. “We invaded in November because we have to have a larger buffer zone around Leningrad. Otherwise, it will not be defensible when the Germans invade.” “The Germans? We have a pact with them.” Ivan nodded. “The Germans are in Poland now, but they want the Ukraine. Hitler said it himself in his book. We must use this little war to season our soldiers, but we need a massive buildup if we are going to stop Hitler from marching all the way to Moscow.” Stalin placed a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “You have a good military mind, Ivan. I noticed that during the revolution. I’m making you my Deputy Minister of Defense. You will have access to all our military plans and reconnaissance and will advise me personally.” “I would be honored.” The man’s fluctuating moods baffled Ivan. Less than a year earlier, Stalin had allowed him to languish in Lubyanka. Now he acts as if nothing happened. Maybe life will be better now that Valdislav is dead. “Good. I expect great things from you. Next year, after the capitalists have beaten each other to a pulp, we are going sweep down on them with such force they will not even have time to beg for mercy. The entire continent will belong to us.” Ivan raised an eyebrow. “What about the treaty we just signed with ?” Stalin laughed and answered as Ivan had suspected. “Treaties are for fools. It is just a piece of paper we signed to make Hitler complacent. It has already served its purpose. Hitler has started the war. Our enemies are fighting each other, and when the time is right, when they have brought each other to their knees, we will destroy them all.”

Ivan did not want another war, but he realized that Stalin’s plan was sound. “It will take a lot of preparation.” “That is why our factories are putting out tanks and planes at record levels.” “Maybe the war in Finland will give our troops some valuable experience.” I’m glad we are not fighting the Germans yet. Stalin shrugged. “True, and we will have a big advantage against . We are going to hit them when they least expect it. Our planes will destroy the Luftwaffe on the ground, and once the skies are ours, there will be no stopping us.”

CHAPTER 5 FINLAND (January 1940)

Yuri Krylov sat in the back of a truck with twelve other Soviet soldiers approaching Suomussalmi, Finland. He felt out of place with his friends who were there to fight for the motherland. All that he wanted was to escape and to meet Tania in Bavaria. He wondered if she had already flown there. His deceased stepmother had German parents, and he was glad she had made him learn the language. A more pressing concern was surviving the next few hours. His truck had fallen behind the rest of the unit. The narrow road wound through a dense forest. Heavy snow covered the tracks of the vehicles, and deep snowdrifts slowed the driver. An eerie silence filled the air. Yuri suspected their driver was lost. “Damn, it’s cold.” He rubbed his gloves together, trying without success to improve the circulation to his aching fingers. His friend Dmitrii laughed. “What’s wrong, Yuri? I thought you said you were looking forward to touring Finland.” Yuri shook his head. “All I’ve seen are snowdrifts and icicles. I will be glad when this war is over. You would think the Finns would realize they can’t possibly win.” “Apparently no one has informed them.” Dmitrii stared ahead with a blank expression. Yuri knew the images from earlier in the day must haunt him. Enemy soldiers had wiped out a whole platoon of Soviet troops before disappearing back into the forest. A thin Cossack sitting next to Yuri held his rifle with the butt on the floor. He leaned on it as he spoke with chapped, trembling lips. “The bastards will not stand and fight. They sneak up, attack, and then run away like cowards on their skis.”

Yuri did not like the way that the war was unfolding. He had planned to get behind enemy lines, break free, and walk to the Swedish border. He was finally in Finland, but there was no way he could get away from his comrades. If they saw him defecting, they would put a bullet through his head. He turned back to Dmitrii. “Are you scared?” “No.” Dmitrii squinted as he scanned the thick forest. “Well, maybe a little. I think the rest of our group should have waited for us. We are awfully vulnerable out here by ourselves.” Yuri nodded. “This is Corporal Pescov’s first assignment. He’s trying to prove how brave he is by risking our lives.” Dmitrii raised a finger to his lips. “Not so loud.” “Why?” Yuri laughed this time. “He’s up front. He can’t hear a thing we say.” “I don’t care.” Dmitrii glanced around the truck at their companions. “Someone might tell. Do you want to be shot for treason?” “You worry too much, my friend.” “Maybe, but I have a wife and a little boy.” Yuri fell silent. He wondered how Tania had reacted when Ivan talked with her. Did she follow his instructions? Is she waiting for me in Bavaria? How will we ever get back together? What if she died trying to cross the border? Gunfire erupted from the forest. The truck skidded, flipped onto its side, and slid into a ditch. Bullets ripped through the canvas top. Two of Yuri’s buddies fell forward, blood flowing from their skulls. Panicked soldiers jumped out the back, trying to find cover in the trees. Yuri took his knife, slashed an opening into the tarp, and jumped through it. He landed in the snowdrift and rolled behind a tree as bullets splattered the snow beside his face. Keeping the truck to his back for cover, he avoided a crossfire. His comrades fell quickly. Corporal Pescov lay dead, his shattered head hanging out the broken window of the truck. Several soldiers fired their rifles into the forest. Yuri took a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin. He heaved it at the Finn guerrillas. The explosion took out two ambushers. Dmitrii shot a third Finn. The soldier beside Yuri dropped his

weapon. Blood spurted from his chest. Yuri lifted his Simonov AVS-36 rifle and fired three shots. The sharpshooter fell behind a snow bank. The east side of the road looked clear. Yuri turned to face the enemy behind him. He peered around the truck. A barrage of bullets whizzed by his face. Dmitrii returned the fire and brought down one attacker but fell screaming as a bullet struck him in the shoulder. “Stay down!” Yuri called to him. The truck caught on fire, and Yuri knew it would explode at any time. He could not stay behind it anymore, but the marksmen would cut him down if he tried to run. He needed a diversion. He took his other grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it over the truck. As it exploded, he ran to the right and took cover behind a tree. Dmitrii ran from the burning truck, and two Finns fired at him. He fell onto the road. Yuri fired and struck the closest soldier in the neck. He fell, unbalancing his partner who had turned to face Yuri. Yuri and he fired at the same time. The sniper missed. Yuri did not. The truck exploded as the last Finn fell. Yuri dove to the ground, but not before a fragment ricocheted off a tree and struck him in the chest. He lay still, ignoring the blood that soaked his coat. After all the gunfire and explosions, the silence seemed surreal. His chest hurt, and he could feel the blood flowing down his torso. He was afraid to move his hand to compress the site. He was in the open, vulnerable to even a mediocre marksman. His leg cramped, and he was unable to play dead any longer. He crawled to his feet and surveyed the carnage. All of his comrades lay still in pools of blood. He ignored the nausea that filled his throat. Moments earlier, these had all been friends. The woods remained quiet. No Finns challenged his victory. The attackers all remained prostrate in the snow. One had fallen beside his skis and a sled. Yuri checked the sled. It held at least five days rations. His chance to escape had arrived. He tried on the skis, adjusted the leather straps to make them fit his feet, and then checked his chest wound. It seemed superficial. The bleeding had

almost stopped. He picked up the towrope and walked, pulling the sled westward. Freedom and a new life lay just across the border. A familiar voice stopped him. He spun around, almost tripping on his skis. Dmitrii was crawling toward him, dragging his mangled and bleeding leg. His weight left a groove in the snow that stained a deep red. Yuri’s relief that his friend was alive vanished when he saw the extent of the injury. He’s going to die no matter what I do. Pulling the rope, Yuri towed the sled. He stopped beside his friend. Dmitrii lifted his head. “I’m dying.” Yuri removed the skis, dropped to his knees in the snow, and inspected Dmitrii’s injuries. The shoulder wound was superficial, but the leg was bad. The bullet had shattered the main bone below the knee, and blood flowed from the wound. There is no way he can live until we reach Sweden. There’s no way he can survive at all, no matter what I do. Yuri’s hands shook as he gripped his rifle. Killing the Finns had been easy. Why was ending his friend’s misery so difficult? If I only had morphine, it would be easy. A single injection would relieve the pain and hasten the inevitable. Dmitrii’s eyes dilated as he seemed to sense Yuri’s thoughts. “Promise me something.” Yuri gripped his hand. “I will do what I can.” Dmitrii grimaced in pain. “Find Svetlana. Take care of her for me.” Yuri realized he was deluding himself. There was no way he could harm Dmitrii. “No. You can take care of your wife yourself.” He ripped off the shirt of a dead soldier, and used it for a tight bandage around the shoulder wound. The leg was not so simple. Blood continued to pump from the open fracture. Yuri used his belt as a tourniquet just above the wound. Dmitrii groaned, and his face twisted in pain, but the bleeding stopped.

Yuri threw away most of the rations from the sled and rolled his friend onto it. Refitting his skis, he grabbed the rope and dragged his new load eastward, back toward Russia and away from liberty. He knew it was a foolish choice. Dmitrii was going to die, but for Yuri, living with himself after abandoning his comrade would have been unbearable. Staying on the road left him exposed to enemy snipers, but hiding in the woods was not an option. Dmitrii could not survive that long without help. Yuri had felt no fear during the battle with the Finns. It went too fast, and he had been too preoccupied with surviving. Now he kept looking in every direction, imagining enemy soldiers behind every tree. After half an hour, exhaustion forced him to stop. His chest hurt, and his wound broke open. Ten minutes of pressure stopped the bleeding, and he was able to resume dragging the sled. His strength waned. Dmitrii lost consciousness, and Yuri wondered how much longer his friend would stay alive. Had he made the wrong choice in not leaving the dying man and seeking his only chance at freedom? He was not sure. He just knew he could not abandon Dmitrii. He continued to drag the sled eastward, knowing with each step that his chances of escape to the West decreased. His muscles ached, and his wound resumed bleeding. He tried to ignore his fear, but fatigue, not courage, caused him to quit scanning the woods for enemy soldiers. He dropped his rifle and did not bother to retrieve it from the snow. It was all he could do to place one foot in front of the other and to keep moving forward. Eventually even that became impossible. The pain in his legs progressed to numbness, and finally, they refused to move another step. He collapsed onto the road, unable to stand, much less to walk. He lay in the snow, catching his breath and fighting the fatigue. Blood soaked his uniform, but he hardly noticed. Just lifting his head required all his strength. He closed his eyes and pulled his hood over his face. It was much warmer out of the wind. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the fatigue.

CHAPTER 6 MOSCOW (March 1940)

Vassili Kobin felt a sense of awe as he followed his boss into the Kremlin. Since replacing agent Valdislav Figner, he had been on a crusade to discover what had happened to him. Now, at last, he was going to get help from the most powerful man in the USSR. His mentor, Lavrenti Beria, stopped abruptly, and Kobin almost plowed into him. His euphoria evaporated. It was not wise to trip the chief of the NKVD. Men had died for less. They stepped into their leader’s office. Stalin sat at his desk and made no effort to stand. He seemed surprised to see them, although Beria had made an appointment hours earlier. “What do you want?” Beria took a chair, leaving Kobin to stand against the wall. For one of the most brutal and feared men in the country, he was meek in the presence of Stalin. “One of my agents was found dead this morning.” “Which one?” His gaze returned to the stack of papers on his desk. “Valdislav Figner.” Stalin lifted his head. “The agent that disappeared in September.” “Yes. A couple of hunters found what remained of his body in a wasteland one hundred miles from here. Every bone was broken.” Stalin laughed. “Sounds like somebody did not like him very much. They must have beaten him to a pulp.” “Possibly, or they may have thrown him from an airplane. It would explain the condition of the remains and the very remote site where it was found.”

Stalin reached into the drawer of his desk and retrieved a cigar. “So, who did it?” Beria struck a match and held it out for his superior. “I don’t know.” Stalin inhaled deeply. “Then who did not like him?” This time Beria laughed. “Just about everyone who knew him.” “So, why are you here?” There was a hint of impatience in his voice. “Valdislav sent your Deputy Minister of Defense to Lubyanka. Mr. Maximov had only been released a few months before the murder. He and Valdislav hated each other.” Stalin frowned. “Do you have any evidence that Ivan killed him?” Beria shook his head. “None, but he had the motivation.” “Then keep a close eye on him.” He looked at Kobin. “Who is this?” Beria held out his hand toward his subordinate. “This is Agent Vassili Kobin. I have assigned him to this case.” “Good.” Stalin turned his scrutiny to the younger man. “Comrade Kobin, find the assassin and report back to me. I would suggest checking around the airport. If Valdislav was thrown from a plane, it probably took off from near here.” Kobin met his hard gaze without flinching. “Don’t worry, sir. Valdislav Figner was my friend. Whoever murdered him is going to wish they had died in his place.”

Tania landed her plane at Moscow’s military airport and climbed to the ground. Months had ed since she had been to Moscow, and she did not understand why she had received orders to return. The other pilots in her unit had remained in Finland. She found her new quarters and retired that night still pondering her unexpected transfer. She wondered where Yuri had been sent and why he had left without

speaking to her. She had heard that he was with the ground forces in Finland where thousands of Soviet soldiers had died. The next morning, when she reported to the personnel office, the officer in charge directed her to the headquarters building. There, a stern-faced man at the reception desk sent her into a small, empty room and told her to wait. It reminded her of the room where the agents had interrogated her after Valdislav’s death. That sent a chill through her body. Fifteen minutes ed before a short man with a black mustache entered and took the seat behind a wooden desk. He told her to sit in the straight chair. She did as told and waited. “I’m Comrade Kobin,” he said. “The NKVD has sent me to ask you a few questions.” Tania met his gaze and did not look away. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to talk with me?” “I will ask the questions.” “Of course.” “Did you know Comrade Valdislav Figner?” “I did. He was my friend, and I was his pilot.” She wondered if they had found his body. Have they caught Yuri? “Do you recall when he disappeared?” “Yes. It was about six months ago. Several of your friends questioned me then.” “That is correct. Did you answer them truthfully?” “I did.” “All of their questions?” “Yes.” What does he know? Why am I being interrogated now? Why didn’t I escape to the West when I was in the air near the border? There were so many

chances, and I ignored them. How could I leave without Yuri? Where is he? “Do you know what became of him?” “No. He was still missing when I left to the air force. Has he returned?” “I will ask the questions.” “Of course.” “Do you know Mr. Yuri Krylov?” Not Yuri, she thought. Have they arrested him? “Yes. He was a student pilot.” “How well do you know him?” “He attended my lectures, and I took him on several flights as a student copilot.” “Is that all?” “Yes.” He suspects us. I might never fly again. Will this man take me to Lubyanka and force me to confess? Could I keep from incriminating Yuri? Could anyone withstand the torture? He obviously did not believe her. The questions continued for two hours and then stopped. “That will be all for now. You may go.” She left in a daze, stunned that she was still free and certain that she had not seen the last of the agent.

That night, she lay awake worrying about Comrade Kobin and his suspicions. She awoke in the morning still unsettled by the change of events. After breakfast her disquiet grew when a young man approached and handed her two envelopes. The first one was an official Air Force envelope. She opened it to find she had been given a three-day . That is odd, she thought. I made no request.

The second envelope was blank with only her name on the front. Inside she found a letter on official Kremlin stationary addressed to her. The message was brief. She was to report to the home of the Deputy Minister of Defense at 7:00 that night. The address followed with instructions to tell no one and to destroy the letter immediately. It was signed, Ivan Maximov. She did not recognize the name. Why would this man want to see me? Did he send Comrade Kobin? This is a highly irregular summons. Why is it so secret, and why does he want me to destroy the letter? The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. What will happen if I don’t go? What will happen if I do? No one will even know where I am. Maybe I should just pretend I never received the envelopes. The day ed slowly, giving her much unwanted time to worry about her summons. It seemed unlikely that it was unrelated to her interrogation earlier in the day by the rude NKVD agent. She thought of running. Stealing an airplane would be difficult, but not impossible. Flying all the way to without being shot down, however, would be futile. She contemplated stealing a jeep and driving as far as a tank of gas would take her. It seemed a bad choice. Comrade Kobin would chase after her with a vengeance, and once he captured her, he would make her talk. She might resist for a while, but eventually he would force her to tell him about Yuri. Then they would both face execution.

At 7:00 o’clock, Tania climbed the steps at the designated address. The house seemed smaller than she had anticipated. She suspected a trap and suspected Comrade Kobin was waiting on the other side of the door. She was about to turn around and flee when the door opened. A large man with a beard appeared. “Thank you for coming, Miss Chakovsky.” His approach unsettled her. She still wanted to leave, but now that they were face to face, she decided against it. “You must be Comrade Maximov.” He stepped back and motioned for her to enter. “That is correct.” He accepted her coat, hung it beside the door, and led her into the living room. It was a simple space with basic furniture. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Ivan

pointed to the couch. “Please sit down.” He walked to the bar and returned with glasses of vodka. He handed one to her and lifted his for a toast. “To the victory in Finland.” “To peace in our time,” she answered, paraphrasing the British prime minister. She was not sure why she said that. It was not wise to aggravate a Soviet official, but she did not appreciate being summoned to his home. What does he want? Is he going to try to get me drunk? Is it sex he wants, or is he going to have me arrested? He tasted his vodka. “An interesting rebuttal. I gather you did not approve of the war?” “That’s not for me to say.” He took the chair across from the couch, facing her. “It certainly is. Everyone is entitled to have an opinion.” Is he trying to trap me into saying something incriminating. “True, but sometimes it is best to leave that opinion left unsaid.” “Perhaps, but for someone who may not have approved of the war, you fought bravely. You should know that you will receive a metal for bravery.” “Thank you, sir.” Where is this going? “Please call me Ivan.” His mannerisms were the opposite of those of the secret police agent. She wondered if his friendly approach was some kind of trick. Did he think that by being nice to her he could convince her to confess? “All right, Ivan, why am I here? Does it have something to do with Mr. Kobin?” His mouth fell open. “How do you know about Comrade Kobin?” “We spent two hours chatting yesterday. Did you send him?” “Certainly not.” He gulped down his vodka. “The NKVD and I have never gotten along very well. I had hoped to warn you about him.”

That seems highly unlikely. What does he want? “Why would you do that?” “Because you’re in much danger. You and Yuri should leave the country as soon as possible.” She caught her breath. “This is all a mistake. I barely know Mr. Krylov.” He cocked his head to one side, watching her expression. “You should know that Yuri was wounded in Finland.” “What? Is he going to live?” “They found him near death trying to carry a fellow soldier to safety behind enemy lines. He’s recovering at a hospital in Leningrad. I would appreciate it if you would tell him what I just told you.” She had intended not to touch her vodka, but now found herself drinking freely. “How badly is he hurt?” The Deputy Minister of Defense kept speaking as if they were old friends and as if his prime concern was her wellbeing. It made no sense. “He will recover,” he said, “but he needs to leave the USSR as soon as possible and so do you.” “You know I’m in the Air Force. I cannot go anywhere without clearance.” “You have your three-day .” She watched with astonishment as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a train ticket.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “How do you know all this? You said you’re not with the NKVD.” “No, but I have my own spies.” He stood. “Would you like another drink?” She handed him her empty glass.

CHAPTER 7 LENINGRAD (March 1940)

Yuri lay on a cot in a medical ward in Leningrad. The war with Finland had ended and with it his chance to escape to . He wondered if Tania was there now searching for him and if he would ever have another chance to her. He was glad his stepmother had spoken German and had made him learn the language. He would be dead now if Soviet troops had not found him collapsed in the snow beside Dmitrii. Surgeons had debrided their wounds and amputated Dmitrii’s leg. Their incisions were healing well, but Yuri had caught pneumonia, and the doctors could not to stop the chills and fever. Dmitrii occupied the bed beside him. He grabbed his crutches and lifted himself to a standing position. “I’m going to the canteen. Do you want anything?” Yuri shrugged. “Just check the mail.” He had received no communication from anyone since he left for Finland. Dmitrii’s wife Svetlana was the only person who visited. She was a plump, energetic woman with Slavic features. Yuri looked forward to her visits because she always brought fresh bread that she cooked herself. Yuri knew that Tania had no way of knowing where he was, but that did not keep him from hoping that she would send some word. Dmitrii left. Yuri lay back and tried to sleep. After a while, a shadow ed over his face. He opened his eyes. A woman stood beside his bed. Her air force hat and uniform failed to conceal her blonde hair and trim figure. “Tania Danilovna?” A smile swept across her face. “Hi, Yuri. I feared I would never see you again.” She sat on the side of the bed and held his hand. Yuri pulled himself upright and threw his arms around her. “God, I missed you. I

was so worried. What happened with the NKVD?” She hugged him back. “That’s why I’m here. A Comrade Kobin interrogated me several days ago. He asked about you and our last flight.” Yuri realized that if Kobin learned of Tania’s true relationship with him, he would come to the obvious conclusion. The truth. They had killed Valdislav. “You should not have come here.” She kissed him. “I had to see for myself that you are alive.” “I love you.” He pulled away from her as a coughing spasm struck his chest. She waited for his breathing to return to normal. “I love you too. How badly are you hurt?” He told her about the pneumonia and the lack of any treatment. She frowned. “So what is your doctor doing?” Yuri shrugged. He knew that his recovery was doubtful. There was nothing anyone could do except hope. “The best he can. You being here is the best medicine there could possibly be.” Her frown deepened. “I can’t stay. My leave ends tomorrow, and I have to catch the train back to Moscow in an hour.” “You just got here. How did you find me?” She told him about the strange message from the Deputy Minister of Defense asking her to meet him at his home. He shuttered. Tania is a beautiful woman. There is only one reason for the bastard to lure her to his house. “You didn’t go, did you?” “Yes. I had no choice.” Yuri tried to stand, but the dizziness returned, so he stayed seated. “Did he touch you?” “No. He acted like we were old friends. He told me that you had been wounded

and that you were hospitalized here.” “Why would the Deputy Minister of Defense be concerned ?” “I hoped you would know.” “What was his name?” “Ivan Maximov.” Yuri caught his breath. His father had been Deputy Minister of Transportation when he had last seen him. “What else did he say?” “Do you know him?” “I have heard of him.” He wanted to tell her that Ivan was his father but was not sure that was wise in light of the fact that Agent Kobin could decide to interrogate her again at any time. She watched his face, seeming to expect him to say more. Finally, she continued. “He told me how you were wounded and still managed to wipe out the ambushers and then carried your friend for miles back to safety. You are very brave, Yuri.” “No. I was scared. I almost abandoned my friend Dmitrii in the snow. I had planned to go AWOL and would probably be in now if Dmitrii had not called for help.” Her mouth fell open. “All this time, I thought….” She released his hand and turned away. “I don’t know what I thought.” “What?” “I didn’t think you would leave without me?” Yuri felt as confused as Tania looked. “But, that was the plan. We would meet in Bavaria.” She swung back to face him. “What plan? You disappeared without a word. I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

Yuri watched her face grow red. “You were supposed to the air force and escape in one of your planes.” Her eyes narrowed. “And how was I supposed to know that?” “Mr. Maximov. Didn’t he tell you?” “No. He just said you had been wounded.” “I mean before the war.” “I never met the man until a few days ago. What is going on, Yuri?” “He promised to tell you I was going to the army and would try to escape across the border and go to Bavaria. He was going to suggest that you the air force, steal a plane, and fly to . We would meet in Bavaria.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Nobody suggested I do anything. I just received a notice that I had been drafted into the air force, and next thing I knew, I was off to the war.” Suddenly everything was clear. His father had tricked him. “He lied to me” Tania shook her head and locked her gaze with his. “You’re the one who is lying. You said you did not know this Mr. Maximov. Now suddenly it’s his fault that you left without telling me a thing.” “He’s kind of a friend of the family, and he offered to help.” Yuri felt sick. He did not want to lie, but the truth would put them both in danger. “I thought you had only heard of him.” “I have only seen him twice in my life—once shortly after I arrived in Moscow and then the day I left. I cannot believe he lied to me.” This was the truth, but he could see that Tania did not believe a word. He reached for her hand again. She pulled away. “I can’t believe you still tell me half-truths.” “What do you mean?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to go.”

Yuri gritted his teeth. He did not want to lose her, but there was no way he could let her risk her life again for him. He was a liability to her. It was good that she was mad. She had to stay away from him. If Kobin discovered they had been lovers, there would be no hope for her survival. “Don’t come back,” he said with as firm a voice as he could muster. “What?” “I would like to be your friend, but it is too dangerous.” “Friend? I was under the impression we were more than friends.” “We are fortunate the NKDV did not follow you here. Next time we may not be so lucky.” Her frown deepened. “You’re a coward, Yuri.” She turned and hurried from the room.

CHAPTER 8 , BELGIUM, and (May 10, 1940)

Second Lieutenant Karl Schneider sat in his Panzer and stared across the German border into Belgium. He wondered if there was a God, and if so, would He be pleased? He knew that his stepfather would be proud that he was risking his life for the Fatherland, but it bothered him how vehemently his mother opposed his ing the military. She had insisted that he finish college, and as a result, he had missed out on the invasion of Poland the previous September and the conquest of Denmark and Norway in April. He regretted not standing up to her and wondered who had poisoned her mind against Hitler. Formidable enemies awaited them to the west. and England had more advanced armies and more tanks than . They also had the advantage of fighting from a defensive position. Karl felt ready for the battle but could not deny his fear. He had never faced enemy fire, but his stepfather had told him of the horrors of surviving in the trenches of the previous war. Along the border with , the French had developed a strong defensive position called the Maginot line. Attacking it frontally would have been suicidal, but the Wehrmacht had a sophisticated plan to by these fortifications. Karl belonged to Brigadier Erwin Rommel’s Seventh Panzer Division that had orders to attack through Belgium and Holland. It was a prized assignment, and he was proud to be commander of his tank. He faced his gunner. “It shouldn’t be long now. Are you ready?” Martin shared with Karl intelligence, fierce loyalty to the Fatherland, and the blood of an old, established family. “Damn straight. I’m tired of waiting. My ass is getting sore.” Walther, the driver, laughed. He was a big man with a coarse, Berlin accent. “Maybe you should have brought a pillow.”

Karl ignored his poor attempt at humor. He looked at Ludwig, his loader, whose tight grip on his seat betrayed his fear. “Cheer up, Ludwig. We will be in Paris within a month.” Ludwig forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me, Commander. I’m just afraid the French army will surrender before we have time to have some fun.” Ralf, the radio operator, threw back his head, shoving his out-of-control, brown hair out of his eyes. “Don’t count on that, boy. Those soldiers whipped our ass in the last war.” Ralf had partaken in the invasion of Denmark. He was the only one of the crew who had known combat, although his tank had not received any enemy fire. He was also the only member of the crew whom Karl had known before the war. Both men grew up in Munich and had played soccer on opposing teams. Ralf’s laughter stopped as static poured from his radio. He listened and then turned to Karl. “It is a go, sir.” Karl nodded to Walther, and the Berlin native started the engine. Minutes later they crossed the border into Belgium just north of Luxembourg. Rifle fire erupted from the forest. Bullets ricocheted off the metal hull of the tank. Walther glanced at Karl, who motioned with his hand to keep moving. Small arms were just a nuisance. Their orders were to move as quickly as possible through Belgium. Soon they entered the Ardennes, a hilly, wooded region that experts considered impenetrable by armored vehicles. Walther steered their panzer into a row of tanks ing single file through the narrow road. This left them vulnerable to air attacks, and Karl found himself scanning the sky for French aircraft. None appeared. The Luftwaffe established air superiority from the beginning. Karl relaxed until an explosion jolted the tank and knocked him to the floor. The noise shook the tiny space and almost perforated his eardrums, sending searing pain through his skull. He pulled himself to his feet and tried to see who or what had attacked, but swirls of dust and smoke obscured his vision. Then another blast shook the tank.

Ludwig groaned. “We’re going to die.” Karl realized that Ludwig was speaking for everyone there. He heard someone praying but wasn’t sure who it was. He wondered if hell was a real place. Then the smoke cleared, and he saw a Belgian tank fifty meters away. He yelled to Martin to turn the turret and to fire its 37-mm gun. Another explosion rocked his tank as Martin fired. More smoke filled the Panzer, and Karl could not see the enemy. Ludwig reloaded. When the air cleared, Karl saw a crater and smoke ten meters in front of the Belgian tank. It remained unharmed. Its turret remained pointed at him. He yelled to Martin, “Fire!” The gun discharged. Smoke engulfed the enemy machine. The crew scrambled out. Martin fired again. The armored vehicle exploded. Flames engulfed the Belgian soldiers.

Karl lay awake most of that night. He kept reliving the skirmish with the Belgian tank. He had fought his nation’s enemy and had prevailed. His stepfather would be proud. He had proven himself worthy of the Schneider name. With reflection he realized his success had been as much luck as skill. If the Belgian crew had been more accurate, he would have died on his first day of combat. His thoughts segued to Rebecca, his first girlfriend, and he wondered what his stepfather would have thought if he knew he had kissed a Jewish girl. He wondered what would have happened if he had not ed the Hitler Youth.

Before the sun rose, he directed his men westward. They were in high spirits. No one could stop them. They were the greatest army on earth. The paucity of resistance baffled Karl. Several days later, a river blocked their advance. Without a time-consuming delay, the only way across was a narrow, old bridge. Walther took one look at it and balked. “It will never our weight.”

Ludwig agreed, and Karl had his doubts. He also had his orders. They were to cross the bridge and continue to advance toward . “Drive.” Walther didn’t move. Martin turned in his seat toward Karl. “You’re going to get us killed.” His men were about to mutiny, and Karl didn’t know what to do. Ralf came to his rescue. “The bridge is fine, Walther. Don’t be a coward.” Walther’s lips quivered, but he drove the tank onto the bridge. A thunderous noise filled the air, and the tank shook as a mortar shell exploded in the water beside them. Walther stopped the tank, and Karl wondered if the bridge would crumble. He felt it sway, and then another explosion rocked it again. His teeth chattered. “Go!” Walther inched the massive machine forward. The swaying of the bridge increased. Ludwig whimpered. Karl held his breath. He tried to hide his fear. Another explosion reverberated past them, but this one was not close. The tracks reached solid road, and the tank lumbered forward. Martin cheered, and everyone sang, “The German Fatherland.” They were out of breath, and their voices, hoarse, but there was no mistaking their enthusiasm. No one said it, but they all had expected to meet death on that wobbling bridge.

The next day, as they headed west, a round struck General Rommel’s tank. Karl returned fire at the artillery site, silencing it. Rommel emerged from the crippled tank and climbed aboard Karl’s Panzer. Ignoring the blood dripping down his face, he turned to Karl. “What’s your name, son?” “Karl, sir. Second Lieutenant Karl Schneider.” The general held his gaze and spoke as if to an equal. “What do you think we should do after we have secured our beachhead on this side of the river?”

Karl answered without hesitation. “Secure the area, sir. Keep bringing our forces across the river and pacify the surrounding region.” “And what do you think the French soldiers want us to do?” Karl thought for a moment, and realized he had spoken too quickly. “They’ve got to be confused and frightened by the swiftness of our advance. Their greatest fear right now has to be that we would keep advancing until we reach behind their lines. They want us to stop where we are so they have time to reorganize.” Rommel smiled. “Right. So do you still think we should accommodate them?” “No.” Karl knew what the general expected and was confident that he was right. “We should push forward as rapidly as possible.” The general said nothing more, but he placed a hand on Karl’s shoulder and let him dress his face wound. They continued to move westward. It was a memorable day for Karl. He had faced enemy fire without flinching, and he had met with one of the giants of the German army. He felt more enthralled than ever with Rommel. Most generals stayed in the secure area at the rear, giving orders to their subordinates on the front lines. Rommel chose to be in thick of the fighting where he could tell first-hand the opportunities and dangers of the moment. Karl was proud and glad to be in his Seventh Panzer Division.

That night Martin built a campfire. Karl and Walther ed him. Walther looked toward their tank. “Where’s Ludwig?” Martin shrugged. “Gone to sleep. He looked exhausted.” “He should be,” Walther sneered. “He hasn’t slept since we left German soil. He’s scared to death. I thought he would wet his pants when that Belgian tank almost nailed us.” “Give the boy some slack,” Karl said. He knew his crew had to respect each

other if they were going to fight together. “He may be scared, but he held up fine. If he hadn’t reloaded our gun as fast as he did, we would all be dead now.” The sound of running feet interrupted everyone’s thoughts. Walther grabbed his rifle but set it back in his tent when Ralf rushed into their midst. “That’s a good way to get yourself shot,” Walther said. Karl replaced in its holster the pistol he had drawn. “What is it?” Ralf ignored Walther’s exclamation. “I just heard on the radio that General Guderian’s divisions have crossed the Meuse.” “All right.” Martin rubbed his hands together. “This calls for a celebration.” He pulled a beer out of his coat pocket and removed the top. Taking a deep swig, he wiped his mouth and handed the bottle to Karl. “Drink up, Lieutenant.” Karl smiled, took a sip, and ed it on to Walther. The war was going so well, he could hardly believe it. General Heinz Guderian was one of his heroes. He had developed the whole concept of lightning assault with large tank divisions, and he was thus largely responsible for the success they were having now. It was after Karl read his book Achtung! Panzer! that he decided he wanted to be in a Panzer unit. Now he was fighting in the same army as this military giant. He could not believe his good fortune. On May 15, 1940, Holland surrendered, and the following day, Karl reached the French border and the Maginot line extension, which was a miniature extension of the more formidable Maginot line to the south. It consisted primarily of pillboxes and anti-tank obstacles. Karl had heard of the impenetrable Maginot line for years and faced it with some trepidation. Nevertheless, his complete trust of General Rommel caused him to move forward without hesitation. French machine-guns and artillery fired upon the tank. The crew answered with their 37-mm gun as they continued to move forward. Soon they were west of the line and proceeding deeper into . The roads filled with refugees and deserting French soldiers who surrendered in droves. By May 18, Karl had advanced 175 miles to reach Cambrai. He saw friends die, and he killed his country’s enemies. He faced death and came away alive and stronger from the experience. He felt certain that when he

reached the English Channel, the Wehrmacht would trap the bulk of the British troops, and Britain would have to surrender. Three days later, his optimism evaporated. Near Arras, two divisions of the British Expeditionary Force attacked. The Seventh Panzer Division lost four times as many men as in the entire campaign before that day. The heavily armored British Matilda tanks were formidable weapons. Karl saw two of his sister tanks explode before he achieved a kill on one of the Matildas. Smoke poured from the disabled tank. “We got him,” Ralf yelled. Ludwig waved his arms. “Matildas to the right!” Karl took a deep breath as he saw two fearsome tanks rolling toward his smaller armored vehicle. Both of them fired at once. A near miss rocked the Panzer. When the dust and smoke cleared, Karl realized that his tank had not been damaged. He waited for Martin to turn the turret, and then yelled, “Fire!” The gun roared. The explosion destroyed the first of the British tanks. Karl saw the other enemy tank aiming at them. “Reload, Ludwig.” Fifty yards away, the Matilda fired its two-pounder, anti-tank gun again. The explosion threw Karl against the metal wall of his tank. He felt a sharp pain in his head. Blood flowed down his face. He tried to stand. His vision blurred. He felt the blood draining from his body as the world seemed to drift away and everything went black.

CHAPTER 9 (May 1940)

Berta Callas fought back the tears that threatened to sweep down her face. She knew that crying was unprofessional, but nothing in her short life had prepared her for the hopelessness of the dying men who reached out and begged her to stop the pain. Nursing school certainly had not. Her patients may have been ill, some very ill, but they had not been soaked in blood or screaming like this. They had not been so young, and so many of them did not die. She stared at the nine cots that cluttered the triage tent. Blood dripped off the edges of five of them, and their occupants appeared pale as ghosts. Weak moans rose from their lips, the last gasps of dying men. The other four patients lay silent and motionless. It took no great expertise to see that they were beyond help. Doctor Heinz, the triage officer, had already declared them low priority. Survival was unlikely no matter what he did for them. He had to direct the limited resources to the men with hope of survival. Three casualties had already died. A second lieutenant still breathed, but his left leg twisted in a 45-degree angle, and an ugly gash dominated his scalp. Blood oozed from it. She resisted the temptation to hold pressure to try to stop the bleeding. Doctor Heinz had yelled at her for doing just that when the soldier first arrived. “Leave him alone. He’s going to die no matter what we do.” She knew the bleeding was not the problem. His scalp, just like his leg, could respond to treatment. He had been somnolent since arriving an hour earlier. Doctor Heinz said he had a brain injury. Maybe at a university hospital in Berlin, he would have a chance, but not here in a field hospital with no neurosurgeon. In the midst of all the turmoil, the soldier lay on his side breathing no more than eight breaths a minute. His placid face suggested a deep sleep after a busy day. It did not mimic the permanent sleep of the brain dead. He seems so young and so physically fit. She reached for a dressing and placed it on his wound. A little pressure is all it would take to stop this bleeding.

“Berta!” Doctor Heinz glared at her from across the room. “I told you to forget him. I need you over here now.”

Berta gathered the sutures, instruments, and sterile towels for Doctor Heinz to suture an ugly gash on a private’s face. Heinz was a competent medical physician, but he lacked the training and skill necessary for repairing wounds other than superficial, linear cuts. Berta felt tempted to suggest that he call one of the surgeons, but they were all operating on men with life-threatening wounds. The private would have to learn to live with a scar. Perhaps after the war, if he survived, a specialist could revise it. When the doctor finished, he stepped out of the tent to smoke a cigarette. Berta rushed to the postsurgical tent. Her favorite surgeon, Doctor Engle, stepped from the operating room into the big tent. He was a tall muscular man with a serious demeanor. His shoulders slumped, and he looked ready to collapse from fatigue. He slipped into a chair as Berta told him about her disagreement with his colleague. “Doctor Heinz thinks the man is drowsy because he has a brain injury, but the corpsman on the battlefield gave him so much morphine that it’s a wonder he is even breathing.” “I can’t just countermand Doctor Heinz’s orders.” “I know that, but he’s over his head. If you offered to help with a patient or two, he wouldn’t object.” “I’m so tired I can hardly stand.” “Please.”

Answering a knock on her door, Valentina faced a young man holding a telegram. Not another summons from Paul, she groaned to herself. These days, she rarely heard from her husband unless there was some ridiculous party in Berlin. He knew she hated those events, but that did not keep him from insisting that she catch the train and be there to decorate his arm. Adolf had grown fond of her since their first encounter years ago. Paul kept trying to capitalize on that feeling, even though he knew Valentina despised the man.

As she extended her hand for the telegram, she noticed that the man lacked his usual jovial demeanor. He focused his eyes on the ground. As soon as she took the paper, he hurried back to his bicycle. Valentina stepped back into the house and shut the door. She realized she would not be upset if a torpedo sank her husband’s submarine. Then she thought of Karl. She ripped the telegram open and read the brief words. Karl had been wounded in combat near Arras. He was not expected to survive. The room seemed to spin. She gripped the couch to keep from falling as waves of nausea swept over her.

Berta pushed open the flap to the operating room tent and stepped out into the morning sunlight. Forty-eight hours with no sleep was taking its toll. Her muscles ached, and her eyes burned. Ignoring her fatigue, she poured herself a cup of coffee and walked to the large tent for the postoperative patients. She would be unable to sleep without first seeing how they were doing. She moved to the last cot in the back of the tent where the young man with the head injury lay. His eyes remained closed. She stared at the bandage on his head and the cast on his leg and wondered if she had been foolish to convince the surgeon to set the fracture and to suture the scalp laceration. Everyone said he was going to die, and if he somehow lived, it would be in an endless sleep. She knew they were probably right, but perhaps his brain was only stunned with no permanent damage. She looked at his face and swallowed hard. His high cheekbones and thick, brown hair reminded her of George. Her only brother had been one of the first casualties of the war. She recalled how proud he had been to model his spotless, new Wehrmacht uniform. A random artillery shell from a Polish cannon ended his life on his first day of combat. Lost in thought, she sat on the cot and touched the man’s arm. His eyes flew open.

Karl tried to focus on the kaleidoscope that seemed to portray a pretty face with startled brown eyes and curly brown hair. “Rebecca?” Her smile seemed sad and far away. “No. I’m Berta—your nurse. Welcome back, Karl.” He wondered what she meant. Where have I been? Why do I need a nurse? Then the pain in his leg diverted his attention. He tried to sit. The ensuing headache dwarfed the pain in his leg. He dropped back onto his pillow and swept his gaze over the room. Images piled on top of images. He could not focus on anything. “What’s wrong with me? Where am I?” She placed a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re in a field hospital near Cambrai. A British shell hit your tank. You’ve been unconscious. No one thought you would wake up.” The last thing he could recall was standing in his Panzer approaching Arras. “I don’t .” “You hit your head.” She leaned forward examining his bandage. “Doctor Engel sewed up an ugly wound on your scalp.” “Is that why I’m so dizzy?” “Yes.” She set her coffee cup on the empty ammunition box that served as a table. He tried to focus on the other patients but saw only blurred images. “My men?” Berta paused a little too long before answering. “I don’t know.” Karl saw how she looked away. She’s lying. She is trying to protect me from the truth. I’m sure of it. If I could only see her face. I’m going blind! He gripped her hand. “What’s wrong with my eyes?” She frowned. “What do you mean? They look fine.” He stared back at her face. Her features remained distorted. “I’m seeing double.”

She rose to her feet. “I’ll get the doctor.” Karl tried again to sit, but Berta put a firm hand on his chest. “Doctor Engel wants you to stay in bed.” Karl lay back and looked at the cast on his left leg. “What’s that?” “You broke your leg. It should heal OK. Just needs some time.” She took her hand off his chest. Karl watched her hips sway as she walked away. He hated to see her disappear. He looked around the huge tent. It provided a canopy over nine other cots with wounded soldiers. All appeared seriously ill. He let his head rest on the pillow and wished the throbbing would stop. Doctor Engel marched into the makeshift surgical ward and bent over Karl’s cot. “How do you feel?” The energy that Berta had instilled into Karl seeped away. He wanted to retreat into sleep. “My head hurts.” Doctor Engel held up his hand, and with some effort, got Karl’s attention. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Karl squinted at the hand and grimaced. “I can tell there are two, but it looks like four.” The doctor peered into Karl’s eyes and ears and examined his entire body. “Your reflexes are normal, and you move all your extremities well except for the broken leg. Neurologically everything seems fine except for the double vision.” As a child, Karl had seen men who had been blinded by mustard gas during the Great War. The thought of going through his entire life like this terrified him. “Will my eyes get better?” The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. That blow to the head bruised your brain. All we can do is hope. You need rest to recover from your head injury and to allow your leg to heel.” That night Karl dreamed about being trapped in his tank with explosions coming

closer and closer. He awoke, covered in sweat with his heart pounding and his breathing heavy. He sat upright, ignoring his headache. The sound of rapid footsteps reached his ears. He felt an arm around his shoulder and a familiar voice. “You’re all right, Karl. It was only a dream.” He looked into Berta’s eyes, and the nightmare disappeared. “It seemed so real.” “I know.” She felt his forehead with her hand. “How’s your headache?” “Still there. Thanks for coming to my rescue.” She sat back on the cot and held his hand. “What were you dreaming?” The scene remained vivid in his mind. “I was in my Panzer. We had been hit. There were explosions everywhere. I was about to die.” A frown crept across her face. “Is that what happened to you?” He nodded. The screams, the pain, and the fear had all come back to him. He told her everything and then rested his head on her shoulder.

CHAPTER 10 (May and June 1940)

Berta held Karl in her arms until his breathing became regular and he fell asleep. Even then, she hesitated to move her arm, which was numb from the pressure of his head. She did not want to risk awakening him, but more than that, she did not want to leave his side. I barely know this man. Why do I feel this way? Why am I afraid to let him out of my sight? I’m exhausted. Returning to my tent and getting some sleep would be the logical thing to do. Why do all my instincts insist on staying here with him? An hour ed, and she did not move. At times her eyes would close, but mostly she just sat there watching her patient and feeling the warmth of his neck on her arm. A siren sounded. Dr. Heinz appeared in the doorway of the tent. He looked as tired as she felt. “Come on, Berta. We have a gunshot wound to the abdomen going directly to the operating room.” He looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. “What are you doing? Didn’t you get any sleep?” Berta gently replaced Karl’s head on his pillow. “He woke up.”

Karl reached for Berta, but she was not there. He tried to sit, but the headache intensified. He lay back on his pillow. The night was quiet except for the breathing of the shadowy figures on the other cots and the occasional explosion of artillery shells miles away. He wanted to stand, to walk outside the tent, and to look at anything other than the sick and dying men who surrounded him. His doctor had not told him he could not get out of bed. He had not told him much at all. Can I put weight on my broken leg? Will my vision return to normal? Could it get worse? What if I go completely blind? He tried again to sit, but the headache grew severe. He closed his eyes and attempted to return to sleep, but memories of battle kept him

awake. What happened to my men? Am I the only one alive? He welcomed the dawn. As the first glimmers of light entered the tent, he felt a rush of excitement. Never had he felt so blessed. The headache was still awful, and his leg hurt, but it all seemed trivial. His vision had returned to normal.

Late that afternoon, Berta stumbled out of the operating-room tent. She had to get some sleep. Her hands shook from fatigue. If another wounded soldier arrived, she was not sure she could continue. Grabbing a mug of coffee, she hurried to the postoperative tent. Karl had propped himself up on a pillow. He smiled at her. She hurried to his cot and sat on the edge. “How do you feel?” He took her hand in his. “I can see your face. It’s in focus. I had no idea you were so pretty.” Her fatigue disappeared. “Oh, Karl, that’s wonderful.” She stood. “I’m going to tell Dr. Engel.” Karl pulled her back onto the cot. “Don’t leave. Stay and talk with me.” She knew she should go. What she was feeling was far from professional. A nurse was supposed to care for her patients, but she needed to keep a certain distance. Becoming emotionally involved was unacceptable. Her superiors would not approve, and it was not fair to Karl. Soon the Wehrmacht would ship him away, and he would never see her again. Her mind told her to leave, but her buttocks stayed glued to the cot. “What should we talk about?” He pointed a finger at her. “You. I want to know where you came from, why you are here in this awful place, and what you plan to do with your life.” “There’s not much to tell.” She described her youth in Frankfurt and her nursing training in Berlin. When the war came, she volunteered for the Wehrmacht. If men were risking their lives for the fatherland, she felt that she should take care of them. It did not prove to be the adventure she anticipated. The long hours and grueling

work were not unexpected. What haunted her were the faces of the men who lost an arm or a leg or who did not survive the challenging surgery or the infections that followed. Participating in the operations that saved men’s lives thrilled her, but disappointment and tears filled most days. “Perhaps I was not cut out to be a nurse. I care too much.” Karl touched her hand. “I’m glad you do. You saved my life.” Her face reddened. “Enough about me. I want to know how a bright young man with infinite options for a career chose to risk his life in a tank.” Karl laughed. “Actually, that has been my dream for most of my life.” “Then I guess dreams do come true.” “Absolutely.” His face grew serious as he told her of his birth in Russia, his mother’s flight to , and his childhood in Bavaria. He even told her of the conflict between his mother and his stepfather and of his mother’s inexplicable failure to realize how fortunate was that the Fuehrer had taken the reins of power. Berta listened with interest. Could Karl’s mother be right? Is everyone’s optimism wrong? Could Hitler really be a monster? Will his greed lead to the destruction of ? “I would love to meet your mother some day.” Karl smiled. “The two of you would get along well. In many ways, you are very much alike.” Berta realized that this was the ultimate compliment from Karl. She wanted to stay and hear more, but fatigue was taking its toll. “I don’t think I could have done half of what she accomplished, and right now, I’m about to fall asleep. Can we continue this tomorrow?” Karl did not release her hand. “If you tell me what happened to my men.” She doubted he was ready, but he deserved to know the truth. “They are all dead,” she said, “except for the one named Ralf. He broke several ribs and collapsed his lung. Doctor Engle operated on him and then evacuated him to Frankfurt.”

Karl turned his head away, trying to hide the tears. “Will he live?” “I don’t know.” Karl sat with his head in his hands. “Martin was my best friend. I thought we would fight beside each other for the entire war. Walther, I did not particularly like, but he was a good soldier. I could always rely on him. And Ludwig was afraid he was going to die. I guess he was right.” Bertha tried to visualize the horror of that moment. “Just thank God that you did not die with them.” She draped an arm over his shoulder. “At least they died for a good cause. The British had to retreat. It will not be long before our troops reach the English Channel.” “I wanted to be with them. I wanted to go all the way to Paris.” “At the rate things are progressing, the war might be over before you return to duty.” His gaze stayed fixed on her face. “What will you do when it’s over?” She realized that she had not thought that far into the future. “I don’t know. There will still be a need for nurses. I guess I will go wherever I’m needed.” “Well, right now, I’m glad you are here. Thanks for talking with me.” “You’re welcome, Karl.”

Days ed. Karl no longer suffered headaches, and the dizziness diminished. Berta visited him often, and when she was not busy, would stay and talk. After a week, the doctor removed the sutures and allowed him to walk around the base with crutches. That night he celebrated on a blanket under a tree with Berta. She provided a bottle of French wine she had received from a patient. Karl removed the cork while she gave him the good news. Belgium had surrendered, and the British and French soldiers were evacuating at Dunkirk.

He poured the alcohol into two tin cups and handed one of them to her. “At this rate, the war will be over before my leg heals.” She lifted the cup to her lips but kept her gaze on him. “I hope so. I don’t want you to get hurt again.” “I just don’t want to be sent somewhere far away from you.” She touched his face with her hand. “That is what happens in war. Even if you win, you lose the people you love.” He wondered if she was saying that she loved him. “When it’s over, may I come look for you?” She blushed. “I will be disappointed if you don’t.” Karl sipped his wine. “How will I find you? Will you return to Frankfurt to be with your parents? She shook her head. “My parents are dead.” “I’m sorry. What happened to them?” “Mamma died of cancer a year ago. I think that is why Papa ed the Wehrmacht. He died during the invasion of Poland, a few weeks after my brother. There’s no one left. I’m all alone.” “Not anymore.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re sweet, Karl. Promise me you will not get killed. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Italy declared war on Britain and on June 10, the same day that Karl received his orders for two months convalesce in Munich. He knew he could not stay a patient in the hospital, but he did not want to leave Berta. That night he stood in the rain, waiting for her to get off work. He waved as she came out of the hospital tent. She walked over to greet him. “You should not be

out in this weather, Karl. You can’t afford to get pneumonia.” “I wish I would.” His voice was as grim as he felt. “Then, I could stay here with you.” “What are you saying?” She led him to the shelter of a large oak tree. He told her about his orders and the need to go in the morning. “You should be happy. Two months leave is wonderful.” “Wonderful? I may never see you again.” “You will miss me?” He grasped her hands. “I will be miserable without you.” She rested her head on his chest. “I will miss you too.” He wondered if her feelings were as strong as his. “My orders tell me to go home, but now when I think of home, all I can see is you.” Berta pressed her lips against his and whispered, “Find me when this is all over.

CHAPTER 11 MOSCOW (June 14, 1940)

The next day, as Karl rode the train to Munich, Ivan walked home from the Kremlin. Normally he would have gone by car, but the air was warm and clear, and he felt it would give him time to think. The ease of the German conquests disturbed him, and he could not understand why Stalin was waiting to harness the Soviet army into the fray. Once Hitler had secured his western front, it did not take a genius to deduce that he would unleash his invigorated troops against his avowed enemy, the Soviet Union. Hitler was a man who had no more intention of honoring their treaty than did Stalin. Ivan heard footsteps behind him. He decreased his pace. The footsteps slowed. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a stout man with a mustache. Seeming to sense Ivan’s attention, he stopped walking and faced a shop window before Ivan could make out his other features. Ivan considered confronting him but decided nothing good would come of such an encounter. Instead he resumed walking and again heard the footsteps. A black ZIS slid against the curb. The driver’s door flew open. A bulky man stepped to the curb. “Comrade Stalin wishes to speak with you.” Ivan could decipher nothing from the man’s bland expression. A second car pulled to a stop behind the ZIS. Two men with bulges under their jackets stepped to the pavement. The driver of the ZIS opened the rear door, and Ivan climbed into the vehicle. As it pulled onto the road, Ivan looked back at the sidewalk. The man with the mustache had disappeared. The ZIS took the street toward the Lubyanka. It slowed at the foreboding building but continued past it. The second car followed close behind it. Fortyfive minutes ed before both vehicles turned down a narrow road into the woods. Ivan had no idea where he was going, but he expected to meet Beria or one of his henchmen when he reached his destination. He doubted he would

survive the experience. The cars stopped at a metal gate. Two guards told Ivan to step out of the car. He held his hands over his head and allowed them to search for weapons. They then motioned him back into the car and pushed open the gate. The driver drove to the front of a house and parked. He climbed out of the vehicle, opened Ivan’s door, and led him to the entrance. A man in NKVD uniform took Ivan inside the building to a large, dimly lit room. Stalin sat in a cushioned chair beside the fireplace. He lifted a half empty glass as if for a toast. “Thank you for coming, Ivan Nikolayevich. There is vodka at the bar.” Ivan filled a glass, took a deep swallow, and sat in a chair beside his leader. “How can I be of service?” Stalin leaned forward as if anxious to miss nothing. “I need your candid assessment of the war.” Ivan wondered why the theatrics. They had been together at the Kremlin just hours ago. Stalin could easily have asked this then. “I suspect Hitler will invade Great Britain next, and once it falls, he will turn on us. “Yes, I think you are right. He will leave us alone until Britain surrenders.” He handed his glass to Ivan and nodded toward the bar. “That is why I have decided to attack Romania. We are going to take back what we lost in the last war. Bessarabia is rightfully ours.” Ivan felt his stomach tighten. Stalin was about to make a monumental mistake. Romania was important because its oil fields supplied fuel for the German war machine, but they were not located in Bessarabia. “What about the Ploesti oil fields? If loses them, the Luftwaffe cannot fly, and the Panzers cannot move.” “They will have to wait until after invades Britain. Then we will unleash our military and sweep across Europe.” Ivan walked back to the counter and refilled both glasses with vodka. Although he would have preferred that Stalin be sober when making such major decisions, he crossed the room and handed Stalin his full glass “Hitler will not split his

army if we move our troops close to Ploesti. Stalin leaned forward and stared at Ivan with narrowed eyes. “You are wrong. He knows he can’t win a two-front war. He will not attack us before Britain falls. We will take Bessarabia now, and he will not do a thing.” Ivan emptied his glass in one swallow. “I hope you’re right,” he said, suspecting the choice would cost millions of lives.

CHAPTER 12 MUNICH (June 14, 1940)

Valentina winced at the knocking on her door. None of her neighbors would use such a solid, persistent knock. It was not a request to open the door. It was a command. The Gestapo made a point to visit every few months since she snatched Rebecca from them. Andreas had succeeded in slipping her across the border into Switzerland, but the search for “Greta” continued. Valentina told her visitors the same lie each time they came. Greta had been a transient employee and had left in the middle of the night. She had no idea where she went. Valentina cracked the door and looked outside. The man who had delivered the telegram about Karl’s injury stood on the porch. This time he smiled as he handed her his message. She snatched it from him and stared at the words.

DEAR MUTTER:

HEALING QUICKLY RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL THIS MORNING ARRIVING HOME ON AFTERNOON TRAIN

LOVE KARL

Valentina hugged the startled messenger. “Thank you.”

She hurried back into the house and went to her son’s room. It was just as Karl had left it when he departed for . She stared at the model tank from the Great War that Paul had given him and wished her husband had not filled her son’s head with all his notions of the glory of war. At least now he knew the price of Hitler’s ambition. Most of his friends were dead. She wondered how he could have recovered so rapidly from his wounds and if he would soon have to return to the battlefield. I cannot let him go back. Yuri is gone. I can’t lose Karl too. She threw on her coat and rushed out the back door. Andreas stood in the barn, brushing Lightning. Valentina walked to him. “I need to take Karl to Switzerland. Can you help us?” He set the brush on the stall and stepped toward her. “Yes, but it’s dangerous. Does Paul know about this?” She thought of the man she had made the mistake of marrying those many years ago. He no longer loved her. He did not even love the whore he frequented whenever he took leave in Berlin. His only love was his Fuehrer. “Of course not. Karl comes home today. We need to leave as soon as possible.” “Will you want to come back?” “No.” “Good. How did you convince Karl to leave?” “He doesn’t know, but after what he has been through, he will be ready. I plan to tell him this afternoon. He’s coming home on the train.”

The Munich station bustled with people waiting for loved ones to arrive under the surveillance of stern men in Gestapo uniforms. Valentina slipped through the mass of onlookers and moved closer to the train as it came to a stop. Karl had said in his telegram that he was recovering well, but she had to see for herself. It seemed unbelievable that he could go from critically ill to almost well in such a short period of time.

People disembarked. Valentina watched person after person leave the train with no sign of her son. Many of the engers were soldiers in uniform. Several had lost an arm or a leg, and others rode in wheelchairs. Mothers and lovers rushed to them. Some cried. As the crowd thinned, Valentina paced along the platform. Where is he? Did he have a setback? Did they send him back to the war? Then Karl appeared in the doorway. He stood erect in his spotless officer’s uniform. He looks like Ivan, she thought. Why do I think of him after all these years? Karl stepped off the train. The cast on his leg gave him a distinct limp, but overall, he looked strong and healthy. He scanned the crowd until his gaze locked on Valentina. His smile broke the tension bottled inside of her. She rushed forward, throwing herself into his arms. “You look wonderful, Karl. Thank God you are alive.” He laughed. “You worry too much, Mutter. I lead a charmed life.” Valentina inspected the healing wound on his scalp. She had heard those words before, and knew they were not true. “Do not ever believe that, particularly while we are in a war. Just when you let down your guard, your luck will run out.” Karl held her at arm’s length and stared at the frown lines that formed on her brow. “Don’t worry. Paris fell today. The war will be over before I get back.” “I hope you are right.” He walked with her to her car and climbed into the enger seat, resting his cast on the floor. She sat behind the wheel and closed her door, at last able to talk in private. “How badly are you hurt?” “I’m fine. Just need some time to heel these broken bones.” “Are you able to travel?” “I got here.”

“I mean international.” “Why would I want to leave the Fatherland?” “To get away from this war.” “I’m not a coward.” “I know that, but Hitler will not stop until is in ruins.” “Listen to what you are saying. We have just recaptured everything we lost in the last war and lots more. No one can stop us. We have never been safer.” “Will you do it for me?” “I love you, Mutter, but I will not be a traitor for anyone.”

CHAPTER 13 LENINGRAD (July 1940)

The doctors fitted Dmitrii with an artificial leg and sent him home soon after Tania’s visit. Yuri watched him hobble out of the ward and wondered if he would ever see him again. With Dmitrii gone, he had no friends. Tania would never come back. He had made sure that she would stay away, but that did not keep him from thinking about how different their lives would have been if he had left Dmitrii in the snow and if she had met him in Bavaria. He wondered what his mother was like and what she would think of him. Would she like Tania? Would she even it that he was her son? After all, she had left him in Russia. Months ed before his wound healed and the fever spikes resolved. In July his doctor released him from the hospital to make room for patients with problems that he could treat. On the same day, the army discharged him from its services. He had no idea what he would do to survive. He remained weak, his cough persisted, and he had lost all the weight he had gained since escaping from the gulag. His prospects for finding a job were miniscule, and he had nowhere to stay and insufficient money to buy food for more than a few days. Dmitrii waited for him at the bottom of the steps of the hospital entrance. He limped to Yuri and slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s about time they kicked you out of there. How much vacation can one man take?” Yuri inhaled the fresh air and stared up at the sky. “I’m just glad to be alive and free.” “I know. Come on. Svetlana is waiting.” Yuri hugged his friend. He wished he had some way to express the gratitude that he felt. Dmitrii took the small satchel that contained a razor, a toothbrush, a

change of clothes, and a wallet that held a few rubles and the picture of the mother Yuri had never seen. They walked along the edge of the Neva River and stopped to rest in front of the Winter Palace where the Bolsheviks had overthrown the Provincial Government in 1917. Yuri ired the beautiful Baroque-style building where his ancestors had lived. Nothing he had seen in his brief life could compare. Svetlana greeted them at her apartment with her five-year-old son Taras. She hugged Yuri and led him into the tiny dining area where the aroma of chicken soup filled the air. She had set the table with four bowls. “You will stay with us,” she announced. Yuri shook his head. “I cannot do that. You need your privacy.” She waved her ladle-filled hand in the air. “Ridiculous. There is no privacy now. We share the bedroom with Taras, and the walls are like paper. You are Dmitrii’s best friend, and you saved his life. The couch is yours. End of argument. Now eat your noodles.”

CHAPTER 14 ATLANTIC OCEAN (July 1940)

Commander Paul Schneider enjoyed the salty wind against his face. His U-boat had set sail from Hamburg, had traversed the North Sea between Great Britain and Norway, and now headed into the Atlantic, northwest of the Scottish Orkney Islands. His sailors were green and had the eagerness of men who had never faced death. Paul, on the other hand, had seen the horrors of war in the trenches of twenty-five years ago. He knew the terror of seeing his friends collapse, bleeding at his feet, and the exhilaration of thrusting a bayonet into an enemy and seeing the life drain from his eyes. War was hell, and only a warrior could look forward to the next battle. Paul was such a man. He had suffered the humiliation of defeat, and now he was ready for revenge. He had received command of his first submarine the previous year. It had been one of the small type II U-boats that carried only six torpedoes and whose limited range confined him to the North Sea. With envy, he looked toward the Orkney Islands. They were too far away to see, but he thought about the British fleet anchored there at Scapa Flow. In the early weeks of the war, his hero, Lt. Commander Günther Prien, had navigated his Uboat through treacherous channels into the middle of the British fleet in Scapa Flow. There he had launched his torpedoes and sunk the battleship Royal Oak. Escape from the harbor had been miraculous. When he had returned to base, Grand iral Raeder granted him the Iron Cross, First Class, and Prien flew to Berlin to meet Hitler himself. Paul dreamed of such a feat, but he had not been that fortunate. In April, he had assisted with the invasion of Norway. He attacked two British transport ships, but his torpedoes malfunctioned. He returned to base, humiliated, with no kills. Now, at last, he commanded a large Type VII U-boat with fourteen good torpedoes and a range of over eight thousand miles. At last he felt confident that

he would be able to prove his prowess as a warrior of the sea. He was entering the Atlantic Ocean where unarmed cargo ships were trying to reach Great Britain. Without food and fuel from the outside world, Britain would be unable to continue the war. Paul planned to travel on the surface, using his two diesel engines while he searched for his prey. He would submerge only when he needed to hide. His diesel engines could not be used under water because they use up what little oxygen is available for the crew to breath. Submerged, an electric motor propelled the submarine. It depended upon two huge batteries that could function for about twenty-four hours before having to be recharged by running the diesel engines on the surface. At dusk Paul spotted a small break in the line of the horizon. With his binoculars, he identified it as a freighter. At last he would have the chance to make his first kill, but prudence required him to wait for several hours. Darkness was the friend of the U-boat crew. During WWI the allies had developed a technology called asdic named for the Allied Submarine Detection Investigation Committee. An alternating electric current would cause a quartz crystal to oscillate, creating sound waves that traveled through the water and reflected back off a submerged object. A receiver could detect the returning waves, revealing the presence of the object. The Americans called the technique sonar. The weakness of the device was it detected only submerged vessels. If a submarine stayed on the surface, sonar was ineffective. For that reason, U-boat captains preferred to stay on the surface while sneaking up on their prey. The cover of darkness usually prevented the low profile vessels from being seen. After the sky darkened, Paul approached the ship. When he was close enough, he gave the orders. “Fire one. Fire two.” He stood on the bridge and watched as both torpedoes hit their mark. Two huge explosions sent water and flames high into the air. Fire spread across the deck of the ancient freighter. Crewmen, their clothes aflame, dove into the water. Others scrambled into lifeboats as the ship sank. Paul scanned the horizon. No other ships came into view. He turned back to watch the freighter as it disappeared into the sea.

Scores of sailors floundered in the water. Others tried to climb into the three overloaded lifeboats that the crew had managed to launch. Paul felt the thrill of his first kill. He would enjoy telling Valentina. She would frown and say how sad it was that so many civilians had to lose their lives. He would explain that they were aiding the enemy and deserved to die. Valentina had closed her heart to Paul. The only way he could evoke any emotion from her now was with shock. “What shall we do with the survivors, sir?” Paul turned to face his first officer, Otto Buchheim. He was a heavyset seaman with brown eyes and a crooked nose. Otto was a competent seaman, but he lacked the killer instinct that Paul knew was inherent in a true warrior. “What do you mean?” “They’re drowning, sir. International law and common humanity require that we pick them up.” It was a technicality that Paul would have preferred to overlook. “And where would you put them?” We have other ships to hunt and no time to waste. “We could fit ten, sir. I don’t know about the rest.” “All right. Pick up ten sailors. The rest will have to wait for help. They sent up flares before they sank.” “Yes, sir.” Paul directed the boat toward the wreckage. Soon they came into the midst of debris. Frantic sailors swam to the boat. Several tried to climb aboard when Otto pointed to the south and shouted, “Airplanes!” Paul saw two RAF Sunderland flying boats approaching the submarine. “Inside!” He followed Otto through the hatch and sealed it. “Dive!” The valves on the ballast tanks opened. Seawater entered the tanks, forcing out the air that kept the U-boat afloat. As it submerged, the crew ran forward so their weight would help tilt the bow downward. Airborne depth charges shook the

boat. They threw Paul against a metal beam. He struck his head. The lights flickered off and back on. Paul ignored the blood dripping off his forehead. “Keep descending.” Two more explosions knocked him off his feet. He clung to a railing and looked around the boat, searching for water leaks. He suspected that this would be his last descent and that he was taking his crew to an icy death on the floor of the Atlantic. He gritted his teeth and waited for more explosions. The boat leveled off at one hundred meters. More explosions came, but they were far away. All grew quiet as the submarine glided through the depths of icy water. Paul watched his men inspect his boat. Otto approached with a big smile. “The boat is intact, sir.” Paul pointed his finger into his face. “No thanks to you. You almost cost me my boat.” Otto stepped back. “We were just following international law, sir.” Paul could not believe the man’s stupidity. He would risk the entire crew to help their enemies. “Fuck your international law. If you ever ask me to rescue another drowning enemy sailor, I will personally have you flogged.”

CHAPTER 15 EUROPE (1940-1941)

When Karl returned to in August 1940, Hitler had divided the country into a northern occupied region and a southern “free” region led by a puppet French government in Vichy. The Wehrmacht stationed Karl in the occupied portion near Paris. At first, he enjoyed the respite, but as the months ed, boredom beset him. He wrote several letters to Berta, but no answer came. The focus of the war moved elsewhere, and in February 1941, General Rommel went to Libya to command two divisions sent to help the Italians. Within a month, Karl applied for a transfer to his Afrika Korps. The following weekend, he obtained a to go to Paris. He felt thankful that the French had surrendered this special city without a fight and thus had prevented its destruction. As he walked down the magnificent avenue des Champs Elysees, he heard someone call his name. Looking toward the voice, he spotted Ralf, his radio operator from the invasion. Karl hurried across the street and embraced his friend. “Ralf, I heard you had been wounded. How are you here?” “I bounce back quickly.” Ralf looked up and down at Karl. “What about you? When we carried you out of that tank, your head had an ugly gash pumping blood, and you would not wake up. I did not expect to see you again.” Karl wondered how he had survived. “Tell me what happened after we got hit. I don’t a thing.” Ralf shook his head. “The explosion killed Martin instantly. Walther had a horrible gash on his head and was unconscious. Ludwig broke his back. I broke

three ribs but somehow managed to drag you out of the tank. The medics took over then.” “What about Walther and Ludwig?” He hoped Berta had been wrong and that his friends had survived. Ralf placed a hand on his shoulder. “I tried to go back for them, but the tank caught fire. They never got out.” Karl suppressed the anger he felt toward the British and toward himself. His responsibility had been to protect his crew. At least Ralf had survived. He looked at his friend and noticed the change in his uniform. “You’re an officer.” Ralf smiled. “Yes. Battlefield commission. I took over one of the captured French tanks. We managed to knock out a pair of enemy tanks before I got too short of breath to continue. Rommel saw it happen, and next thing I knew, I was a second lieutenant.” He glanced at Karl’s first lieutenant insignia. “I see you advanced yourself.” Karl grinned. “I guess we lead charmed lives. What are you doing here?” “Just being an ambassador of good will to our French neighbors.” He raised his arm, motioning over the busy crowd on the sidewalk. “Where are you heading?” Karl shrugged. “I thought I might see what is at the Louvre.” Ralf shook his head. “Don’t be a bore. Come with me to the French Kiss Club. I guarantee it will be more stimulating than a bunch of old paintings.” “I don’t think so.” “Well, I do.” Ralf took hold of Karl’s coat and pulled him up the street. “We have to celebrate.” “Celebrate what?” Karl trudged along with him. It felt good to be with a friend again. “We beat the odds, Karl. We are alive. Now act like it.” They walked up avenue des Champs Elysees, reminiscing about their tour

together, their close calls, and their disbelief at the speed with which they had swept across the Maginot line extension. Reaching the club, Karl followed Ralf through the crowd of German soldiers to a table near the stage. A young waitress brought beer, and after several empty bottles littered the table, Karl relaxed. As scantily clad girls pranced across the stage, Ralf, in a drunken voice, lectured Karl on his theories about the future of the war. “It has just started. We have kicked the Pole asses and the French asses, and the Brits can’t last too much longer. We will be heading to Moscow soon.” Karl choked on his beer. “Moscow?” “Yes, Moscow. Didn’t you read Mein Kampf?” Karl shook his head. “No. It sat on my desk for years, but I never got beyond the second chapter. It rambled too much.” Ralf lifted his hand and shook an unsteady finger at Karl’s face. “You should have forced yourself, Karl. Your future is in that book.” Karl folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “All right. Give me the short version.” Ralf took on the comical voice of a college professor. “ needs living space. We are trapped in the center of Europe with nowhere to expand except the fertile lands to the east. Hitler plans to conquer the Soviet Union. All this fighting we have seen is just the appetizer. The main course is yet to come.” Karl put down his beer and stared hard at Ralf. “But we have already conquered and Poland and Czechoslovakia and Norway and Denmark and Luxembourg and Belgium and Holland. How much land do we really need?” Ralf belched, took a deep gulp of beer, and continued. “It is not just land. We need oil. In fact, if Rumania was not supplying us with its oil, our tanks would have ground to a halt before we got to Paris.” Karl was not convinced. “Maybe, but Hitler signed a non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union just last year.”

“Just a tactical maneuver.” Ralf continued talking to Karl, but his eyes veered to the stage. “Something to keep them off balance. You wait and see.” Karl turned his head to face the source of Ralf’s distraction. A short brunette dancing in front of them removed her brassiere and tossed it onto their table. Wearing only a skimpy pair of shorts, she pranced across the stage, shaking her oversized breasts. She had a pretty face with a small nose and small ears, full lips, and shinning green eyes fixed on Ralf. Ralf almost drooled as he devoured her every move. “I think I’m in love,” he slurred to Karl as the girl disappeared behind the curtain. “Right.” Karl noticed that Ralf’s eyes had not left the curtain. “Wonder what your mother would say when you took her home.” “I don’t know.” Ralf poured himself another glass of beer. “But my father would be jealous.” Karl realized it was time to take his friend back to the base. “I think we should go while you can still stand.” “Who says I can stand?” Ralf’s words were barely intelligible. “I need just have one more beer.” Thirty minutes later, the brunette appeared at their table, wearing a tattered coat over her entertainment outfit. She took her brassiere out of Ralf’s adorning hands and spoke with a purr. “I have to go home.” Karl saluted her. “We enjoyed your show.” Ralf was not so willing to let her go. He stood. “Stay and have a beer with us.” She looked up and down at the two men carefully before finally responding. “Maybe just one.” Her German was imprecise. Karl pulled out a chair. She sat and turned her attention to him “First time here?” “Oui,” Karl answered, practicing the little French he knew. Ralf raised a hand, and the waitress appeared with a beer and a glass for the lady.

Please excuse my friend’s manners, Ralf said in German, not even attempting to match Karl’s limited French vocabulary. “I’m Ralf, and this is First Lieutenant Karl Schneider. You’re Bambi? Is that right?” The girl giggled and kept the conversation in German. “That is my stage name. You can call me Maria.” “Like Maria Antoinette?” Karl asked. “No relation.” Ralf slipped his chair closer to her. “Have you worked here long?” “No.” She lifted the beer bottle to her lips, ignoring the glass. “One month.” “So what did you do before that,” Karl asked. “I was a student at the Sorbonne.” She paused momentarily as if absorbed in thought. “I did not have the money to continue after the war.” “I’m sorry,” Karl said. “I guess these have been rough times.” She nodded. “Yes.” She was young and seemed innocent and naive in spite of the beer and the skimpy top in her hand. Her coat was buttoned up to her neck, and there was no suggestion that she had just bared all. Karl did not approve of her new profession, but he enjoyed listening to her talk. He was tired of conversing only with men. This was a welcome reprieve. After thirty minutes, she rose to leave. Ralf jumped to his feet and helped her with her chair. “May I walk you home?” She puckered her lips, paused for a moment, and then shrugged. “Oui.” The three walked to the door. Outside, Karl said, “Au revoir,” to Maria and turned to Ralf. “Shall we meet here next weekend?” Ralf shook his head. “Afraid I can’t make it. New orders. They’re shipping me to the Twelfth Army in Bulgaria.”

“Bulgaria? Why Bulgaria?” “I don’t know. Maybe it is what we talked about earlier.” Ralf turned and walked away with his arm draped over Maria’s shoulder.

Back at the base, Karl’s CO met him at the gate. “You requested a transfer. Well, your orders have arrived. He held up a sheet of white paper.” Karl’s eyes jumped to the document. “Thank-you, sir.” He took the paper and read. Halfway through the first paragraph, he stopped. “This is not for the Afrika Korps.” “No. Forty-first Panzer Corps. You leave on the train at 6:00 a.m. for Rumania.” Karl’s face tightened. “We’re going into Russia?” The CO laughed. “Of course not. We aren’t at war with the Soviets. The Italians are being pushed out of Greece. I suspect you’re going to save their asses.”

Maria looked out the window of her tiny apartment at the receding figure of the German soldier who had shared her bed. The closet door opened, and a big muscular man with a shaggy beard stepped into the room. She grinned at her brother. “It’s all right, Pierre. He has gone.” “Good thing for him. I was ready to come out and strangle the little bastard.” “He wasn’t so bad. Rather sweet, actually. A long way from home, and lonely— rather sad in a way.” “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. How can you fuck that German trash?” Maria lifted her head. “It is the only way I have of fighting back. You’re a man. You can use your muscles and weapons. I’m only a woman. I will use what I can.”

“Humph. Well, I don’t like my sister fornicating with German swine.” “And you think I enjoy it?” The big man frowned. “Yes, sometimes you do.” Maria threw her shoe as hard as she could. Pierre ducked just in time as it struck the wall beside his face. “At least you are right about one thing. You can’t throw a weapon.” “Pig!” Maria fastened her bra and looked out the window to be sure that Ralf had not turned around. “Did you hear everything, or do I have to repeat it for you?” “It was hard to hear anything over your moans and the squeaking of the bed. I wish you could learn to be quieter when your companions are speaking. Did our mother not teach you any manners at all?” Maria ignored his sarcasm. “He’s with a Panzer unit. Says he is being shipped to Bulgaria.” Pierre’s face turned serious. “Did he say why?” Maria continued dressing. “He didn’t know. He wonders if they’re going to invade Russia.” “Russia? Surely Hitler is not that insane. Why would he do that when he has not finished off the British yet?” “How would I know? I’m just a harlot.” The hard look on Pierre’s face faded, and he walked over and took her hands. “You’re not a prostitute, Mare. You’re a soldier, just as much as I am—maybe more so.” Maria pushed him away. “Then cut out your puritanical brother lecture. I’m sick of it.” Pierre threw up his hands. “I can’t help it. It makes me want to vomit.” “Then vomit somewhere away from me.”

Pierre re-opened the closet door. He returned shortly with his shortwave radio. “Time for my daily transmission. Shall I send a detailed report of your night to the resistance or only what we learned?” Maria picked up her other shoe, and this time Pierre was not fast enough to avoid having it bounce off his scalp. Maria buttoned her last button and thrust her head into the air. “You can go to hell.” “See you tonight.” She slammed the door without answering.

Rumania did not fare well in 1940. The Soviet Union, Hungary, and Bulgaria took large portions of the country. In spite of this, it remained a viable nation and was essential to because of its oil fields at Ploesti. and Italy had guaranteed its present borders. When Karl arrived on March 30, 1941, a large German military force was assembling there for the invasion of Greece. Many of the troops had planned to travel through Yugoslavia, which had agreed to the Axis. This strategy changed when a military coup d’état deposed Prince Regent Paul. Seventeenyear-old Peter II became King, and the new government refused to ratify Yugoslavia’s ing the Axis. Hitler vowed to destroy the young nation. In September 1940, , Italy, and Japan had formed the Tripartite (Axis) Pact. Rumania and Hungary had ed in November 1940, and Bulgaria in March 1941. These last three countries provided the staging ground for the invasion. On April 6, 1941 the Luftwaffe bombed Belgrade. Six days later, Karl stood in the rubble that had once been the Yugoslav capital. The bodies of dead civilians littered the crumbled buildings and streets. Karl climbed out of his tank and stared at the devastation. He felt no sense of victory. He had seen too much death and too much destruction to feel like celebrating. He shook his head in disbelief before climbing back into his tank and heading into the depths of the ruins.

Five days later, the conquest of Yugoslavia ended. The Yugoslav army had been 500,000 strong but it was not well supplied, and a number of Croat troops mutinied. Karl marveled at the success of his country’s army. It seemed invincible. He wondered about Ralf. He had been wrong about the invasion of the Soviet Union. The Twelfth Army had attacked Greece, and the British were retreating. Surely Britain could not hold out much longer. Maybe the war would end soon.

CHAPTER 16 SOVIET UNION (June 21, 1941)

Ivan glanced out the window of his limousine as it sped toward the Kremlin. The placid scene of Red Square seemed surreal. Women pushed baby strollers, and two lovers stood flirting and laughing together as if they had not a care in the world. No one seemed aware of the intrigue and danger that involved all of Europe. Ivan still regretted that Stalin had ignored his advice and had invaded Bessarabia the previous June, followed by Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. The conquests expanded the Soviet empire but left it more vulnerable than it had been before the annexations. Stalin dismantled the almost impregnable fortifications behind the old borders in preparation for a massive sneak attack on . The anticipated invasion of Britain by had not happened, and Ivan suspected that the Soviet expansion had alerted Hitler to the risk of sending the bulk of his forces to England. It would have been the mistake that changed history. Soviet forces could have swept westward and overcome the overextended Nazis. All of Europe could have become Soviet territory. Instead, Hitler had continued to expand his empire on the continent and was massing his forces close to the Soviet lines. Ivan felt consumed by the tension that no one else seemed to feel. He let the curtains fall back as his car slowed. He was anxious to reach his meeting. The Politburo had been in session all day. He suspected Stalin was ready to launch his invasion. Inside the compound, he found Vyacheslav Molotov, the Soviet foreign minister, waiting for him. Ivan approached him. “Comrade Molotov.” The older man’s facial muscles barely moved. “Comrade Maximov, where have you been?” “At home. I just received word.” His apprehension grew when he saw the circles under the man’s eyes. “Do you know why I was summoned?”

“The Germans are behaving strangely. Stalin wants your opinion.” He motioned for Ivan to follow. Ivan hurried to reach the senior diplomat. “Rumor has it that all the German businessmen have left Russia.” “It’s not a rumor. The wives and children of the German embassy personnel have gone, too.” He lifted his left hand as if to make a point. “And that’s not all. We have six ships in German ports. The Germans will not let them leave.” Ivan frowned and reached for Molotov’s shoulder. “Do you think Sorge was right?” Molotov’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious that he did not want to be reminded of the Nazi newspaper correspondent who served as a Soviet spy in Tokyo. Richard Sorge had close friends within the German embassy and had intercepted some ominous reports. “I thought his report in November that the Germans were preparing to invade us was disturbing, but Stalin does not trust the man. He believes we can rely on his nonaggression pack with Hitler. Hitler would be a fool to open another front while the Allies are still fighting.” Ivan did not understand the ease with which Stalin ignored Sorge. “I thought the microfilm of von Ribbentrop’s telegram in March erased all doubt.” Molotov shrugged. “It could be a forgery.” Ivan only knew that if the copy was authentic, the German foreign minister was saying that the Germans would invade in mid-June, and now that time had arrived. “Don’t you think we should be on full alert?” Molotov sighed. “Stalin does not want to alarm Hitler. He might put his own forces on alert, and that would be a disaster when we attack.” Ivan did not like what he was hearing at all. “What else have you learned?” Molotov slowed his pace. “Did Stalin tell you Sorge sent another message just over a week ago?” “No. What did it say?”

Molotov covered his mouth with his hand and whispered. “That one hundred fifty divisions of Germans troops will attack in the morning.” Ivan tightened his grip on Molotov’s shoulder. “And what does Stalin say about that?” “He’s worried. Our reconnaissance planes have seen a huge build up of troops on the Polish border. Roosevelt and Churchill have sent warnings that an invasion is imminent, but you cannot trust them. They would love to trick us into coming to Britain’s rescue.” “So, what is Stalin going to do? It looks like a holiday here. Are we just going to sit and wait for them to attack?” Molotov opened the door for Ivan. “We are here. You can ask him yourself.” Together they entered the room and sat at the large table with the Soviet high command and Politburo. Stalin turned to Ivan. “I’m glad you could find time to come,” he said, obviously unhappy with the time it had taken him to arrive. “We’ve been meeting all day. The Germans have massed troops on our borders. A German soldier who just defected says the Germans will attack in the morning.” He motioned for Ivan to stand. “What do you think Hitler is doing?” Ivan rose from the chair that he had just claimed. “Preparing to invade. We should attack them tonight before they have a chance to make the first move.” Stalin rolled his eyes. “We have a treaty with . Hitler would be a fool to attack us while the British are still standing at his back.” He raised one thick eyebrow. “He has something else in mind. Maybe just to intimidate us. That’s why you are here, Ivan. Why this provocation?” Ivan lifted his hands in exasperation. “Provocation? This is an act of war. We cannot bury our heads in the sand. Hitler is about to invade, and we have never been as vulnerable as we are now. Our forces are out of their bunkers, massed on the borders, totally unprotected from the Luftwaffe. It could wipe out whole armies in a single strike.” Sweat formed on Ivan’s brow. He knew that Stalin did not permit dissension, but the survival of Russia was at stake, and this self-serving tyrant was just too blind to see the dark cloud that was coming.

General Georgi Zhukov, the Army Chief of Staff, motioned for Ivan to sit. “Calm down, Ivan. Sometimes a little patience is best. In two weeks, our forces will be at maximum strength. Then when we sweep across the borders, no one will be able to stop us. Our Ninth Army is poised to invade Rumania. The Ploesti oil fields are only one hundred kilometers away. Once we take them, the Germans will be doomed, but we have to wait until our troops are ready.” “No.” Ivan could not control the force in his voice. “We are not ready, but what difference does that make. The Germans are coming, ready or not. If they catch us sleeping, we will lose half our army before we can regroup. Look what happened to Poland.” “Russia is not Poland,” Stalin snapped. He turned to Zhukov. “General, can we repel the Germans if they attack?” Zhukov glared at Ivan before answering. He noted that the Soviet position had improved markedly in the two years since the war began. The army had doubled in size to five million men, and it had more and better tanks than the Germans. Stalin was clearly not impressed. “Are we prepared for an invasion?” The general reported that the Baltic fleet and the Black Sea fleets were on alert and the Moscow antiaircraft defense was ready. Ivan could hardly contain his fury. “We are more than ready for an offensive war, but if the Germans attack first, it will be a disaster. Our entire strategy has been for a surprise attack against an unsuspecting enemy. The pilots have been trained to attack ground targets, not for dogfights. Our aircraft do not even have rear gunners. And our Mark BT tanks are magnificent weapons on the good roads of the countries we are invading because when their caterpillar tracks are discarded, they move like racecars on their wheels. Unfortunately, they are almost worthless for fighting here in the defense of Russia, because we don’t have any decent roads. They have to use the caterpillar tracts, and with them, they move like tractors.” Stalin glared at Ivan and then looked back at Zhukov. “Is that true?” Zhukov rolled his eyes. “Theoretically, perhaps, but I don’t think Hitler is going to attack. It might, however, be best to at least put our soldiers on alert. He produced a document for Stalin’s approval, warning the troops on the front of an

imminent invasion and placing them on red alert. Lighting his pipe and blowing thick smoke across the room, Stalin read the paper and then threw it back at Zhukov. “This will provoke the Germans to attack. Tell them only that there may be provocations.” At 4:30 in the morning, Stalin summoned Ivan back to the Kremlin. When he entered the conference room, no one would look him in the eye. Zhukov announced that the Germans had attacked just after 3:00 a.m., bombing the naval base in Sevastopol and then towns and bases in Byelorussia, Ukraine, and the Baltic areas. Stalin seemed in a daze and refused to it that this was more than just a provocation. Then Molotov rushed into the room. “The Germans have declared war.” Ivan started to speak but realized that no one wanted to hear from him. It would only remind them of their duplicity in a mistake with horrible ramifications. He turned his eyes to Stalin whose face was ashen. This man, who commanded such awesome fear, seemed to have shrunk in size. He appeared stooped like an old man who had endured innumerable beating. He stood immobile for a long moment before finally speaking with a trembling voice. “All that Lenin created, we have lost forever.” He turned his back on his advisers and walked from the room. As the day progressed and reports returned from the front, it became obvious that Ivan’s predictions had been conservative. The Germans destroyed nine hundred Soviet planes on the ground on the day of the attack, essentially destroying the bulk of the Soviet Air Force. The blitzkrieg confused and overwhelmed the surprised Soviet defenders who received no notification of the impending invasion. By the time that Ivan left that afternoon, the Soviet forces were being decimated.

That evening Ivan returned to the Kremlin. Even the guards seemed restless. Ministers scurried through the halls, and people congregated in small groups whispering about the war.

Ivan spotted an old acquaintance standing against a wall. Major Skachkov had fought with Ivan against the Poles during the revolution and had somehow managed to survive the purges of the past decade. Ivan noticed a scowl on his face. “Good evening, Vadim,” Ivan said. “I cannot say that there is much good here.” “I guess not. We were caught with our pants down. I hope Stalin has a good plan.” He laughed. “That is a joke. He has not done a thing. I hear he’s back at his villa pouting.” “But we need him here.” “What we need is a new chairman. This would not have happened if he had just put our troops on alert. You told Stalin that the Germans were going to attack. Now they have killed thousands of our soldiers and have crippled the army and air force.” Ivan knew the man was right and ired him for his courage. Normally no one who wanted to see the next sunrise would dare to criticize Stalin. He tried to control his own anger. Turning, he marched to Molotov’s office. “Where is Stalin?” Molotov looked up, surprised. “At his villa.” Ivan slammed a fist on the foreign minister’s desk. “People are dying out there. Why is he not here?” “I’m sure he has his reasons.” Molotov looked too calm. “Maybe he’s afraid.” Molotov’s face turned white. He held up a hand and pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Ivan.” Ivan threw up his hands. “Our response is a farce.” “You apparently have a death wish.” Molotov spoke in a deep monotone. “Did

you not learn anything in the Lubyanka?” He thought of the months of beatings and starvation and felt the hate grow. “Yes. I learned that loyalty and blind obedience offer no protection, so why should I not stick my neck out and say what I think?” Molotov shook his head. “Because he will have you shot like Trotsky, and then what good will you be to Russia?” “Trotsky? I thought he died in Mexico last year.” “And who do you think ordered him killed?” “Stalin?” He wondered why he was surprised. When Lenin had died, Trotsky had been Stalin’s main rival for control of the party. Once Stalin consolidated his power, he destroyed all his rivals except Trotsky, who survived by leaving the country. With the death of Trotsky, Stalin was the only one of the fifteen of the original Bolshevik government to still be alive. Ten died by execution, and four experienced mysterious deaths. Molotov nodded. “You need to forget about that. The Germans are coming, damn it, and we need to survive to fight them. I hope no one heard you, because if they did, there is nothing I can do for you.” “But you agree with my sentiments?” “I did not say that. I would like to be alive tomorrow, myself. Just play the game, Ivan. Stalin likes you. We need someone with a level head near the top. Don’t throw it away.”

CHAPTER 17 BERLIN (1941)

Hitler’s decision to attack the Soviet Union while Britain was still fighting seemed stupid to Valentina. Her doubts multiplied when the Wehrmacht transferred Karl from Yugoslavia to participate in the invasion. She followed the action closely over the next two months as the Germans pushed the Soviets out of Poland, advanced far into the Ukraine, and began the siege of Leningrad. A letter from Karl arrived. She read it over and over again, searching for clues as to how he felt and how much danger he was encountering. He related how the surprise Luftwaffe attack had destroyed much of the Soviet Air Force on the ground. That made life in his Panzer IV tank much safer. The Soviet forces he met retreated without much resistance, and when Karl’s unit reached the Ukraine, the peasants threw flowers on his tank and treated his soldiers as liberators. Valentina could relate to their desire to be free from Stalin. After all, he had murdered millions of his own people in his quest to have unquestioned power. She wondered if they realized that Hitler was just as evil. She continued to read.

I miss you, Mutter. I know you must have mixed feelings about your adopted country fighting your mother country, but it will be for the best. The Communists will fall soon, and the Russians will fare better under Hitler than Stalin. I was shocked when I learned of the invasion. I did not think it would go well at all, but I guess I did not have enough faith in the Fuehrer. We expect to spend Christmas in Moscow. Apparently the quartermaster believes it, too. We were only issued summer uniforms. How is that for confidence?

I love you. Heil Hitler.

Karl

Valentina shuddered when she read that he had no heavy coat. Being from Russia, she knew, as only a native could know, of the bitter cold that could kill a man just as dead as a bullet. She cringed again at the salute to Hitler. How could Karl approve of that monster? All the military success was making him almost a god in the eyes of the Germans. Then she heard from Paul. A mine had damaged his U-boat, and he was in Berlin while it underwent major repairs in Bordeaux. He had received an invitation to a formal reception for the Spanish ambassador in Berlin. Paul insisted that she attend the event with him. She thought of refusing. In the past, he had forced her to cooperate with him by threatening to deliver Rebecca to the Gestapo. Now that Rebecca was gone, he no longer had that leverage. She did not like his Nazi friends and hated going to their parties. Curiosity about the war kept her from resisting. She wanted to hear first hand from the insiders what was happening and what was expected to happen, especially on the eastern front. At the reception, the women wore elegant dresses, and the men looked important, if not a little stiff, in their formal tuxedos and uniforms. To Valentina’s dismay, Paul led her directly to one of the most feared man in the Reich. Heinrich Himmler, leader of the SS, was a small man with a weak chin and beady eyes. His appearance failed to convey his ruthlessness and power. He peered at her through pince-nez glasses. “How are you, Valentina?” “Quite well, Heinrich.” She ignored Paul’s angry glare. Her tendency to call the icons of the Reich by their first names infuriated and frightened him. “It has been over a year since I last saw you.” “Yes, I don’t have much time for the social life, but I hear you don’t get out much anymore, either.”

“No.” She put a hand on her husband’s arm. “With Paul at sea most of the time, I don’t see much reason to go to parties.” “That is understandable.” His penetrating eyes bore into hers. “But we enjoy seeing you, and the Fuehrer takes it as a sign of your .” Valentina smiled. “I show my in a more substantial way. Paul and I have given a small fortune to his cause.” Himmler’s face remained expressionless. “I know, Valentina, but he wants more. He wants your heart and your soul.” Valentina released Paul’s arm. She put her hands on her hips and stood erect. “My soul is my own. It belongs to no one but me.” Himmler stared at her in disbelief. Paul’s mouth fell open. His hands trembled. Himmler looked hard at him and then back at Valentina. He reached out, took her hand, and laughed. “I like you, Valentina. You’ve got bigger balls than any man that I know.” He paused, releasing her as his face returned to its expressionless norm. “Just be careful. There are people who would consider what you just said to be treason.” He turned and walked away. Paul was still shaking. Valentina laughed. “Did you see his face?” “Yes.” Paul’s face had turned white. “It’s not funny. Do you realize whom you were addressing? With a snap of a finger, he could send you to the camps.” “Relax, Paul.” Valentina gave him a warning look. “You were the one that wanted to come to this ridiculous reception. Not me.” “All right.” Paul raised his hands as if to ward off a right hook. “Just try to be civil, and act like a devoted wife.” “Devoted wife? When you spend your leave with whores and then send for me to be displayed for your friends?” “What do you expect? It’s not exactly warm and cozy at home.” His rebuke did not have its expected result. She was beyond any guilt. “No, and

it never will be. You ruined any hope of that years ago.” “Fine.” He strutted into the crowd. Valentina turned away and walked onto the terrace. She was already tired of the crowd and wanted to be alone. That was not to be. A tall, middle-aged man with thinning brown hair followed her. He thrust a martini into her hand and spoke smoothly in thickly accented German. “Mrs. Schneider, I’m Fred Holmes with the American embassy.” Valentina accepted the glass. She returned his smile and decided to give the man a break and to speak English. Her imperfect pronunciation was superior to his German. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes.” He seemed relieved to revert to his native language. “We have a mutual friend.” “And who might that be?” “Rebecca Gutman.” Valentina felt her heart pound. She wanted to believe him but feared he could be a Gestapo agent sent to trap her. His soft brown eyes appeared sincere, but how could she know for sure? “Oh, yes. The little girl that lived next door to us. Whatever happened to her?” The man seemed surprised by the nonchalant reply, but he pressed forward. “She slipped across the border to Switzerland and is now in Palestine.” “That’s nice.” Valentina tried to appear calm, but her hands shook so hard that she spilled her drink. The American ignored her indiscretion and continued. “She wanted you to know that she is safe. She said to say thank you and that she will never forget your courage and love.” Valentina could not hold back the tears. She looked around to be sure no one was eavesdropping. “Where in Palestine?” “Jerusalem.”

“What is she doing there?” “I can’t say.” Valentina wanted to ask a thousand questions, but she was afraid. Already, just by being seen with this American, she had probably earned several pages in a Gestapo logbook. She had heard the only thing that was important. Rebecca was out of and safe in Palestine. “Tell her I miss her.” She met his gaze briefly before walking away. He placed a hand on her arm. “One other thing. She indicated you might be willing to meet me in private some time.” Valentina shook her head. “What you are asking is out of line, Mr. Holmes. I may be somewhat of a maverick, but I’m still German. Besides, I don’t know any secrets that would be of use to you anyway. Certainly, nothing worth risking my life.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a white card. “My number is here if you change your mind.” “I will not be needing it.” Valentina hurried into the crowd without accepting the card.

CHAPTER 18 LENINGRAD (August 1941)

Yuri intended to stay at Dmitrii’s home only until he could find other quarters. Housing however was scarce, and Dmitrii and Svetlana insisted that he stay. Dmitri went to work each day at the Izhorsk factory building tanks for the military, while Yuri stayed at home and helped Svetlana look after Taras. As the months ed, Yuri lost his cough and regained much of the weight he had lost. When a worker at Dmitrii’s factory died of pneumonia, Yuri filled his position on the assembly line. Everything changed when the Germans invaded. Food rationing began, and as the enemy drew close, fear swept over the city. Rumors abounded that the military could not protect Leningrad from the advancing German army. One night Svetlana served cabbage soup for dinner. Taras hardly touched his bowl. When everyone else had finished eating, he said. “Uncle Yuri, is it true the Germans are coming? Will they kill us all?” Dmitrii and Svetlana looked at Yuri. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Who told you this?” “Everybody at school. I don’t want to die.” Yuri forced a smile. “You’re not going to die, Taras. None of us are. We will stop the Germans long before they get here. I promise.” Reassured, the boy sat up straight and with his shirtsleeve wiped away a tear. He ate his soup. When Svetlana took him to bed, Yuri pushed back from the table and looked at Dmitrii. “You need to take them and leave while you can.” Dmitrii held his gaze. “I can’t leave. I’m a foreman at the factory. We need those

tanks to stop the Germans.” “Then make Svetlana go. You can her when the fighting stops.” He shook his head. “Have you ever tried to make Svetlana do something? She is stubborn as a mule. I have begged her to go. She will not consider it.” Yuri hated to think what the Germans would do to her when the city fell. “Do you mind if I talk with her?” “Be my guest. It will not do any good.” Svetlana returned from the bedroom. “I’m sorry. He’s just frightened.” Yuri pushed back his chair. “With good reason. He should not be here. Our army cannot stop the Germans. Take him away before they overrun the city.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Dmitrii put you up to this?” “No. I’m capable of coming to my own conclusion, which happens to agree with his.” “OK. I can be ready as soon as Dmitrii is.” Dmitrii placed his hands on her shoulders. “You know I can’t go. I’m needed at the factory.” “And I’m not needed? Is that what you are saying?” Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Dmitrii sighed. “I’m saying you have got to leave. It is not safe here anymore.” “I will not go without you.” “What about Taras? He needs to go.” Her voice softened, and she touched his cheek with her hand. “Taras needs a father, and I need my husband. We are a family, and we are staying together.”

On August 28, Yuri and Dmitrii arrived at work to find their fellow laborers congregated outside the building. Their boss, a middle-aged man with a prominent limp from an injury in the last war, stepped forward. “The Germans are just across the river. The army cannot stop them.” An old man who was sitting on a tree stump stood. “What are we to do?” “We’re going to stop them ourselves.” He spoke with such determination that Yuri wondered if it was really possible. “I need volunteers.” The old man threw up his arms. “To do what?” “We are setting up barricades along the river. Anyone willing to fight can us. It is the only way to save the factory.” The old man must have been seventy years old. He looked frail and moved slowly. Yuri was amazed to see him step forward. Several other men followed. Yuri realized that they would probably all be killed. They were willing to die to keep the factory out of German hands. They were making the new T-34 tank, the one weapon that was capable of standing up to the German Panzer. If the Germans took over the factory, they could make the tank for themselves. Against his better judgment, Yuri ed the growing band of volunteers. He regretted his decision when Dmitrii followed suit. “No, Dmitrii. You have a family.” “You’re part of that family, Yuri. We will fight the bastards together.” “You only have one leg. You will get yourself killed.” He patted his artificial leg and grinned. “I imagine I can maneuver better than that old man.” The grin just irritated Yuri. “He’s going to get himself killed too. You have a son to worry about.” “That’s why I’m doing this. What kind of life will Taras have if the Germans win this war?”

Several hours later, with only rifles, hand grenades, and pistols, the workers faced the German army across the little river. A man handed Yuri a .22-caliber rifle. It was vastly inferior to the guns of the enemy, but at least it was a weapon with which he was familiar. His stepfather had given him a similar one when he was just a kid. He had hunted with it frequently. Yuri positioned himself behind a thick tree and waited. Soon the Germans charged. Yuri wished he could be anywhere but there. He fired and saw his bullet strike a tree to the left of his target. There had been no time to sight in his rifle. He would have to compensate with his next shot. The soldier returned fire, and Yuri ducked behind the tree as bullets sent bark flying. His single shot rifle needed reloading every time he pulled the trigger. He inserted another bullet, rolled into the open, and fired. Bullets hit the tree above him and the ground beside his face as he dove back behind the tree. He reloaded and peered around the tree. He had hit his man, and several others had fallen from his comrades’ fire, but the Germans were still running toward him. He pulled his head back just before another bullet whizzed by the tree. This time he rolled the opposite direction and fired at another German. It was an easier shot. The soldiers were much closer now. The man dropped his rifle and collapsed. The next time Yuri looked across the water, the enemy had stopped running. They found cover and were shooting from behind trees and rocks. Yuri glanced down the line. The volunteers had stood their ground. They had stopped the German charge, but not without cost. Yuri could see several dead workers sprawled beside their rifles. The old man who had volunteered first was one of them. Blood drained from a single round hole in his forehead.

The fighting continued for days. Yuri watched many volunteers fall, but somehow they kept the Germans from reaching the factory. On the third day, an artillery shell exploded behind him, and a piece of shrapnel hit his arm. It was only a surface wound but the jolt sent him to the ground. When he opened his eyes, he saw Dmitrii hobbling toward him. Gunfire erupted from the enemy line. Dmitrii fell less than a meter away from Yuri. Blood flowed from his chest. He gasped for air. Yuri pulled him behind a

stack of logs. “Dmitrii. Speak to me.” His friend groaned. “It hurts.” “I know. I’ll get a medic. “No. It is too late for that.” He reached for Yuri’s hand. “Take care of Svetlana and Taras.” “You’re not going to die. I will not let you.” Dmitrii did not seem to hear. “Promise me.” His words were barely audible. Yuri watched his eyes glaze over. “I promise.”

Two days ed before Yuri could leave the line to return home. The Germans had not broken through, but they had gotten close enough to send artillery shells into the factory. The explosions damaged the building, but the factory continued operating. Yuri hardly cared. He could think of only one thing. If he had not volunteered, his friend would have stayed at the factory. Dmitrii had gone to the battle to watch over his best friend. Now he was dead, and Svetlana did not even know. As he walked toward their apartment, his gaze jumped from the few standing structures to smoldering buildings to deep craters where houses had once stood. The Soviet army and bands of volunteers had kept at bay the enemy soldiers but not their artillery shells. He stumbled on broken pavement and tried to concentrate on the mechanics of avoiding the potholes and debris that comprised the street. His thoughts however kept returning to Svetlana and the news he had to impart. He had failed to protect her husband. The man who was the center of her life was dead. Taras no longer had a father. What am I to tell him? He believed his Uncle Yuri when I promised no one would be killed. I would keep the Germans away. How do you tell a child his father is dead? When he reached the apartment, he saw a gaping hole had replaced the doorway and shattered glass filled the windows. An artillery shell had beaten him home.

He dropped his rifle in the dirt and ran through the opening. He found Svetlana and Taras on the couch. Her arms wrapped around her son as if they offered some protection from an unforgiving world. She did not move. The same blast that had torn through Taras’ abdomen had ripped open the left side of her head.

CHAPTER 19 UKRAINE (September 29, 1941)

Captain Karl Schneider stood in the midst of the rubble of Kiev. He turned to Ralf, who had been reassigned after the conquest of Greece. The two officers had maneuvered their tanks through sporadic Soviet forces in the western Ukraine and had survived the stubborn fighting to conquer its capital. Both were proud of the Teutonic prowess they had displayed in the final battle. Now they could rest briefly and revel in their accomplishments. “I never thought we would get this far before winter.” Ralf raised a hand, proudly waving it at the endless expanse of destroyed buildings. “This is what happens when you stand in the way of the Reich.” Karl stared at the devastation. “They put up a pretty good fight. We lost a lot of tanks. Those air raids were scary.” “It was nothing like the first few days of the invasion.” Ralf dropped his arms to his side and looked at the remains of the city. “ how confused and frightened they were back then. A lot of the villagers seemed thrilled to see us. I guess they were just glad to be freed from Stalin. “I wonder what happened. What made them fight so hard here?” Ralf pointed to the ruins again. “I don’t know, but they paid a big price. Look at this beautiful old city. There is not much left.” They walked through the debris, continuing until they reached a neighborhood that was still standing. The few Ukrainians remaining watched the conquering warriors. Turning a corner, the victors came upon a large group of people. In spite of the heat, the women all wore long sleeved dresses. The men had beards, and hats covered their heads. They carried big bags and walked with tentative steps. “I wonder what this is about?” Karl said, half to himself.

“I don’t know.” Ralf pointed to a notice on the wall of an abandoned clothing store. He walked to the building and stared at the notice. “It’s in Russian. What does it say?” Karl put to use the language his mother had made him learn as a child. “It says that all Jews are to appear at the corner of Melnikov and Dokhturov at 8:00 a.m. today and must bring their documents and valuables. Anyone who disobeys will be shot.” Karl pointed at the street sign over his head. “This is Melnikov.” Ralf’s face grew pale. “It’s time to go back to the base.” Karl shook his head. “They’re starting to march up the street. I want to see where they’re going.” Ralf looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind. “You won’t like what you see.” “Maybe not, but I have friends who are Jews. I want to see what really happens to them.” “You must live in a cocoon, you moron. They are going to kill them.” Karl felt the blood drain from his face. “That’s absurd. There must be twenty or thirty thousand people out there.” “That is right.” Ralf’s voice cracked. “And they will not be there tomorrow. Have you still not read Mein Kampf? I told you your future was outlined in it. Don’t you listen to the radio?” “They’re just going to be resettled.” Every muscle in Karl’s body tightened. It can’t be true. Ralf has no way of knowing. Even the SS could not be that callous. “Why would they just gather here if they were going to be shot?” Ralf rolled his eyes as if he were trying to explain a simple truth to an inattentive child. “They don’t know, Karl. They are as naive as you. Now come on.” Karl folded his arms and protruded his chin. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fine, I’m going back to the base.” “Go ahead. I’ll see you tonight.” Ralf shook his head. “I can’t leave you here. We’ve only got the one truck, and besides, I don’t know what you will do when the killing starts.” “Nobody is going to get killed.” Ralf leaned against the wall. The line of civilians marched down the street. An old woman dropped her bag. Karl started to go help her, but Ralf grabbed his shoulder and held tight. Karl pulled free. “What are you doing?” “Keeping you out of trouble.” A little girl with long dark hair ran to her grandmother and helped her lift the bag before Karl took a step. The procession trudged onward as the two victors followed at a distance. Around noon they ed a cemetery and came to a ravine surrounded by a barbed wire fence. The Jews marched into the enclosure. Ralf convinced Karl to stop and watch from the trees seventy-five meters away. “Now you know where they were taken. Can we go?” “Be quiet.” Karl had to know that the rumors were untrue. He stood and watched as the last stragglers stumbled into the pen. The guards pushed and shoved the stragglers, but they had killed no one. Then they stripped the men, women, and children and forced them to run between two rows of soldiers, who beat them with sticks. Karl turned away to conceal the uninvited tears. “I can’t believe this is happening.” “I told you not to come.” Karl pushed away the tears. “Come on. We are going to put an end to this now.”

Ralf grabbed his shirt. “Are you crazy? You can’t stop them.” “Why not? We’re officers. They know if we report them, they could be courtmartialed.” Ralf laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious. They have their orders from Hitler himself.” “That’s not true.” It can’t be. “Believe me. They will not be the ones in trouble. It will be us.” “Liar.” Karl tried to pull away, but Ralf would not let go. “Turn loose.” Ralf held tight as Karl jerked away, tearing his coat. He took three steps and then tumbled to the ground as Ralf tackled him. They struggled on the ground until Karl broke free and stood. Nazi guards raised their rifles and fired. Karl dove behind a rock. Bullets hit the tree beside his head. More bullets hit the ground near his feet. Ralf grabbed his wrist. “Run!” This time Karl did not argue. They fled through the woods, not stopping until they reached a road several hundred meters away. Only then, did Karl notice that Ralf was bleeding. “You have been hit.” “I’m OK.” “Take off your coat.” Ralf frowned but complied. Blood covered his arm, and an open groove tracked through the skin. “The bullet just grazed my arm. It’ll be fine.” He was breathing heavily from running. Karl took his scarf and wrapped it around the wound. “I think this will keep it from bleeding anymore.” The sound of machine gun fire came from the ravine. Karl looked toward the trees. “Oh my god.”

Ralf hung his head. “I said you would not want to know.” “They are slaughtering those poor people.” “I know, and there is nothing you can do about it. Now, get to the truck before they shoot us, too.”

CHAPTER 20 MOSCOW (October 15, 1941)

Ivan looked across the huge round table at the faces of the Soviet generals as Stalin wailed at them. He marveled at the meekness of these normally arrogant men. No one dared contradict the leader. All kept their gaze on the floor. In the distance, he could hear rockets exploding. The Germans were close. In places they had broken through the city limits. He wondered if today would be the day they would reach the Kremlin, if Nazi officers would soon use this very room for their councils, and if Stalin would be forced to accept a humiliating and devastating surrender. General Zhukov reported that the military situation had deteriorated, but he insisted that Moscow could be saved. Women, children, and old people braved the murderous gunfire and shelling by the advancing soldiers and dug antitank trenches on the outskirts of the city. His troops had the backbone to stand. They would retreat no further. In only four months, the Germans had pushed the Soviet army back to the perimeters of its capital city. They left scorched villages and a sea of decaying corpses in their wake. Stalin ordered Zhukov to hold the city no matter what the cost. The set of his jaw sent a clear message. Zhukov’s survival depended upon the survival of Moscow. Ivan was relieved he had come out of his depression and was, at last, acting like a leader. If he had listened and acted when it was obvious the Germans were about to invade, the enemy would not have destroyed the air force on the ground, and the Russian resistance could have been much different. The Soviet dictator appeared obsessed with fighting back now, and Ivan recognized that only a brutal, strong man could hold together the country and have a chance to win back their lost lands. Stalin then gave Ivan an unexpected assignment. He wanted his Deputy Minister of Defense to evacuate the foreign diplomatic corps. Ivan would have preferred

to concentrate on stopping the Germans, but he knew better than to object. After the meeting, Molotov assured him that the task was important and that Stalin would not give that job to someone he did not trust explicitly. Ivan shrugged. The only reason Stalin had given the assignment to him was he knew Ivan had studied English and German at Moscow University. The responsibility seemed more of a nuisance than an honor. Saving Moscow seemed a much greater priority. “What do you think, Vyacheslav? Will the city hold out?” Molotov slapped Ivan on the shoulder. “Yes. It will be bloody, and thousands of people are going to die, but in the end, Moscow will remain Russian.” Ivan studied his face, looking for any sign of doubt. “How can you be so confident? The Germans seem invincible. It is like the Great War, only worse.” “You will see. Winter is almost here. Hell is supposed to be hot, but the Germans are going it find it is the opposite. When the temperature plunges, and they are still outside in trenches, they will wish they had never ever heard of Russia.” “Then why is Stalin evacuating most of the government?” “He’s just being cautious.” His voice rose in pitch, reflecting his irritation with Ivan’s lack of conviction. “The High Command and much of the Politburo are staying right here.” “I hope you are right. If Moscow surrenders, the country will not hold together.” “It will not fall.” Molotov pulled up his collar to combat the cold Moscow wind as if in anticipation of the frigid weather to come. “How do you plan to evacuate the foreigners?” “By train. The roads are impossible with so many people fleeing east.” Molotov extended his hand. “Good luck, Ivan. I would hurry before the Germans have a chance to knock out the tracks.” He waved and hurried back to his office. Ivan headed in the opposite direction. He ed the Lubyanka and tried to ignore the chill he always felt whenever he came near the frightening structure.

He saw smoke flowing from the chimneys and suspected that agents were burning the myriad of documents collected on thousands of victims. He wondered if they had destroyed the chronicle of his internment.

Entering the U. S. Embassy building, Ivan saw people with tense expressions on their faces throwing files into boxes and scurrying around the room. He walked through the chaos and approached the desk of the ambassador’s secretary. She was a stern-looking woman in her late forties with black hair streaked with gray. She looked as frazzled as her cohorts, but she spoke with a calm voice. “May I help you, Mr. Maximov?” He was pleased that she recognized him from his previous visits. “Yes, I must speak with Ambassador Steinhardt.” She glanced toward the empty room behind her chair. “He’s not here right now. Would you like to speak with Miss Olivia Rhinehart?” Ivan leaned over the large, wooden desk. “Who is Miss Rhinehart?” “The ambassador’s assistant.” “I don’t know the woman. Is there no way to see the ambassador? It’s important.” “I’m not sure when he will be back. I think Miss Rhinehart may be able to assist you.” Ivan frowned. “All right. Where can I find her?” The secretary led him into a cluttered room with a desk, two chairs, and a huge bookcase lined with American and Russian books. Behind the desk sat a woman with long brown hair pulled back in a bun. She appeared slim with the demeanor of an athlete. Ivan guessed she was in her thirties. Her no-nonsense, dark blue suit and absence of makeup seemed more Russian than American. She was at least ten centimeters shorter than Valentina. She stood and spoke in perfect Russian. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Maximov. Please sit down.”

She pointed to the nearest chair and returned to her own seat. Ivan sat on the edge of the chair. He answered in her native language. “Thank you for seeing me, Miss Rhinehart.” Her smile reflected her surprise. “Where did you learn to speak English?” “I know this may come as a surprise, but we have schools here in the Soviet Union.” She blushed. “I did not mean to insult your country. It’s just unusual.” Ivan immediately regretted his haughty manner. It was not her fault that the ambassador was gone. He thought of the years he had studied English and German in anticipation of a banking career until he had ed the Bolsheviks. “I attended Moscow University until the revolution,” he continued in English. “Impressive. I understand things aren’t going well at the front.” Her words echoed the concern of everyone in Moscow. She gave him a level gaze with curious, blue eyes. Ivan was not used to being questioned by a woman, and it made him uneasy. “You could say that, but the momentum is changing. We will have the upper hand soon.” “How many hours can Moscow hold out?” Her outspoken pessimism irritated him. “Moscow will not fall.” The woman’s indulgent smile was as irritating as her words. “Then why are we moving in such a hurry to Kuibyshev?” Ivan felt the heat rush to his face. “It’s just a precaution. The Germans are close. There’s no need to endanger noncombatants—especially diplomats from neutral countries.” She smiled. “One of my subordinates saw a burned-out German tank in the suburbs today.” “Yes, all you have to do is listen to the artillery to know the Nazis are close. It will not be easy, but Stalin assured me just this morning that our army will drive

them back.” I hope he was right. Miss Rhinehart spoke so softly that Ivan had to lean toward her to hear. “He said that about Kiev. Do you believe everything Stalin says?” Ivan thought carefully before responding. He was well aware that criticizing the Soviet dictator had resulted in capital punishment for thousands, even millions of naive people. He did not know why, but for some reason, he trusted this foreign woman, even if she was irritating. “No,” he whispered, “but I trust General Zhukov. He says we will stop them, and I believe he is right.” “Why?” Ivan answered from his heart, without hesitation. “Because I’m a Russian. I lived through the Revolution, and I know my people. Oppression, starvation, inhospitable weather, and death are all we have ever known. The Germans had the equipment and the organization to sweep across the Ukraine and western Russia, but they do not have the heart for what lies ahead. They can kill millions of Russians, but millions more will just keep coming at them. In the end, we will break their back and march all the way to Berlin. It will not be with brilliance or fancy maneuvers. It will be more like a wave of locusts. The more you kill, the more they keep sweeping across your land until there is nothing left except a continent of corpses.” Miss Rhinehart’s face paled as she listened. “Do you truly believe that?” “Yes, because that is the way it is going to be.” He paused and met her stare. “It did not have to be. The U. S. could have stopped Hitler in Czechoslovakia, and the war would never have happened.” Miss Rhinehart laughed at that remark. “Hitler would not have started the war if Russia hadn’t given her approval and agreed to divide the spoils, taking a big chunk of Poland for herself.” “We only took back part of what was taken from us in the First War. Besides, we needed the buffer space. We knew it was only a matter of time before Hitler turned on us. What is your excuse?” “It’s not our war.”

Ivan gripped the arm of his chair. “Do you really think Hitler will leave America alone after he controls all of Europe? He’s a man. He will not stop until he is master of the whole world.” Miss Rhinehart raised one eyebrow. “I thought you said you were going to march all the way to Berlin.” “We will.” He stood, still annoyed by her candor. “I have to go. I have four more embassies to visit. I just wanted to ensure that you would have your people at the train on time.” She nodded. “Yes, we will be there.” “Good, because the train will not wait. Anybody who is late will be on his own.”

CHAPTER 21 MOSCOW (October 15, 1941)

After finishing his rounds of the embassies, Ivan returned to his office. Opening the door, he almost collided with Tania. “Lieutenant Chakovsky.” Tania stood in her air force uniform beside the window looking out onto Red Square. She stepped toward Ivan. “I hope I’m not intruding.” “Not at all.” He was curious to know why she had appeared in his office. “I’m glad to see you.” He motioned for her to sit and pulled up a chair across from her, ignoring his more imposing chair behind his desk. “How did you get leave?” She sat in the chair. “I have been ferrying guns from Siberia for weeks. Yesterday I hit some flack and had to bail out behind the German lines. Luckily it was dark, and I was able to sneak back to our side without being seen.” “Are you all right?” He looked at her and saw no obvious wounds. “Yes. Just a sprained ankle. I came down hard when I landed.” Ivan hated the thought of a pretty woman fighting in a war and having to jump out of a burning airplane. His son had certainly picked an extraordinary girlfriend. “Does Yuri know?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the soft chair. “No. I have not seen Yuri since you directed me to his hospital in Leningrad over a year ago. “Why not?” Tania hesitated, studying the man next to her. “That’s why I’m here. I left him on a sour note. He told me not to come back, but I’m not sure he really meant it.” Ivan recalled how Yuri had acted like a lovesick puppy when he had talked about Tania. “What makes you doubt it?”

“I think he was trying to protect me.” Ivan smiled. “I suspect you are right. The NKVD is still investigating the death of Valdislav Figner.” Tania sat upright with a jolt. “How do you know so much about that?” Ivan wondered if he had gone too far. He had not meant to frighten her, but he wanted to gain her confidence. I work in the Kremlin. It is easy to keep track of things like that.” “What makes you think that Yuri and I had anything to do with Valdislav’s death.” “Yuri told me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why would he do that?” “He trusts me, and besides, the man was an animal. He deserved to die.” Tania appeared confused. It was obvious she could not comprehend how the Deputy Minister of Defense could know about Valdislav and not have Yuri and her arrested. “Why would he tell you such a thing, Mr. Maximov?” He leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands together. How much could he tell her? “Please call me Ivan. Mr. Maximov sounds much too formal.” Tania looked at him as if he were from outer space. She took a deep breath and continued. “All right, Ivan, what is your relationship to Yuri Krylov? Why are you protecting him, and why did you help me to find him?” Ivan paused. He was still not sure how much it was safe to say. “It’s complicated. My best friend, Mikhail Kovpak, and his wife Darya raised Yuri. Valdislav sent them to slave labor camps.” Tania held up a hand. “Yuri told you this?” “Yes.” “Go on.”

“Mikhail and Darya died there, but Yuri escaped. He came here and found me. I had promised Mikhail that I would treat him like my own son.” Tania narrowed her eyes. “You said he was raised by Mikhail and Darya. They were not his real parents, were they?” “No.” “Then who were his parents?” Ivan lifted a hand. “I have said all I can say.” “Why? Are you Yuri’s father?” “Yes.” “And you let him be raised by someone else like a serf so you could pursue your political ambition? No wonder he said he hardly knows you. I’m surprised he even acknowledges knowing you at all.” The words hurt, not so much because they were harsh, but because they were true. “I didn’t have a choice.” “Of course you had a choice. He is your son.” “Yes. He’s my son, but his mother was the Tsar’s cousin. Your friend Valdislav massacred her entire family, and Yuri would have met the same fate if the Bolsheviks had known who he was.” Tania stared at him. “What happened to his mother?” “I sent her to with Yuri’s brother. She married a nobleman in Bavaria and lives there now.” “Did you love her?” “Yes.” “Then why didn’t you go with her?” Ivan hesitated. It was a question he had often asked himself with no satisfactory

answer. “I wanted to, but I could not abandon the revolution. We were on the brink of seizing Russia, of finally being able to give communism a chance.” Tania’s features softened. “Did you make the right choice?” The answer was difficult. She was the only woman he had ever loved and the only one with whom he could have been happy. “There was no other choice. The revolution had started. We had the chance to change the world, to save Russia.” Tania shook her head. “Then I feel sorry for you. Nothing should be more important than the people we love.” He turned his gaze to the floor. “You know I have taken a tremendous risk in revealing this to you. You’re the only person that I have ever told.” “I promise your secret is safe, but why did you tell me?” “Because I made a mistake and I wanted to try to correct it.” A furrow formed on her brow. “I don’t understand.” “Yuri came here the day after he killed Valdislav. I was concerned that the NKVD would guess what had happened if they knew you and Yuri were intimate friends. I arranged for him to be drafted into the army and you into the Air Force to get you two away from the scene of the crime and from each other. I told Yuri that he should stay away from you—that he could get you killed.” Her face reddened. “Then why did you send me to Leningrad?” The answer seemed self-evident. He wondered why she could not see what was becoming obvious to him. “I realized I was forcing Yuri to make the same bad choice that I had made with his mother. He loves you, Tania. Don’t throw that away.” Tania slumped in her chair. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I went back to the hospital in Leningrad last month. He had been discharged, and no one knew where he had gone. I hoped you could help me.” Ivan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. With the Krauts on our doorsteps, I’ve not been able to concentrate on anything but them. He didn’t write?”

Tania frowned. “No. I did not give him an address.”

Ivan arrived at the station an hour ahead of schedule. As soon as the train chugged to a stop, he hustled the diplomats onto it. Having this many prominent people crowded into such a small space made him uncomfortable. They were much too close to the front to be safe. As the train left the station, he walked through each car, taking inventory of the assortment of diplomats from a myriad of countries. As he finished, he heard someone call his name. He turned to see the American ambassador’s assistant motioning for him. She pointed to the empty seat to her right. “Please sit down, Mr. Maximov. It makes everyone nervous, seeing you pacing the aisles like a worried mother hen.” Ivan laughed. “It is my job to be a ‘mother hen’ today.” “Well, it’s out of your hands now. You put us all on the train, and it has left the station. What happens now is up to God and the Germans.” Ivan ignored the tall, dark-haired man who followed him into the compartment. Comrade Kobin was like a second shadow. Ivan had spotted him months ago. His sources had confirmed that the man was an NKVD agent. Being under surveillance was a way of life in the Soviet Union. Ivan slid into the empty seat. Miss Rhinehart was right. He might as well relax, and why not do it with a pretty woman? She did not seem annoying anymore. “I guess you are right, Miss Rhinehart,” he said in English, knowing that Kobin would not grasp a word he said. “There is not much to do now except worry.” “My name is Olivia. Miss Rhinehart sounds too much like an old maid.” Ivan smiled. “I don’t think anyone will mistake you for an old maid, Olivia.” She blushed. “I really was not fishing for a compliment, but thanks. May I call you Ivan, or would that shatter some communist taboo.”

“Ivan will do just fine.”

CHAPTER 22 MUNICH (November 1941)

Valentina sat in her living room, trying to read as rain pattered on the roof. It was hard to concentrate on a novel. So much was happening in the real world that fantasy seemed boring in comparison. She wondered about Karl. The newspaper said the fighting on the eastern front had become fierce. Winter was fast approaching, and if Moscow did not fall soon, Karl was going to be facing the icy weather outside in his summer uniform. It could be a deadly winter. A scraping noise interrupted her thoughts. She looked out the window, saw nothing, and resumed reading. Then the same noise came again, this time louder. Valentina stood, reached into her purse, and removed the pistol that she always kept there. She undid the safety and walked to the back of the house toward the sound. Reaching the back door, she peered through the glass. Standing on the back porch were two women. One looked familiar. It’s not possible. Rebecca escaped. She was safe, away from the war, away from the Nazis. Why is she here? They will kill her. She threw open the door, marshaled the women inside, and threw her arms around Rebecca. “I thought you were in Palestine?” Rebecca returned her hug. “I was.” Valentina stared at her young friend. This is insane. “Why are you back? You were safe there.” Rebecca smiled. It was the smile of a mature woman. The little teenager had disappeared. “I wanted to help.” “Help what?” Valentina took her guests’ coats. She was thrilled to see her friend

but terrified for her safety. Rebecca turned toward the frail teenage girl with long, wet red hair. Her big brown eyes looked up at Valentina with apprehension. “This is Sarah.” Rebecca spoke as if her brief words explained everything. Valentina gasped as she realized what was happening. “She’s a Jew?” Rebecca nodded. Sarah migrated behind Rebecca as if for protection. Valentina felt her heart race. I risked my life to save Rebecca because I loved her. This girl is a stranger. When the Gestapo catches her, she will tell them about me. They will send me to the camps. They will punish my entire family. I have to protect Karl. “I can’t hide her here.” “You hid me.” Rebecca placed a protecting arm around Sarah. “That was different. You were my friend. Paul is an officer in the navy. If the Gestapo finds her here, they will take it out on him.” Rebecca folded her arms and stood rigidly. “Your husband treats you like dirt. What do you care what happens to him?” Valentina did not dispute Rebecca’s accusation. She knew it was true. Paul was her husband in name only. He deserved nothing from her except disdain. “What about Karl? He could be endangered too.” Rebecca pushed Sarah forward, so she was standing directly in front of Valentina. Tears streamed down the girl’s cheek. “Paul is a thoroughbred Nazi. Karl thinks he is one too, but he’s not. What do you think he would want you to do?” She stared hard at Valentina as she continued. “Sarah has been hiding in a friend’s basement for six months. Look at her. She’s starving. Do you want her to die?” Valentina glared back at her. If the Gestapo caught her hiding a Jew in her home, the penalty would be death. Paul would be unable to help and probably would not if he could. “That’s not fair, Rebecca. I risked my life to save you. That does not mean I can save every Jew in .” Rebecca stood her ground. “No, but you can save Sarah.” She placed her hands

on Sarah’s face, lifting it for Valentina’s display. “You only need to keep her hidden for a few days. I have friends who have promised to take her to Switzerland, but they cannot leave until Monday.” Valentina looked at the frightened girl. She could not be more than fourteen years old. “All right. I will help this one time, Rebecca, but I’m not g on to anything else.” Rebecca’s smile dwarfed her face. She hugged her benefactor and whispered. “Thank you, Valentina. I didn’t mean to trouble you. I had nowhere else to go.” Valentina took the child’s hand and led her toward the kitchen. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

CHAPTER 23 SOVIET UNION (November 1941)

Ivan made several trips to Kuibyshev to check on the foreign diplomats. Each time he made a point to visit Olivia. He enjoyed conversing with a woman who knew exactly what she believed and could articulate her opinions well. In that regard, she reminded him of Valentina who would never buy his Bolshevik arguments. Olivia came from a different world, and it was interesting to hear her talk about America and the freedom that people had there. It seemed unfair that the wealthy did not share with the poor, but she called it the land of opportunity where anyone could become what she wanted if she worked hard enough. Each visit lasted longer than the last, and Ivan worried that he might arouse suspicion. Conversing with foreigners was dangerous and could easily result in a change of residence to the gulag. He decided it would be best to keep his visits at a minimum but somehow his trips to the American embassy continued. He thought of this one morning when he returned from a briefing with Stalin to find the chief of the NKVD waiting outside his office. Beria had never seemed fond of Ivan, and Ivan had made it a point to avoid him, as if that would afford some protection. “Good morning, Comrade Beria,” Ivan said as he ushered him into his office.” Beria declined to sit. “How was your meeting with Stalin?” “Bothersome. The boss is not happy with the German advance.” He stood beside his chair, not wanting to sit if Beria continued to stand. Beria nodded. “Do you not think Stalin should have acted sooner?” Ivan wanted to say he had totally bungled the defense of their country, but he did not trust Beria at all. This could very well be one of his traps. “He has done what

he can. The Germans caught us by surprise.” Beria smiled. He knew it was all bullshit. “You did a good job with the embassy evacuations.” “Thank you.” It was the first compliment Ivan had ever received from this powerful man. “Do you think that American girl is attractive?” Here it comes. “Whom do you mean?” Beria cocked his head to one side and suppressed a laugh. “You know whom I mean. Your friend, Miss Rhinehart.” “She’s a little opinionated, but she seems fond of the Soviet Union.” He tried unsuccessfully to sound nonchalant. “She seems fond of you.” Ivan felt a mixture of anger and fear. He had known for some time that Comrade Kobin was following him. It bothered him to discover that Beria himself was behind it. “I think she just wants someone to talk to.” Beria’s next move came as a surprise. “That’s good. I think you should encourage her.” “Why?” “We need the Americans to come into the war. Stalin wants to know what they’re thinking, and she’s in a position to know.”

CHAPTER 24 SOVIET UNION (November 1941)

Karl buried himself in his blanket and tried to control the shivering. His teeth chattered, and his toes burned from the cold. Sleet pounded against the tent, and the wind overcame the flaps and whipped through the structure. He had eaten only two slices of bread all day, and his stomach would not stop complaining. Sleep did not come. He could not stop his mind from dwelling on the massacre he had witnessed. His heart was no longer in the war. He felt more like an assassin than a conquering warrior. Being promoted to major and becoming leader of a platoon of five tanks under General Guderian, the pioneer of modern tank warfare, did nothing to lift his spirits. He did not want to conquer anyone else. had avenged its losses from the previous war. He just wanted to go home. After the fall of Orel the previous month, his platoon stalled three hundred twenty kilometers from Moscow. Until then he had been certain the war would be over soon. It had seemed the killing could end, but the Soviet resistance grew stubborn, and more men died. The temperature dropped to 40 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. The oil in the trucks froze as did the grease in the guns. Two of the crew developed frostbite from the bitter cold, and everyone suffered from hunger as the supply trucks failed to traverse the ice and snow. Groaning, Karl kicked off his blanket and secured the flap to the tent. He reached into his knapsack and retrieved the bottle of vodka he had confiscated from a dead Soviet soldier two days ago. Lifting it to his lips, he swallowed the last gulp. It burned going down, but he hardly noticed. Anything that would help him to forget—that could help him to sleep was welcome. His thoughts wandered to Berta. He had resolved to find her as soon as the Soviets surrendered. Now that seemed a ridiculous dream. He would be lucky to survive the winter. At any minute, the Soviets could charge out of the darkness and slaughter everyone in their path. We deserve to die. We should never have killed those poor people.

He awoke to another miserable day. Sleet and snow pattered against his tent. He hurried to the campfire and tried to warm his hands. His men huddled close together by the flames. He wondered how much further he could push them before they mutinied. Ralf held his hands over the fire. Frostbite had turned two of his fingertips black. Karl wondered if any of his men would survive the winter. “Get to your tanks,” he yelled over the wind. “We have five weeks to get to Moscow for Christmas.” No one spoke, not even Ralf. They knew as well as he that they would spend the holiday camped in the tents outside the city—not in the warmth of its buildings. The whole scheme was lunacy, but he had his orders, and he would follow them no matter what. They trudged through the deep snow to their tanks and climbed inside them. Karl’s driver cranked the engine and led the procession forward. The snow limited their vision. Ralf’s tank disappeared from sight. Karl’s navigator, Konrad Wohler, complained. “Whose idea is it to come out in this weather? The Communists will not even have to fight. The ice and the wind are going to kill us all.” Deiter, the gunner from Hamburg, agreed. “No wonder Napoleon fled this hellhole.” Karl shrugged. He had just returned from a briefing by General Guderian the previous day. Hitler was insisting they keep moving until Moscow fell. Guderian did not say it, but Karl could sense that the General did not approve of the order. Karl knew how he felt. This is insane, but what can I do? Karl heard explosions and used his field glasses to see the enemy several hundred meters away. “Soviet tanks ahead.” He turned to the driver. “Keep moving forward. We are going to do a little hunting.” Karl kept advancing to bring the enemy into range. Then he got his first view of a huge, heavily armored tank. Konrad’s voice rose in alarm. “What is that?”

Karl had not seen anything like it, but he had been told about the new enemy weapon. He had hoped never to meet one up close and personal. “It must be the Soviet’s new T-34. See those wide tracks.” Konrad blew on his hands to relieve the chill. “I’m looking at that gun.” “Seventy-six mm. Makes our 37 mm gun look puny, but we should be able to stop it with a direct hit.” Karl had less confidence than he pretended. He suspected that they were all about to die. Deiter rolled his eyes. “Fat chance of that.” Karl glared at him. “Shut up and turn the damn turret.” “Yes, sir.” The turret seemed to move in slow motion as the monster tank advanced. When it was in place, Karl gave the order. “Fire!” When nothing happened, he yelled, “Fire,” again. He hoped his men would assume the tremor in his voice came from the cold. Deiter yelled back, “The damn gun is frozen! Why the fuck are we out here in this ice hell?” The T34’s turret turned toward Karl. He thought of that day in when most of his men died. He had let them down then, and now another crew faced the same fate. He could feel their fear. It was palpable throughout the tank. Then a Panzer forty yards away fired its gun. Karl watched the shell make a direct hit on the T34 and bounce off the sloping armor without exploding. Its turret turned back to aim at the offending nuisance. It fired one round. Flames blew out of the Panzer. Konrad spun on his seat to face Karl. “We have to get out of here.” The color drained from Deiter’s face. “We’re going to die.” The driver did not wait for an order. He gunned the engine and backed the tank away from the Soviet mechanical monster. The T34 fired again, and this time the gun pointed at them. The shell landed at the site they had just abandoned. The

explosion reached the Panzer, but the tank stayed intact. They continued to retreat over the ice. The T34 did not follow. It turned its turret and found another less difficult target. Another Panzer crew went to a fiery death. Karl called to his driver. “Will this thing go any faster?” “No, sir. We have to hope that beast does not come after us.”

CHAPTER 25 SOVIET UNION (November 1941)

Yuri buried Svetlana and Taras in a field near their home and returned the same night to the battle line. There was no love left in him. The Nazis were destroying the city he loved and had murdered his friends. They wanted the land, the farms, and the resources and did not care whom they killed to get them. A year ago, all he had wanted was to leave the Soviet Union. Now her enemy was his enemy. While he had fought to protect the factory, workers dismantled it and shipped the machines to Chelyabinsk behind the Ural Mountains. He could have gone with them and been many miles from the German invaders. Instead, he decided to stay in Leningrad. He could not bear to let the once beautiful city fall into Nazi hands. Bombs and shells had destroyed most of the buildings, but if the inhabitants could survive, they could rebuild them after the war ended. On November 18, he returned to Dmitrii’s apartment to find shelter. The huge hole in the front wall remained, allowing the cold wind to whip through the interior. At least the bedroom was intact, and the door would close. Still there was no kerosene, and the room was cold. He bundled up in blankets and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. He could not forget that he was in his friends’ bed. Somehow it did not seem right. When he was not thinking of his adopted family, he dwelled on the ache in his neglected stomach. When morning came, he knocked on the door of the old woman who lived in the next apartment to let her know he would not be coming back. There was no answer, but the door creaked open. A foul odor assaulted his nose. He looked inside, and the reason became immediately apparent. Her emaciated body lay sprawled on the floor, obviously dead for days. Yuri closed the door and hurried away. It was too late to help her. Since the Germans had captured all the rail links into the city, their siege was taking its toll. There was no food. Dogs and cats disappeared from the streets, and horses became rare. There was nothing else to eat. The army had managed to hold the Germans outside the city, but without food, the inhabitants faced certain

death. The survivors had no kerosene, and many who did not starve, died from the cold. Some supplies came by boat across Lake Ladoga, but this was no longer possible due to ice. Yuri walked past the rubble of what had once been the adjacent apartment complex and wondered if any of the city would be left standing. He had thought he was through with hate when Valdislav died, but the Nazis had filled the void. He went to the outskirts of town and volunteered to help the soldiers there to lay barbed wire. At midday he received his daily ration of four slices of bread. He knew the flour had been reinforced with sawdust, but that was all there was. It could have been worse. If he had not been working, his ration would have been two slices for the day. That evening, the captain in charge approached Yuri. “We have orders to report to Leningrad freight station.” Yuri’s breath condensed in the frigid air. “What for?” “I don’t know, but we’ll need your help.” “I’ll be there.” Yuri wondered why the secrecy but did not really care. If he could do something to hinder the Germans, he was ready. The train cars were not heated, and someone had replaced the broken windows with cardboard. Yuri boarded without a clue as to where he was going. He wondered if he would ever return. Cold wind whipped through the car. Ice covered the walls. Yuri’s hands felt so cold that it seemed the slightest jolt would cause his fingers to snap into pieces. Eventually, the train stopped. Soldiers directed everyone to leave it and led them on foot for hours through the night. In the morning, they approached a small fishing village beside Lake Ladoga. Yuri walked around snow-filled craters from the German bombs to reach a holding area filled with the horses and sledges. The captain addressed the group. “I know it is cold and German planes are patrolling the sky, but we have to cross Lake Ladoga and bring food back to

Leningrad. This is the only route to the city that the enemy has not captured, and there is only enough food to feed the people for two days. If we fail, everyone is going to starve.” One of the men raised his hand, and the captain told him to speak. “Do you mean on those sledges with the horses?” “That is right.” “But the lake just started to freeze a few days ago. Is the ice thick enough to hold a horse?” The captain shrugged. “Probably.” Yuri noted the hesitancy in his voice. The doubter frowned. “You’re not sure?” “We can’t wait any longer. People are starving.” The urgency in his voice alerted Yuri to the desperate situation. “Which sledge is mine?” The captain smiled. “That one.” He pointed to the lead sledge. As Yuri checked his sledge, two old men ed him. “You’re a brave man,” the first one said. “I hope the ice holds this time.” Yuri placed a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean, this time.” The man grimaced. “I thought you knew. Two days ago, when they tested the ice, it cracked, and a man fell into the lake.” Yuri shuttered. He did not want to think about dying in that icy water. He wished they could wait a week. It would be much safer then, but thousands of people would stave in that time. He looked at the horses. They were as thin and weak as the people of Leningrad. They hardly appeared capable of pulling their loads for 40 kilometers across the ice and then going back again. Already exhausted, he climbed onto the seat, abhorring the cold air that blew against his face. He moved to the head of the line of sledges sliding onto the icy surface of the lake. All told, there were three

hundred and fifty of them. It was an honor to ride the lead sledge but one he would just as soon have relinquished. It was like leading a charge through a minefield. The lead sledge would test the ice for the ones to follow. Unfortunately, if the ice failed, the sledge and its driver would plunge to the bottom of the icy lake. At least he did not have to select the route. A lieutenant on a white horse led the procession. Yuri wished he had a heavier coat. After an hour, his hands and face grew raw from the cold wind, and his muscles and ts became stiff. His gaze kept veering to the sky. If the German planes spotted them, there would be nowhere to hide. They would all be killed. He thought of the beautiful old city of Leningrad and of how the bombs and rockets were destroying it. Mostly, he thought of Tania. He had heard nothing from her and did not know if she was alive. The Soviet air force had not fared well. He hoped she had survived and that she was thinking of him. At about nine kilometers, the lieutenant stopped and then turned south. Yuri was unsure why until he reached the large crack in the ice that had prompted the diversion. He turned and followed the white horse, thankful that the crack had not extended under the weight of his sledge. At sunset, the drivers stopped on an island and rested for two hours. Yuri ate his allotment of tea and sugar and shared his bread with the horses. They were doing the real work, and if they gave out, the sledges were going nowhere. He was numb from the cold when they pushed back onto the ice. In the evening, they arrived at Kabona on the other side of the lake. The round trip was half over. Yuri ate cottonseed-oil cakes and hardtack as workers loaded the sledge with sacks of flour and food concentrates. He looked around at the weary men who had finally gotten out of Leningrad and marveled that they were willing to return. With a full sledge, he returned to the ice. The trip back was more arduous due to the heavy loads. Yuri worried for the horses. He hoped they would endure the ordeal? In the early morning, the procession reached the Leningrad side of the lake. Yuri

was too tired and too cold to celebrate. The following night, he repeated the journey. This time he was more confident, but no less cold. On the third night, he traded his sledge for a truck carrying gasoline. He worried about the extra weight but was glad for the improved shelter from the wind. After two hours, he heard a cracking noise and screams. The truck behind him had fallen through the ice. Yuri stopped and ran to the large ice hole. The vehicle disappeared with the driver still in the cab. Yuri stood at the edge for several minutes until it occurred to him that nothing could be done. He hurried to catch up with the convoy, thankful that it had not been his truck to disappear under the ice.

CHAPTER 26 SOVIET UNION (December 1941)

The radio blared forth with the best news Ivan had heard in years. The Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. The stupidity of the act shocked him but did not diminish his glee. The Americans were now in the war, and it did not bode well for the attackers. Emperor Hirohito had done what Roosevelt had been unable to do—unite the pacifist American people against the Axis Powers. Ivan decided to pay Olivia a visit at the embassy. It would not hurt to hear the American version of the attack. His face was a familiar one at the embassy. A secretary glanced up at him and pointed at Olivia’s office. “She’s expecting you.” Ivan had no idea what she meant. He opened the door. Olivia looked up from her desk with tired eyes. “Hello, Ivan. What took you so long?” “Am I missing something? Did we have an appointment?” She laughed. “No, I just knew you would come. You need to find out all you can about the Japanese attack.” Ivan frowned. “You think that’s why I keep visiting you—to steal information?” Olivia stepped from behind her desk and took his hand. “Sometimes.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. She seemed startled but did not pull away. “Isn’t it possible that I might just enjoy being with you?” She seemed to relax a little. “If you did, you would never it it—not a tough Bolshevik like yourself.” She stepped backward, but he did not release her. He liked holding her hand. He liked her teasing voice and the curl of her mouth.

“We Bolsheviks can be very unpredictable at times.” He pulled her close, placed his hands on her flushed cheeks, and brought his lips down to hers. He was more surprised by his action than Olivia. Since his disaster with Valentina, he had made no emotional commitments. Even now, he felt a tinge of guilt. He knew it was irrational. Valentina was married and just a ghost of a memory from another lifetime. Olivia stiffened in his arms, seeming to sense his distraction. He kissed her again. This time she opened her lips and slipped her arms around his neck. “Shall we get out of here?” Ivan could have kicked himself. She was an American. The last thing she would want was some Russian pawing all over her. Of course she wanted to leave. He disentangled his arms from around her waist. “Where would you like to go?” “I was thinking of my place.”

Ivan rolled over in the large, feather bed. It was unusually soft, and he had trouble sleeping. A hand caressed his chest. His eyes flew open, and his muscles stiffened. Then he ed where he was and relaxed. It had been a long time since he had slept with a woman. He had almost forgotten how good it felt. Olivia faced him, her warm breasts touching his arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Ivan laughed. “I don’t usually awaken with a naked woman in my bed.” She moved her hand to his forehead, brushing back his tangled hair. “Actually, it is you who is in my bed.” “Then I’m definitely in unfamiliar territory.” He rolled to one side and ired the long, brown curls that fell over her shoulders as she swung her legs to the floor. She glanced down at him with curious, emerald-green eyes. “Go back to sleep.” He wanted her to stay and keep him warm. “Where are you going?”

“I’m a working girl. ?” He loved the way she faced him, seemingly unembarrassed by her lack of clothing. “Yes, but you could go in a little late. I would write you an excuse saying you were detained on official business.” “And what might that business be?” “International relations.” She touched his rough beard. “You cannot possibly be ready again, Mr. Maximov.” He smiled. “That’s not what I meant. Maybe we could have a little breakfast and relax together.” “Then, you should have gotten up earlier.” “I had other priorities.” “I know, and now I have to get to the embassy. You seem to forget my country was attacked by the Japanese yesterday.” She slipped on her bra and stepped into her panties. “That’s why you should come back to bed. We could discuss our special alliance.” “You will have to give me a rain check for that.” “A rain what?” “It means I hope you’ll come back again.”

CHAPTER 27 SOVIET UNION (May 1942)

The Soviet Second Shock Army pushed the Germans back from Leningrad, but German reinforcements surrounded the soldiers, keeping them from receiving ample ammunition or food. Yuri volunteered to drive a truck in a convoy carrying supplies. He could hear the explosions in the distance, and the sounds of gunfire grew near. His hands tightened on the wheel of his truck as he drove along the narrow, bumpy road that was the last route open. A year ago, he had only wanted to escape from this God-forsaken country. Now there was nowhere to go. Hitler was conquering the world, and he was worse than Stalin or at least as bad. If Hitler succeeded, not only would Russia be destroyed, but also the rest of the world would be a prison, even worse than Russia. Rain had left the road muddy and slick. Yuri had been stuck in mud twice and needed help from his fellow drivers to continue onward. Dirt covered his clothes, and he felt tired, and hungry. He hoped someone would feed him at the front if he made it there, but food was a luxury at this battle site. Gunfire erupted from the forest. The truck ahead disintegrated as flames engulfed it. Yuri’s windshield shattered inward. A bullet barely missed his right eye. Shards of broken glass struck his face. His truck slid off the road, smashing down several shrubs before stopping. Yuri grabbed his rifle, knocked open his door, dove to the ground, and crawled into the marsh. He hid behind a large oak tree and waited for his breathing to slow. Men’s screams pierced the air. Yuri looked back at the ambush site. Four trucks were burning, including the armored escort vehicle. Several Soviets were returning the fire, but Yuri could not see the source. He ran away from the bullets and the screams and certain death. He stopped

when the convoy was out of sight, but he could still hear the screams and smell the gunpowder. His arms and legs trembled. He wanted to get far away from the bullets that were ripping through the bodies of his comrades. He walked deeper into the woods, but just like in Finland, something in his soul forced him to turn around and head toward the danger. Walking through the mud and wading through marsh water, he moved in the direction of the noise. The enemy came into view. Two soldiers sat on a hill, one firing a machine gun and the other loading. Yuri crept close, keeping behind the trees as best he could. With only a rifle, he was no match for a machine gunner unless he could have the element of surprise. He lamented that an ancient .22-calibre rifle was the only weapon the quartermaster would issue to him. At forty yards, he froze. The loader looked his way and spoke to the gunner. Yuri lifted his rifle as the gunner aimed his weapon at him. The adversaries fired at the same time. The tree beside Yuri splintered as he pulled his trigger. The gunner’s head jerked, and he fell onto his weapon. The loader pushed the body aside and grabbed the gun as Yuri reloaded and aimed. A moment later, the loader lay dead beside his partner. Yuri caught his breath. He had cheated death again. His heart pounded, but his hands no longer shook. He ran up the hill and retrieved the machine gun. It was heavy, but he managed to carry it down to the remains of the convoy. The drivers lay dead, either in their trucks or along the road. Many had been friends and had endured the icy trips with him across Lake Ladoga. He found his truck and lifted a bottle of vodka from the floor. A deep swig burned his throat. He sat on the fender, surveying the damage. Of all the trucks, his was the only one that looked potentially useable. He threw the captured weapon into the back compartment. One wheel of his truck was flat, the rubber destroyed by a bullet. He removed it as quickly as possible while scanning the forest for enemy soldiers. The noise was certain to have attracted unwanted attention. Thirty minutes ed as he removed a tire from one of the destroyed trucks and placed it on his truck. He climbed onto the seat, pushing off the broken pieces of glass. The key remained in the ignition. He turned it. The engine sputtered and came to life. Yuri backed out of the bushes. A wrecked truck blocked the road behind him.

Forward was the only way he could go. He was glad. He wanted revenge, and that meant helping the Soviets, whom he hated, defeat the Nazis, whom he hated even more. He reached the Second Army at dawn. Lieutenant General Vlasov himself came out of his tent to meet him. Yuri was impressed with his youth and vigor. He was only forty-five years old. “Where is the rest of the convoy?” Vlasov asked. “Destroyed.” Yuri climbed out of the truck. He was filthy and covered with cuts from the broken windshield. “What happened?” “Ambush.” Yuri pointed at the captured German machine gun. “They had us pinned down with that. I got lucky with my .22 rifle, but not before everybody else was dead.” Several other officers arrived and inspected the contents of the truck. One squinted at Yuri. “You took out a machine gun with a .22?” “Yes.” “How?” “I hit them before they hit me. A .22 will kill you just as dead as a machine gun.” Vlasov waved off the intruders. “What’s your name, son?” “Yuri Krylov, sir.” “You did good. We desperately needed that ammunition. It took courage to continue after everyone else was dead. Most men would have gone back.” “Those bastards are not going to beat us, sir. Not while I’m alive.” He was still angry at the slaughter of his friends. The general smiled. “I like your attitude, Krylov. Come into the tent. There is coffee and bread. I would like to hear more details.”

CHAPTER 28 SOVIET UNION (June 1942)

Yuri looked down the familiar, muddy road with trepidation. How many times have I made this trip to the front and returned alive? When will my luck run out? He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. What mattered now was helping the Second Shock Army to escape. A huge battle was taking place at Skaya Polist, a swampy area seventy-five miles southeast of Leningrad. The Nazis surrounded the Soviets, but the Fiftyninth Army had opened a narrow supply and escape route. The embattled troops were evacuating, but they desperately needed ammunition. Without it, the Germans would capture them, and Leningrad would fall. He slapped the horses with the reins. He would never get to the front at this pace. He thought of the officer that he had met on his first trip. He had liked General Vlasov, and apparently the man had liked him since he had recommended Yuri for a medal. He missed his truck. A grenade had disabled it the previous week, and now he was stuck with a wagon pulled by two malnourished horses. He leaned back on his seat and scanned the woods. All was quiet. Beside him sat a soldier with an automatic rifle. The brass was taking no chances. The troops had to have this ammunition. The soldier kept his eyes roving the trees. He was an older man, in his midfifties, with a dark beard and a rough manner. The war had taken its toll in lost friends and disappointments. He never smiled and seldom spoke. After riding for an hour, the soldier broke the silence. “How much further?” “About twenty kilometers,” Yuri said as they ed the carcasses of three demolished trucks.

“Looks like somebody had a bad day.” “We got hit three weeks ago. Only three of us made it through that night.” The man smiled for the first time. “I think I got on the right wagon. You seem to live with a charmed existence. I heard about that first convoy.” Yuri frowned. “Don’t get too comfortable. That kind of luck can’t last forever.” “It will have to last if we are to save Saint Petersburg.” Yuri was surprised to hear the abandoned name for Leningrad. He looked at his companion as the sound of a single gunshot reached his ears. The man lurched back and then fell forward on his face, his rifle clattering to the ground. Yuri lashed the reins and yelled. A second shot whistled past his head as the horses lunged forward. He yelled again and swung the reins once more down hard on the straining horses. Another bullet struck the wagon beside his knee. The horses ran. Three more shots struck the wagon before it moved out of range. Yuri tried to slow the frightened horses, but they kept running. The wagon hit a pothole and bounced to the right. He held to the seat and pulled on the reins. The left horse tripped. The wagon swerved. It struck a tree and lost a wheel. Yuri flew through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a deep pool of mud. Pain shot through his body. Fear forced him to crawl to his feet. His ts ached, but he was able to walk. Black mud soaked through his clothes, and abrasions covered his arms. The soldier lay beside him, half submerged in stagnant water. Yuri grasped his shirt and lifted him out of the muck. A gaping hole replaced the top of his skull, and scrambled brains protruded through the shattered skull. Yuri dropped the corpse back into the marsh. He waded back to the overturned wagon. The left horse had broken its leg. The other horse neighed in panic. Yuri found his .22-caliber rifle under the seat and quickly ended the injured horse’s misery. It brought back memories of Dmitrii and how he had almost dispatched him the

same way several years ago. His escape to might have been successful, and he could be fighting for the Nazis now instead of doing everything within his power to stop them. It made him doubly glad he had made the right choice. The Nazis were evil and had to be destroyed before they enslaved the entire world. He comforted the surviving horse until she calmed enough for him to free her from the wagon. She wandered into the woods but stopped thirty feet away and drank from the marsh. Yuri looked at his overturned wagon. It was beyond repair. He peered up the road searching for the sniper but saw nothing. An eerie quiet permeated the forest. After the horse rested, Yuri walked to it and stroked its face. It shied away but did not run. Yuri flipped a rope over its neck and guided it back to the wagon. “You and I are going to the front,” he explained to her. The horse shook its head, flinging mud off her mane. Yuri laughed. “I hope that does not mean no.” The animal stood still as Yuri tied two large bags of ammunition together and laid them across her back. She flinched, but did not resist. With leather straps, Yuri created a harness and placed it over her head. After securing her to a tree, he returned to the dead horse, and with his knife carved out too large chunks of meat from her flanks and slipped them into his knapsack. Then he picked up a bag of bread and secured it onto the horse’s back. The bread bag was large but not heavy. With his rifle on his shoulder, he led the horse toward the front.

Four hours ed. Much gunfire came from the forest. Yuri walked toward it. Soon he arrived at the top of a hill defended by ten Soviet soldiers with rifles and a machine gun. Their leader, a slightly overweight officer of medium height with brown eyes and short brown hair, greeted him. “Mr. Krylov? How in the world did you get past the enemy?” Yuri recognized him as the young captain who had brought him bread and coffee when he had met with General Vlasov. “Captain Uspenskii, it’s a pleasure to see

you.” The officer slapped him on the back. “You’re the welcome sight. I hope you have rounds for our machine gun. We can’t use it without them.” He pointed to their biggest weapon. Yuri’s eyes followed his finger to the Soviet DP light machine gun. “They’re in the bags, sir. There’s bread, too, if anybody is hungry.” He removed his knapsack and handed it to the captain. “You might enjoy what is in here too. He brought down the bag of bread as two corpsmen took the heavier bags. His legs wobbled. “Mind if I sit down, sir?” The captain pointed to a large rock. “Be my guest.” He looked inside the knapsack and smiled at the horsemeat. “This will be a real treat if the Krauts give us time to cook it. He turned to the soldier beside him. “Bring us coffee.” Yuri accepted his cup and savored the hot drink. “How is the evacuation going?” Captain Uspenskii pointed down the hill. Troops marched out over a dirt trail. “We have opened up a narrow corridor through the enemy lines. I’m not sure how long we can keep it open. The Germans are hitting us pretty hard. We were getting ready to pull back until you arrived. There was not much we could do without ammunition.” Yuri nodded. “Looks pretty bleak.” “Yes. I doubt we will get out more than half the Second Army. It depends on how long we keep this corridor open. Once it closes, the men are lost, and if they are lost, so is Leningrad.” “Where is General Vlasov?” “I don’t know for sure. Down there with his troops somewhere.” Yuri looked around the camp. The ten soldiers appeared dirty, exhausted, and frightened. They looked at him with curiosity. Captain Uspenskii called them over and introduced all to Yuri. “This is the man that took out a Nazi machine gun with his .22-caliber rifle last month. Of the ten trucks in his convoy, his was the only one to get through.”

The sergeant walked up to Yuri. “I don’t understand how you got through this time, but these bullets may just save our lives. Welcome to Acropolis.” He extended his right hand. Yuri shook it. “Acropolis?” “Yes. This is the tallest hill around. We thought it deserved a worthy name.” “Looks like it earned it.” Yuri looked down the hill at scores of German bodies that had fallen trying to reach the summit. Captain Uspenskii turned back to Yuri. “I’m not sure how you do it, but you are one lucky son of a bitch.” “I hope some of that luck wears off on us,” Private Botkin said. He was a short, Asiatic man with black eyes and a blood-crusted bandage on his left arm. “Maybe this ammunition will help you make your own good luck.” Botkin loaded the machine gun. “We will see.” The men relaxed for about an hour as the sentries watched. Then gunfire broke the silence. One of the sentries fell. The soldiers grabbed their rifles and fired down the hill. Yuri watched over a hundred German soldiers swarm up the hill, dodging behind rocks and trees. He aimed his rifle and fired at a soldier sixty yards down the hill. The man stumbled and fell, dropping his rifle. “Damn,” Botkin muttered. “Where did you learn to use that piece-of-shit weapon?” Yuri worked the bolt. “I used to hunt with my father.” For two hours, the Germans kept coming up the hill, firing as they climbed. Two Soviet soldiers fell, followed by the gunner for the machine gun. Another soldier replaced him, but the Germans were almost upon them. Someone yelled, “Grenade!” Yuri looked up to see the round explosive flying through the air straight for

them. Everyone else dove for cover. Yuri knew diving on the ground would do no good. He shouldered his rifle and fired. The bullet hit the grenade in mid air. It exploded, sending shrapnel down on the Germans as well as into the camp. Shearing pain penetrated his hip. The new gunner and feeder keeled over, but so did six Germans. “Unbelievable,” Botkin shouted as he got up from the dust. Captain Uspenskii shook his head in amazement. I have never seen the likes of that. Do you think you could handle that machine gun?” Yuri looked at the heavy weapon surrounded by the bodies of its last three masters. He had trained with one before his tour in Finland. “I guess so.” He fired his rifle at a German soldier thirty yards away. The man collapsed. Yuri tried to stand. The pain shot through his hip. He felt weak and was about to fall when the captain grabbed his arm. Together they staggered to the gun. “You can’t faint on us now, son. The Krauts are coming again.” Yuri looked down the hill. A new wave of at least twenty enemy soldiers ran toward him. He pointed the weapon at a cluster of three, and pulled the trigger. A rapid, staccato sound followed, and the three fell backward as the others dove for cover. Ignoring the red stain spreading on his thigh, Yuri shot two more German soldiers. Captain Uspenskii crawled to each of his men. Besides Private Botkin, there was only one other survivor. Corporal Trusova had a shrapnel wound of the left shoulder that appeared superficial. He was able to use his rifle, which was what mattered most. Yuri continued to fire his machine gun, while the three Soviet soldiers shot their rifles at the hoard of Germans climbing the hill. For fifteen minutes, they held them off. The Germans seemed determined to take the hill, no matter what their losses. Once past it, they would control the high ground overlooking the evacuation route for the Second Army. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri saw Captain Uspenskii throw down his rifle and pull out his pistol and begin firing. Moments later the other two soldiers did the same. They had run out of rounds for their rifles.

Yuri turned to the captain. “Get out of here.” A pained look came across the officer’s face. “What about you?” All heads turned to Yuri. He fired another burst at the climbing Germans. “Somebody has to man this gun. Go while I can still cover you.” The captain hesitated only a moment. “Come on,” he ordered the two other survivors. Yuri did not watch as they scrambled down the back of the hill. He was too busy shooting at the determined figures ascending the hill. Ten minutes later, Yuri’s gun jammed. He tried to fix it. Then an explosion rocked the earth. He fell unconscious.

CHAPTER 29 SOVIET UNION (June 1942)

Yuri rolled to his side. His head throbbed but not as much as his thigh hurt. He opened his eyes, and momentarily, caught his breath. Four German soldiers stood over him, all pointing rifles. Yuri looked up at a German private and spoke in the man’s tongue. “Guten tag.” The soldier cocked his rifle. Yuri closed his eyes. Death had stalked him for years. He had known it would ultimately win. “No!” The voice belonged to a German lieutenant. “Get up,” he commanded Yuri in German. Yuri pulled himself to his feet, fighting the dizziness and the renewed headache. Somehow he knew that he had to prove he could do it, or they would dispense with him like a dying animal. A bullet to the head would be the merciful way, or perhaps a bayonet would prevent the waste of valuable ammunition. The officer pointed to the large rock that the captain had used to share coffee with Yuri just a few hours earlier. Two privates grabbed Yuri’s arms and led him to the rock. “You speak German?” the captain asked. “Yes.” “Where are the rest of your men?” Yuri shook his head, still a little dazed. With effort, he spoke in the language his stepmother had forced him to learn. “Some ran. The others are dead.” He pointed at the bodies scattered around the hilltop. The lieutenant frowned. “Why didn’t you run with your comrades?”

Yuri looked down at his thigh. “Shrapnel in my thigh. I can hardly stand. Running is not an option.” “Still, you could have surrendered. One man fighting an army is suicidal.” Yuri struggled to stay awake. He wanted just to lie down, close his eyes, and rest. “I lived in the gulag. I don’t think a POW camp would be much different. I would just as soon go ahead and die quick.” The lieutenant looked hard at his prisoner. He could not exactly disagree with him. Life as a POW was just a slow form of death. He pointed down the hill. “How many soldiers are left?” Yuri shook his head. He was struggling to stay conscious as blood drained from his thigh. “I don’t know. Not many. Most are dead.” “Where are you from?” Yuri paused. Where am I from? I have moved so much, I’m not sure anymore. “Leningrad,” he said. “Have you been there recently?” “Last week.” Yuri felt weary. He struggled to stay awake. “What is it like?” He thought of his last visit to the city he had grown to love. The bombs had reduced it to rubble. It was a wonder anyone there was still alive. “Hades,” he said. The German’s face contorted in confusion. “What?” “Hell. It’s like hell. Children are starving. Old men collapse in the street and never get back up. Factories lay in ruins. Thieves roam the streets. Nowhere is safe.” The lieutenant put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You fought bravely today. Why? Stalin is a pig. You should know. You were in his slave labor camp.”

Yuri shrugged. “Yes, and I hate Stalin, but what choice do I have? We fight for our survival.” “Do your comrades feel the same way?” Yuri tried to answer, but his head swam as blood continued to flow down his thigh. He opened his mouth but could no longer talk. He felt an overwhelming weakness. His vision blurred. The private gripped his arm, keeping him from falling. “He’s dying.” Yuri’s vision dimmed. For a moment, he thought he could see Tania standing in front of him, trying to coax him to talk to her. Then his eyes closed. The light faded.

Approximately 50 kilometers from that hilltop, Lieutenant Tania Chakovsky unloaded her quota of troops from her transport plane. As soon as the soldiers had disembarked, she taxied to the crude runway and took off toward Moscow. Six other planes followed, including a Yak-1 fighter plane, piloted by Emilian Shamko. Emilian’s voice interrupted the radio static. “Lieutenant Chakovsky.” “Yes.” “Drive carefully. It is a long flight.” She enjoyed having a friend who cared. “You, too, Emilian. Try not to stall.” His laugh reached her earphones before Emilian terminated the transmission. He had been one of her students in Moscow before the war. On his first training flight with her, he climbed too rapidly and stalled, sending their Po-2 biplane tumbling toward the ground. Tania had waited for several seconds before taking charge and bringing the aircraft back under control. She liked to remind him whenever he became too cocky. They had been stationed together for the past six months, and his presence reassured her. Emilian was an excellent fighter pilot, and on more than one

occasion, he had chased off Nazi fighters that had threatened her transport plane. She ired his skill and was only a little jealous that he could fly a fighter plane and she, a mere woman, was relegated to a transport. Her plane left the runway, and for thirty minutes, the flight was uneventful. Tania’s co-pilot Vera, a slightly overweight, but vivacious young woman with brown hair and brown eyes, chatted as she watched the sky, looking for enemy fighters. “What’s going on between you and Emilian?” Tania shrugged. “What do you mean?” Vera grinned. “You two seem to gravitate together after every mission. I don’t think it’s just a coincidence.” “We’re just friends. I’ve known him since flight school. We just like to talk to each other.” “Oh, come on.” “It’s true, and it works out for the best. He watches my butt when we are over hostile territory.” Vera giggled. “He watches your butt every time you walk within eyesight.” Tania turned to face her co-pilot. “That’s not true.” Vera’s expression lost its humor. She pointed to the right. Tania’s gaze followed Vera’s fingers. Two German Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighters approached. Tania increased her speed. “We can’t outrun a 109,” Vera shouted. “I hope Emilian really is watching your butt.” Minutes ed. The 109s drew closer. Vera searched the sky. “Where’s Emilian?” Tania felt her heart pound. “I don’t know. He must be behind us somewhere.” Vera’s voice quaked. “Well, he’d better show up real quick, or it won’t matter. We’ll be history.”

The closest 109 fired at them. Tania pulled into a dive, using the maneuver to increase her speed and to dodge the bullets. She pulled back just before hitting the ground and soared just above the trees. Vera cheered. “He got them.” Tania turned her head to the left and grinned as she saw both 109s in flames plunging toward the earth. Then she gasped. Smoke came from the Yak-1. “They hit Emilian!” She initiated a slow turn to the left to see better what transpired. The flames increased. The plane rolled to the left and slowed. Vera put her hand to her mouth. “He’s going to stall.” Tania stared at the burning plane as it lost its lift and tumbled toward the ground. She struggled to keep from vomiting. “Jump!” Then, as if he had actually been able to hear her, Emilian emerged from the falling plane and fell for what seemed forever before his parachute opened. He reached the ground within minutes. Tania flew toward the trees where he had landed. “What are you doing?” Vera asked. “We can’t leave him here. He may be hurt.” Vera looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “There’s nothing but forest down there.” “I saw a clearing about a mile back.” “Yes, I saw it too. It’s too short. You’ll end up in the trees.” Tania did not answer. She was too busy looking for Emilian. “There he is.” Vera stared at the parachute that was suspended from a tree. “I hope he’s all right.” “We are going to find out.”

Moments later, they flew over the clearing. Tania and Vera inspected it as they ed. “It looks mighty bumpy,” Vera noted. “Yes, but I think we can do it.” Tania took the plane into a long smooth turn. She brought the plane low over the trees at the bottom of their descent. The wheels hit the rough ground. The plane bounced and almost stalled before the wheels again touched the ground. It bounced once more but stayed level. Vera screamed. They sped across the field, slashing against small shrubs and tree spouts. The plane finally came to a stop in a patch of mud, thirty meters from a large oak tree. Tania turned to her and laughed. “Told you we could do it.” Vera shook her head in disbelief. Tania was already opening the door. Vera followed her out of the plane, and they jumped into the mud. Tania marched into the forest with Vera behind her. An hour ed before they found the site where Emilian had landed. Tania stared at the empty parachute that hung from a limb on the tree. She called Emilian’s name. He did not answer. She looked at the flattened weeds on the ground under the tree. Blood discolored the grass. More blood stained a rock ten feet away. Tania searched further and found more. “He went this way.” They walked in the direction of the stains. The sun disappeared behind the trees, and the sky became dark. Soon Tania could no longer see which way Emilian had gone. She stopped and stared at Vera. “I’ve lost the tracks.” The fighter pilot stepped from behind a large oak. “I think you did pretty well.” Tania spun to face him. “Emilian!” His eyes flashed disapproval. “What are you doing here?” “What do you think?” “I think I got shot down saving your ass, and you have put yourself right back in danger.”

“And what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just fly back to Moscow and leave your butt here for the Germans?” “That is exactly what you were supposed to do. I can take care of myself.” In spite of his macho stance, Tania noticed he was favoring one leg and looked very uncomfortable. She bent to her knees. “Let me see that ankle.” “It’s just sprained.” Tania started to remove his boot but stopped when she realized how swollen his ankle had become. “It’s broken.” Looking up, she saw the cut on his arm with blood crusted on his uniform. He stepped forward, but almost fell as the pain swept up his leg. “It is just a scratch.” “Right. Let me look at it.” She tore the shirt enough to get a better look. There was a deep laceration, but it was not bleeding anymore. “OK, fly-boy. We need to turn around and go back to our plane.” Tania took his good arm and draped it over her shoulders. Vera ed him from the other side. Emilian did not object, although Tania could tell the pain was intense. It took three hours to reach the plane. Emilian looked at the tiny clearing. “You landed in this?” “Sure.” He pointed at the huge oak just beyond the propeller. “You just missed that tree.” Tania shrugged. “That was the easy part. Getting out is going to be the challenge.” “It cannot be done. We are going to have to walk.” “You can’t walk anywhere with that broken leg.” She turned to Vera. “We’ve got to turn the plane.” “But how?”

“I will start the engine, and you will have to push the rear of the plane around while I advance.” “In this mud?” “We will have to pull up weeds and put them under the wheels. It won’t be fun, but we can do it.” Vera threw up her hands and groaned. “This is absurd.” An hour later, Vera was totally covered in mud, and the plane was facing the field. “We still can’t take off. These shrubs and tree spouts will slow us down too much. We will never get off the ground.” “That’s why we are going to build ourselves an airfield.” Vera shook her head in disbelief. Emilian slept under the oak tree. Darkness fell. Tania pulled out her knife. “Come on.” She hacked at the closest shrub. Soon it was short enough for the wings to over it without . Vera frowned but took out her knife and followed Tania’s lead. The sun rose before Tania felt satisfied. Filthy and exhausted, she and Vera walked back to the plane. She awoke Emilian. “Time to climb aboard.” He opened his eyes and grimaced. Tania and Vera took his arms and helped him to walk to the plane. They lifted him, and he climbed inside the fuselage. Tania and Vera strapped themselves into their seats. Vera shook her head. “This will never work.” Tania smiled, feigning complete confidence. “Of course it will.” Emilian lifted himself and looked through the windshield. “This is insane. You’re going to kill us all.” “Do you have any better ideas?” “We could stay here and wait for help. Someone is sure to see the plane here.”

“Yeah, someone with a swastika on his wing.” She turned to her controls. “Strap in, soldier. We’re going to find some clouds.” Emilian rolled his eyes. “You really are nuts.” The engine roared to life. The plane crept forward. Tania gave it more gas. It cleared the mud. As it increased speed, the plane bounced, and the wing almost hit the ground. Tania kept the gas at maximum as they rushed across the narrow path they had cleared. The trees at the end of the field loomed bigger and bigger. Vera yelled, “Stop!” They were within seconds of the trees. The wheels left the ground, but floated back onto the dirt. “Oh my god.” Vera braced for the crash. The plane again left the ground and headed straight for the top of the trees. It jerked as the wheels touched the tip of a branch, but the plane continued to rise. Vera bounced in her seat. “We did it. We really did it.” Emilian smiled. “Good job, Lieutenant. I never doubted you could fly anything anywhere.”

CHAPTER 30 SOVIET UNION TO POLAND (July 1942)

Yuri awoke to pain in his head and his left thigh. Opening his eyes, he found himself on a cot in a large tent. Rows of other cots contained wounded men, sweating in the heat. All appeared uncomfortable and apprehensive. Two men stood near the flap of the tent. Their German uniforms and hostile expressions left no doubt that his fate rested in enemy hands. Slowly the events of his capture drifted back into his mind. He wondered why he was still alive. Later in the day, a nurse changed his dressings and brought him food. That night he lay awake wondering what lay ahead. If I survive my injuries, will I go to a POW camp? Will I wish I had died on the hilltop?

Weeks ed, and Yuri underwent several operations to debride the wound in his thigh. Fortunately, the bone had not been hit, but infection delayed the healing. He was surprised that the Germans bothered, and wondered why they did not let him die. Could they have some special plan for him? He had proven his German language proficiency. Did they need interpreters? In the middle of July, he discovered their purpose. By then, the wound had almost healed. He was able to walk, although he had a pronounced limp. That morning he was walking up and down the rows of beds under the scrutiny of a Nazi guard. The flap to the tent flew open, and a German captain appeared. The guard snapped to attention, extending his arm and evoking a loud, “Heil Hitler.” The captain pointed to Yuri, turned, and walked out. The guard grasped Yuri’s arm and led him to the doorway of the tent. They walked down a wide path to another tent. Yuri’s leg hurt, but he did not bother to complain. That was the least of his problems, and he did not think the gorilla at his side gave a damn.

The guard pushed him inside the tent. General Vlasov sat at a table, drinking a glass of vodka. Yuri saluted. The general reciprocated and pointed to a chair. He inhaled on his cigarette and offered one to Yuri. Yuri shook his head. The pneumonia had done enough damage to his lungs without him compounding it. “I hear you put on quite a show for the Germans back on that hill.” Yuri slipped into the seat. The Soviet general’s presence baffled him. “Maybe you can tell them I wish I could have killed a dozen more scumbags.” The general frowned. “That’s not such a good idea. Not if you want to leave this camp alive.” He lifted his glass, finished off its contents, and then refilled it as well as a second glass that he pushed across his desk to Yuri. Yuri swallowed its contents in one big gulp. It was sharp going down, but the pain in his leg diminished. “I don’t think there is much chance of that anyway, sir.” “The odds may be better than you think.” Yuri could not understand the general’s point. He still was perplexed that Vlasov was sitting across from him, smoking a cigarette, and enjoying good liquor. “What are you doing here, sir?” “Same as you. Ran out of ammunition and got captured.” “But why the royal treatment? They don’t usually give cigarettes and vodka to POWs.” Vlasov looked away. Yuri thought he was blushing. Then he returned his gaze to Yuri. “I have agreed to help them.” Yuri could not believe it. This was the man who just weeks before had seemed ready to die to stop the Germans. “But why?” “Stalin. I love Russia as much as anyone, but Stalin has turned it into his private latrine. He has destroyed its wealth and its soul. If he wins this war, he will be stronger than ever. The Germans are our only hope to get rid of him.”

Yuri shook his head. “That may be true, sir, but Hitler will be even worse. At least Stalin is one of us. To Hitler, we are less than humans. We will all be slaves if he does not exterminate us.” “That’s not true. I have talked to the generals here. Hitler only wants to keep Poland and the Ukraine. Russia itself will be treated well, especially if we help overthrow Stalin.” “We?” Surely he does not think I would fight against my country? “Yes. I want you to us.” Yuri felt cold all over. He hated Stalin and wished he were dead. Vlasov was right. If Stalin won this war, he would be even more powerful than ever. Russia would be doomed to years more of his terror. Yuri respected Vlasov. He had to listen to what he said. “Why, me?” “Because you know better than anyone what a tyrant Stalin is. You have lived in the gulag.” His revelation startled Yuri. He had never discussed that with the General or with any of his men. “How do you know that?” “The German lieutenant who captured you told me. He went to a lot of trouble to save your life because he thought you might come to our side.” “Go on.” “The German POW camps are much worse than Stalin’s labor camps. You would never survive to see the end of the war. Even if Soviet troops rescue you, Stalin will send you back to the camps. To him, being captured is treason. me, and you will avoid that slow death, and more important, you will help free our country from that monster Stalin.” “He is a monster,” Yuri said, half to himself. “He’s responsible for my parents’ deaths. If I could, I would kill him myself.” “Yes.” Vlasov slammed his fist on the table. “Then, you will me, and we will kill the bastard together.”

He is right, Yuri thought. This is the only way to finish off Stalin—to end the curse of communism. Why should I die to protect a murderer? Russia does not deserve another decade of his brutal dictatorship. Vlasov stood and extended his hand. “You will not regret your decision. I will have some rank in the new regime. You will not be forgotten.” He continued to hold out his hand, waiting for Yuri to respond. Yuri’s hand trembled as if it were resisting his brain’s signals. He returned it to his side, without grasping his best chance for survival. “I cannot. I agree with everything you have said, and I understand why you’re doing what you are doing. It is just that to do what you want, I will not be killing Stalin. I will be killing Russian men, just like myself who just want to live and be left alone. I can’t do it.” Vlasov put a hand on his shoulder. “But what about Stalin?” Yuri thought for a moment. It was a difficult choice. He knew first hand that Stalin was evil. Hitler, however, was just as bad, maybe worse. Finally, he said what he truly believed. “The Germans are lying. Hitler will not settle for just Poland and Ukraine. He will be even worse than Stalin. He wants to eliminate us so Germans can take over our lands. If he lets us live, it will be as slaves to his empire.” “You’re wrong, son. This is your chance to help your country. I know it sounds strange, but it is the truth. Russia will never be free until Stalin is dead.” “That may be true, sir, but trading one tyrant for a worse one will not help.” General Vlasov removed his hand from Yuri’s shoulder. “It is your choice. I have seen the POW camps. You don’t want to be there.” Yuri lifted his head and met the general’s stare. “I have been in worse places, sir. I will take my chances.”

The following week, Yuri left the hospital with one hundred other POWs and began a long march. He had no idea where they were going. The guards refused to say anything and were quick to use their rifle butts on any prisoners who attempted to speak to them or even among themselves.

He walked for over a week, fourteen hours a day, stopping at night to sleep in the open under the constant surveillance of stone-faced guards. They arrived at a large encampment, surrounded by a tall wall and rows of barbed wire. There were multiple small cabins as well as large sheds for the prisoners and a large farmhouse for the Germans. Yuri guessed there must be two thousand prisoners. He did not know where he was, but suspected somewhere in Poland. The guards shoved him into one of the large sheds with one hundred other prisoners and gave him a blanket and a single can of beans for his first meal. The prisoners all looked skinny, and the reason was obvious. He grimaced as his eyes scanned the camp. It looked just as bleak as the White Sea labor camp where Valdislav had sent him. He was not sure he could survive that kind of existence again. One of the guards saw Yuri pause and shoved him forward. Yuri resumed walking, but with a different attitude. His anger gave him strength. He would not give up hope. He had survived the slave labor camps and the siege of Leningrad. He could survive the Germans, too.

CHAPTER 31 STALINGRAD (September 1942)

Many miles southeast of Moscow, Tania steered her ANT-35 transport plane through the early morning fog. Vera pointed out the window to the ruins of Stalingrad. The Luftwaffe and German artillery had reduced the buildings to rubble. What had once been a metropolitan home for 500,000 people stood in ruins, but still the city’s fate remained undecided. Hand-to-hand fighting continued, and the Russians refused to retreat any further. The German Sixth Army, led by General Friedrich von Paulus, had pushed to the outskirts of the city and, in places, well into the city, but they had not yet conquered it. “It looks awful out there,” Vera said. “I don’t see how anybody can still be alive.” Tania glanced toward the troops in the back of the airplane. “I’m just glad we don’t have to get off with our cargo.” “Yes, I wonder if any of them will be alive at Christmas.” “I doubt it.” Tania brought the plane closer to the ground. “This is the worst possible place for a soldier on either side.” Vera nodded and shifted her eyes to scan the horizon. “Tania.” She pointed to her right with a trembling finger. A Focke-Wulf 190A fighter plane headed straight for them. It was so close that Tania could see the details of its Nazi insignia. She accelerated her engine and jerked to the right as the Nazi fighter opened fire with its 20-mm cannon. The windshield shattered inward, and the aircraft jerked. Tania put the plane into a dive, seeking the protection of the dense cloud cover near the ground. Someone from the rear compartment screamed. The plane jolted again. A moment later, it penetrated the cloud. The cannon fire stopped.

Her left engine sputtered. Flames rose over the left wing, and the smell of smoke reached her nostrils. She ignored the cold wind whipping through the broken windshield as she struggled to steer the injured airplane. The plane came out of the cloud. Tania looked at her co-pilot. Vera lay slumped back in her seat—her eyes open wide with a fixed stare. Dark blood drained from a huge hole in the center of her flight jacket. Violent vibrations swept through the fuselage. Tania spotted a road by the Volga River. She headed for it. Gunfire erupted from behind her. She knew she was going to die. Yuri’s face flashed into her mind, but she pushed it away. The wheels touched onto the road. The ANT-35 bounced. The wheels regained traction. Tania struggled to keep the aircraft on the pavement as it hurled forward at over 160 kilometers per hour. Somehow she succeeded for 40 meters, but then the left wheel fell into a bomb crater. The plane flipped onto its side, lost its left wing, and slid off the road. None of the controls responded. The cockpit filled with smoke. Then her body jolted forward, throwing her head against the dashboard.

CHAPTER 32 ATLANTIC OCEAN (September 1942)

Hundreds of miles away, Captain Paul Schneider stood on the bridge of his submarine, stalking a convoy of allied freighters. His vessel was not alone. Six U-boats had converged on the ships. It was going to be a good week. He had sunk two ships three days earlier, bringing his total to eleven. With a little luck, by tomorrow it would be thirteen. After his last voyage, he had had a personal audience with Hitler who presented him with the Knight’s Cross. It should have been the pinnacle of his career, but seeing his Fuehrer had disconcerted him. The stress of war was taking its toll. Hitler seemed tense and distracted, but he still expressed gratitude to Paul for his financial and emotional and for his bravery in defending the Reich. The honor had been great, but Paul had left feeling uneasy. Something was not right with the Fuehrer. A thousand meters away, a ship burst into flames. One of his pack of U-boats had initiated their attack. Paul gave the order to fire. Torpedo number one ejected into the water followed by torpedo number two. He watched for what seemed an eternity. Then he saw the first explosion, followed shortly afterward by the second. His target disintegrated. “We got it,” he yelled down the hatch. He watched the ship sink beneath the surface and then scanned the periphery for other vessels. A large object came into focus through his binoculars. “Destroyer.” The men on the bridge jumped through the hatch. Paul followed. “Dive!”

They descended to one hundred meters. “Maybe they didn’t see us,” Otto whispered. “Keep quiet.” Paul heard the approaching destroyer’s motors. “Go deeper.” As they descended, another sound caught every man’s attention. “Ping.” The destroyer was searching for them with its sonar. Then depth charges shook the boat. Light bulbs burst. Paul screamed orders to change course and to keep descending. At two hundred meters, the U-boat again leveled out. The pings continued. Depth charges shook the vessel again. The remaining lights went out. The explosions knocked Paul to the floor. He opened his eyes to complete darkness. The U-boat rotated as she continued to dive. “Level her out.” He was not sure if the boat could hold together if it descended any further. The pressure of the water already put it to a severe test. There was no answer. The boat plunged downward. Its walls creaked. Paul felt cold, salty water soak through his pants. He dragged himself upright, holding onto a beam for . The boat rocked back and forth, and a loud noise reverberated from its hull. The water rose above his waist. Another explosion knocked him off his feet. He lifted his head and heard water rushing into the boat. It lapped around his chin, and he recognized his fate. For him the war was over. He would not live to see the ultimate victory.

CHAPTER 33 STALINGRAD (September 1942)

Tania could not see for the smoke that filled the cockpit. Her head hurt, and she ached everywhere. She touched her scalp where the pain emanated, and her hand came away soaked with blood. She took a deep breath and coughed. Men’s curses came from the back of the fuselage, alerting her that at least some of her cargo had survived. The plane was still on its side, and something was lying on top of her. Horrified, she realized it was the bloody corpse, which minutes before had been Vera, her very lively best friend and confident. It was heavy. She struggled with her seat belt until it released. Using all her strength, she pushed the body out of her lap. She coughed, coughed again, and fought for air. Her eyes burned. Taking her left foot, she kicked the shattered windshield. It did not budge. She kicked again. She struggled to breathe and could not stop coughing. Blindly she slammed her foot against the glass. It gave way. Cold air rushed into the cockpit. She took a deep breath and coughed even more violently. The broken windshield was only inches away, but it seemed like yards. Pain exploded through her body as she pulled herself upward to the jagged opening. It felt as if the NKVD had beaten her with clubs. Closing her mind to everything except survival, she climbed through the hole. Her sense of triumph vaporized as her hand lost its grip. She fell, tumbling helplessly through the air. She hit the ground with a thud. Before she could cry out, a strong hand gripped her shoulder. She heard a man’s voice. “Get up.” She hesitated, trying to decide if that was possible. Pain extended to every part of her body. “I can’t move.” The voice was rough with urgency. “The plane is going to explode.” She looked at the flames sweeping up from the wrecked aircraft. “My soldiers?”

“They’re out already.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on.” Tania moved her aching legs as quickly as she could and hobbled with the soldier toward a clump of trees. A loud noise and a flash of light swept over her. She dove for the ground. Burning debris flew in every direction. Tania lifted her head, surprised to be alive and functional. Her gaze turned to the burning wreckage. Vera! Her companion seemed to read her mind. “There’s nothing we can do for her now.” He tugged at her arm. She stood and looked around the crash site. Crumbled concrete lay everywhere. No buildings had been left standing. Her eyes scanned the sky. “What happened to that Focke-Wulf?” Her protector pointed to the flames off in the distance. “Our gunmen on the bank of the river must have gotten him.” He paused, looking at Tania. “That was brilliant.” She did not feel brilliant. Her ANT-35 had just crashed. “What?” “Hiding in the clouds and bringing him over here.” Tania shrugged. “There were not many options. I really didn’t think we would still be alive now.” “I don’t understand how you kept that plane together. It was shimmering like a topless dancer.” She laughed at the comparison. “Sounds like you have been around, soldier.” She held out her hand. “I’m Lieutenant Tania Chakovsky.” “Sergeant Stepan Radek at your service.” He shook her hand and then stepped back, saluting. “How many survivors do we have?” “Nine. Lieutenant Beloborodov took a round in the chest. We left his body in the plane. The rest all are intact, other than a lot of bruises and abrasions, and they have their weapons.”

“Good. We are going to need them.” “Miliukov,” Stepan called. “Give Beloborodov’s Tommy-gun to Lieutenant Chakovsky.” The soldier handed the submachine gun to Tania. “Do you know how to use this thing?” “Yes.” She checked the weapon and chambered a round, releasing the safety. “I believe our command post is that way.” Stepan pointed into the city. “I’m ready.” Stepan raised an arm and moved it forward. His men picked up their packs and fanned out as they walked into the ghost city, covering each other as they advanced from one ruin to the next. Without warning, gunfire erupted. The lead man fell, blood spurting from his neck. Tania dove behind a stone wall. Bullets whizzed over her head. Staying low as gunfire erupted all around her, she crawled along the wall. Reaching the end, she lifted her head. Bullets splattered against the stone beside her face. She sprinted into a battered building and peered down a deserted hall. A Nazi soldier jumped out of a doorway. He was thin and dirty and looked as frightened as she. He hesitated, probably shocked to see a woman with long blonde hair. He lifted his rifle as another soldier ran out the door behind him. Tania fired three rapid rounds as two more men came out the door with guns blazing. She dove through an open doorway and slid behind a dresser. Heavy footsteps approached. She did not wait for them to reach the doorway. She fired through the wall in the direction of the sounds. A man yelled. Moments later, she heard a thud. She waited for several minutes, trying to slow her rapid breathing. She knew that she could not stay. If her troops moved forward, she would be alone in enemy territory. It would only be a matter of time before the Nazi soldiers killed, or worse, captured her alive. She imagined what the Germans could do to a woman prisoner who had just killed several of their friends. Sweat poured from her brow.

Then she heard Stepan calling her name. Relief flooded through her. “I’m in here.” Moments later, he barged into the room, rifle ready. “Good god, lady.” He lowered his rifle as Tania stepped from behind the dresser. “There are four dead Krauts outside your door.” Tania nodded, relieved to know there were no surviving Germans in the hallway. “Did you do that?” “Yes.” “Damn. I heard the shots and ran over here to protect you from the Nazis. Now I wonder who is to protect the Nazis from you.” “Come on.” She hurried through the doorway. “We need to get to the roof.” They left the room and ran up four flights of stairs. On the flat roof, they crept to the edge, and from the elevated position, could see six Germans crouched behind a wall, firing at their men, who were pinned down behind rocks and rubble. One lay sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood. “They are sitting ducks from here,” Stepan said, grinning. “They haven’t seen us yet.” Tania and Stepan took aim and opened fire. Four of the ambushers fell. The other two dove for cover. Stepan then waved to his men to move up. Minutes later, the remaining two Germans threw down their rifles and came out with their hands high above their heads. The Soviet survivors collected the weapons of the fallen soldiers and marched into the city with their two prisoners. Every building seemed a perfect hiding place for enemy soldiers. An hour later, a loud voice commanded them to stop. They looked up to see twenty rifles pointed at them from behind buildings and overturned cars. They all stood still as a Soviet lieutenant showed himself. “Who are you?”

Tania stepped forward. “Lieutenant Tania Chakovsky of the Soviet Air Force. The Germans shot down my transport plane. These men are reinforcements from Siberia for General Chuikov.” The lieutenant paused, then smiled. “Welcome to Stalingrad.”

Arriving at the Soviet headquarters, the soldiers received their assignments. Exhausted, Tania went to sleep early, trying to keep warm with a single wool blanket. A young private awoke her before dawn. “General Chuikov wishes to see you.” Tania sat upright. “Why does he want to see me?” “I don’t know, but you should hurry. He doesn’t like to wait.” Tania stood and folded her blanket. She did not have to dress. She had slept in her uniform. Ignoring her complaining bladder, she told the private to lead the way. Entering his bunker, she saluted the general, who sat at a low table, looking over a map. “Have a seat, Lieutenant,” he said. “Would you like some coffee?” “Yes. Something warm would be nice.” She sat on the folding chair across the table from the commanding officer. A soldier sprang forward with a cup and filled it with black, hot liquid. The cup warmed her cold hands. “Thank you.” General Chuikov watched her movements with an ambivalent expression on his face. “Sergeant Radek told me about your performance yesterday.” It had not been a stellar day. She had failed to reach her landing strip. It had cost several men their lives, and her ANT-35 was destroyed. “I’m sorry I lost the plane. The Focke-Wulf appeared out of nowhere.” Chuikov held up his hand. “You did well, Lieutenant. You saved most of your engers, and we desperately need those men. The Germans are determined to

take Stalingrad.” Tania lifted her hand and pushed her tangled curls out of her face. “It looks like they already control much of it.” “Yes, but we are still here, and they are not going to enjoy this winter at all.” Tania smiled and sipped the bitter, hot coffee. “I don’t envy you, sir. No one is going to relish the next few months.” Chuikov put down his mug. “The Sergeant said you outmaneuvered the German fighter and conned him into flying over our artillery and then managed to land a burning plane that was vibrating so hard it felt like an earthquake.” Tania concealed her grin as she recalled his more animated description of the day before. “Did he mention the plane turned over and exploded?” “Yes, but only after you had put it down on a narrow, winding road full of bomb craters and steered it intact for over forty meters.” “It was nothing special, sir. It’s what we are trained to do.” “Then you ran into a building and killed four Nazis by yourself so that you and he could get to the roof to wipe out the gunmen who had your men trapped below.” Tania was not used to praise. She was not sure how to respond. “I didn’t have much choice, General. It was a simple test of survival.” Chuikov smiled at last. “Yes, a test that most men would have failed. You are an exceptional soldier, Lieutenant Chakovsky. You’re wasting your talents flying transport planes.” Tania felt stunned. It was a supreme compliment, coming from one of the foremost generals in the Soviet army. “Thank you, sir.” She hoped he was not going to recommend her for his ground forces. “I have a proposition for you, but you would have to quit flying transports.” Tania’s heart froze. Flying was all she had ever wanted to do. She did not want

to give it up. She waited for him to continue. “A few women are flying fighter planes over Stalingrad. It’s a dangerous life, but some of them are making a name for themselves. Tania took a deep breath. It was her greatest ambition to fly the fastest and most exciting airplanes. “You want me to be a fighter pilot?” “You certainly have the skill and the courage. I think you could do it.” “I know I could do it. I just did not think I would ever get the chance.” General Chuikov stood indicating the interview was completed. “I take it your answer is affirmative.” “Yes.” She could hardly control her excitement. “Very affirmative.” She accepted his extended hand. “Good. You will need some more training. I will make the arrangements.”

CHAPTER 34 BAVARIA (1942)

Two months after Paul’s death, Valentina decided to visit the family lens factory. Now that Paul was dead, it belonged to her. Bernhard von Hertling, the factory manager, had continued sending monthly statements that showed it made a profit. He was a strong Hitler er, and Valentina suspected Paul had told him of her reservations because he had never seemed to like her. She sensed he would have much preferred that she stay at home and let him run the factory without interference. Perhaps he had a valid point. It was running smoothly, and she did not want to endure his condescending attitude. Still, it was her company, and ultimately, her responsibility. Therefore, she put on her conservative black dress and asked Andreas to drive her there. She normally drove the car herself, but having a chauffeur seemed to give her a little more status to face von Hertling and the factory workers. Also, she valued Andreas’ opinion and wanted him to see how the factory was running. She was sure she could trust him. He had worked all his life for her family and had risked his life to help Rebecca to escape. The factory was fifty kilometers from Munich on a two-lane road through a dense forest. The drive took almost an hour. Andreas parked in front of the main building. Valentina stared at the factory. She had not been there for years. Paul had told her he had enlarged it, but she had had no idea how much it had grown. There were two huge buildings behind the original small optical building. Even the parking lot was enormous. Cars and trucks filled it. The little optical company had become a huge factory. Several soldiers stood near the entrance. Valentina wondered why they were there. She hardly noticed that Andreas had gotten out of the car until he opened the door. The cheery morning sunlight did nothing to diminish the grim feeling that slammed through her. “I’m not sure I am ready for this.” Andreas took her hand, helping her exit the automobile. “You will do fine. Just

who is the boss. You don’t have to impress anyone. It’s their job to impress you.” Valentina sighed. “You don’t know Bernhard von Hertling.” They stepped into the original building. It seemed unchanged from the first day Paul had taken her there before their marriage. She recognized the optician who had been the overseer. Mr. Arp was a kindly old man with pale blue eyes whose balding head displayed a minimum of gray hair on the sides. His ears and nose were unusually large. He jumped out of his seat the moment that he saw Valentina. “Mrs. Schneider. What a wonderful surprise.” He hurried across the room and took her coat. “May I get you a cup of coffee?” “No thank you, Mr. Arp.” He seemed genuinely glad that she had come, and it helped to relieve her anxiety. “It’s good to see you.” “A lot of years have ed since you visited.” He placed her coat on a wooden rack behind his desk. “I’m sorry about your husband’s death.” “I know.” She worried that she herself was not sorry enough. After all, he had been her husband, even if he had treated her miserably. “He was a brave man.” He motioned to a cushioned chair. She sat. Yes, he was.” She looked around the room. It looked exactly as she ed. “I see you have kept the plant in top shape. It looks as efficient as ever.” Mr. Arp threw open his hands and smiled. “Much more than that. You need to see the new sections. When you were last here, we were a nice little company that made glasses for ordinary people. We have grown beyond belief and have become essential to the war effort.” The last thing Valentina wanted was to help Hitler to win his war. “Oh?” “Yes. You will have to tour the new buildings. Our lenses are the eyes of the navy.” The rear door opened, and the warmth in the room dissipated. Bernhard von

Hertling stepped through the doorway. He cast his eyes on Valentina with an intensity that surprised her. “Mrs. Schneider. What brings you here?” Valentina tried to smile. The man always made her feel uncomfortable. “I thought it was time to see first hand what we have here.” The Nazi walked across the room and stood in front of her. “Well, this is it. Maybe Mr. Arp can show you how he inserts the lens into a frame.” She was unable to keep her fingernails from digging deep into the fabric of the chair. “Actually, I was more interested in seeing the new buildings. I was hoping Mr. Arp could give me a tour.” The fake smile on von Hertling’s face disappeared. “I’m afraid they are off limits. Military security. You understand, I’m sure.” Valentina had expected him to be rude but had no idea that he would try to expel her from her own factory. “No, I don’t understand.” She surprised herself with the angry edge to her voice. Von Hertling addressed her as if he were speaking to a truant child. “Military equipment is made here. We are in the middle of a war. There are rules. Otherwise, the Americans will steal all our secrets. We cannot let just anyone come in the factory.” “I’m not just anyone, Bernhard. I own this place.” She shouted as loudly as he. He flinched at the use of his first name. The gesture gave her some satisfaction. “You need clearance.” His voice was cold but not as overbearing. “Then get it. I’m going to see this factory today. You can either get out of my way, or I will find a new plant manager.” Von Hertling glared at her for a full minute before he finally relaxed his shoulders. “Very well. That will not be necessary.” Valentina turned to Mr. Arp. “Do you have time for that tour?” Before he could answer, von Hertling interrupted in a conciliatory voice. “Mr. Arp has work to do. I would be most honored to lead you myself.”

Valentina would have preferred the congenial Mr. Arp, but he said nothing. “All right, Bernhard. That is most generous.” He nodded and motioned for her to come. He stopped when he saw Andreas had followed. “Your chauffeur will have to wait here.” “This is Andreas Adlon. He is not just my chauffeur. He manages my estate and is my adviser.” Von Hertling glared at Andreas. A faint smile crept across his lips. Valentina blushed as she realized what he was thinking. “All right,” he said, “but don’t be surprised if you receive a letter from Mr. Himmler himself. This is highly irregular.” He led them across the lawn into the first of the huge buildings. In the rear was a long assembly line with workers, mostly women and old men. Each added one piece to a device that at the end of the line became a telescopic riflescope. As the scopes came off the line, three women inspected them and placed them in boxes. Von Hertling introduced Valentina to a balding, overweight middle-aged man, who was missing an arm. Valentina wondered if he had lost it in the war. Von Hertling addressed him with an impatient voice. “Mr. Vogle, this is Mr. Schneider’s wife and her friend Andreas.” The man frowned at the notion of the recent widow having a male friend but quickly recuperated and welcomed her to the factory. “I was very sorry to learn of your husband’s death. He will be ed as a great German.” “Thank you, Mr. Vogle.” She tried to return his smile and to control her anger at von Hertling for his insinuation. “I felt I had to see what we are doing here since the responsibility has fallen on me.” “Well, you can rest assured that the factory is being run efficiently.” He waved his lone arm over the assembly line. “We make the best telescopic lenses in the world right here.” The next building was larger than the first one, and the product, more complex. Von Hertling showed her one of the completed periscopes. She looked through the glass. The view was clear and in focus. She wondered if her factory had made the periscope on Paul’s submarine and thought of him totally submerged

but still able to scan the horizon for Allied ships.

Riding back to the estate, Valentina had Andreas stop the car so she could move to the front seat. “Did you see the expression on Bernhard’s face when I told him he might need to look for a new job?” Andreas faced her with pride in his eyes. “Yes. It completely floored him. He thought you were going to be a complete pushover.” Valentina leaned back on her seat, finally relaxing after a long ordeal. “I just followed your advice. Being the boss makes it a little easier to deal with that jerk.” The smile faded from Andreas’ face. “Just don’t underestimate him, Valentina. That man has the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen.” “Just being around him makes my skin crawl. I think I’m a little bit afraid of him.” Andreas kept his eyes on the road as they drove through the dense forest. “I got the impression that he is not very fond of you.” “He can sense that I don’t like what is happening here—that I don’t want to make periscopes or anything that would help Hitler win his war.” “Then why don’t you close the doors? Just make eyeglasses like Paul’s father used to do. You don’t need the money. You’re one of the wealthiest women in .” Valentina shifted in her seat and looked out the window at the forest of evergreen trees. “I wish it were that simple. If I could, I would keep the factory going and give its products to the Allies. The only way we will ever be free again is to lose this war.” Andreas slowed the car as they rounded a curve. “Then close it.” Valentina frowned. “Didn’t you see all the Nazi troops around the factory? Hitler is not going to let me close it. He will just confiscate the property and probably

the estate too. I’m in a precarious situation. Paul gave Hitler a fortune in donations, but I have not given him a thing in twenty years.”

A month later, Valentina sat at her desk reading the newspaper. She wished that she had a more reliable means of following the progression of the war. There was so much propaganda that she had no idea what to believe. A sharp knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts. She walked toward the noise and opened the door for Andreas. “Come in.” “Thank you.” His voice was solemn and a little sad. He stepped into the living room and sat in the lounge chair after Valentina returned to her seat. “I just returned from town. The train arrived this morning. It was filled with POWs and other prisoners. I didn’t pay much attention until the guards took them out of the cattle cars and put them into trucks. They drove north on the road that goes to the lens factory.” Valentina lifted one eyebrow. “Why would they go there?” “Slave labor. Von Hertling needs bodies to replace the old men and boys that were drafted and sent to the eastern front.” A sick feeling swept over Valentina. “But he can’t do that without telling me.” A frown crept across his face. “Don’t count on it.” Valentina reached for her coat. “Get the car.”

When they reached the factory, Andreas’ prediction proved correct. A barbed wire fence surrounded the field beside the factory. Skinny, unshaven men stood by the fence under the watchful eyes of armed SS troops. Valentina did not wait for Andreas to walk around the vehicle. She jumped out of the car, slamming the door. Entering the main office building, she headed straight for von Hertling’s office.

Andreas had to run to catch up with her. Outside the office, a pretty secretary informed Valentina that her boss was in a conference and could not be disturbed. Valentina stormed into his office. Von Hertling stood facing a young SS captain. Both held a glass of red wine. Von Hertling returned Valentina’s hostile expression with an equally menacing glare. He turned to his SS guest. “Captain Schumann, this is the woman I was telling you about.” The officer was almost as tall as von Hertling and had brown hair and dark eyes that seemed to stare right through Valentina. He held out a hand. “Mrs. Schneider, it is good to meet you.” Valentina ignored him. Her eyes remained fixed on von Hertling. “What have you done?” His voice remained cool. “What do you mean?” Her voice rose in anger. “You know full well what I mean. Why are those starving men caged outside?” “You know we have a labor shortage,” he said with his usual arrogant voice. “They’re going to replace the men that went to the front.” Valentina crossed the room and stood face-to-face with von Hertling. “No. They are not. This is not a concentration camp.” Von Hertling did not flinch. He assumed his condescending attitude. “We have no choice. The Reich needs our lenses, and this is the only way we can meet our quotas.” Valentina’s voice became icy cold. “There will be no slave labor at this factory. Do you understand?” Before von Hertling could answer, the SS captain broke into the conversation. “Mrs. Schneider, running a big factory like this is very complex. You need to leave the management to someone who knows what he is doing.” He seemed unaware of the fury that was consuming Valentina. “The Fuehrer expects your factory to the war effort.”

“That is correct, Mrs. Schneider,” von Hertling interjected with an authoritative voice. Valentina ignored the frantic warning in Andreas’ eyes. “The Fuehrer happens to be a personal friend of mine, Captain. He would not approve of your meddling in my affairs. I want those prisoners out of here today. Do you understand?” She watched the SS officer’s expression from arrogance to shock to anger and back to cold control. He had to know she was telling the truth. He would have researched her before taking this assignment. It was common knowledge that she was a friend of the Fuehrer. With care, he tried to retrieve the situation. “But your manager has already given us his permission.” Valentina took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. Either she stood up to them now or completely succumb. Von Hertling was a dangerous man, but the SS officer had the power to make people disappear and never be seen again. “Mr. von Hertling no longer is employed at this facility. You have to deal with me, and I say, no.” Von Hertling’s eyes narrowed. “What?” Valentina stood her ground. “You heard me. You’re fired. I would like you off this property within thirty minutes.” He did not move. Valentina could feel the hatred pouring from his eyes. She met his gaze and did not flinch. Finally, he looked away. “Very well, but you will regret this.” “I doubt that.” The captain stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. He did not know if Hitler would be angrier with him for failing to accomplish his mission or for upsetting his friend. He gave a curt nod and left the room, pushing past Andreas, who stood, flabbergasted in the doorway.

Valentina and Andreas sat in the lobby without speaking until von Hertling had cleaned out his desk and the SS had left with their prisoners. Mr. Arp kept peeking through the doorway, obviously distressed by the commotion and

curious as to what was happening. Valentina imagined he had never seen anyone make Bernhard von Hertling or an SS officer back down. Captain Schumann looked capable of decapitating the first person who dared to cross him. After they left, Mr. Arp crept into the lobby and walked to the couch where Valentina and Andreas were drinking coffee. “What have you done?” Valentina set her coffee onto an end table and uncrossed her legs. “There are going to be a few changes. Bernhard von Hertling is no longer employed here. We seem to have different concepts of the direction this company is going to take.” “But Mr. Schneider put him in charge of the entire facility.” “Mr. Schneider is dead. I cannot work with von Hertling. You would do a much better job.” “Me?” The shock on his face appeared to be genuine. “Yes. You ran the company for years before that Nazi arrived. I always thought you should have run the expanded facility.” “But my expertise is with glasses. I know very little about periscopes. “The principles are the same. I think you can learn.” “I’m honored. Of course, I would love the challenge.” “Then it is settled. You’re the new plant manager. I know you are short of workers so I’m going to transfer some employees from my estate for you to train. Is that satisfactory with you?” “Oh yes, Mrs. Schneider.” Then he hesitated. “Do you think we will hear from that SS captain again?” “I will deal with him if we do.”

CHAPTER 35 MOSCOW (February 1943)

Snow fell in sheets as Ivan walked up the sidewalk to his house. Opening the door, he stepped inside the livingroom, glad to be out of the cold. After a long and busy day, he was glad to be home. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement through the kitchen door. He spun to see a female figure standing beside the stove. Olivia threw up her arms. “I surrender,” she said, embellishing her gesture with a deep throaty laugh. Ivan was surprised to see the unpredictable American woman. The tenseness of their positions had kept them apart for weeks. It would be dangerous for her boss or for Stalin to sense that they had more than a casual relationship. Even though Beria had encouraged him to court her, Ivan did not trust him. “What’re you doing here?” “You really should keep your door locked, Ivan. Some foreign spy might sneak into your house and try to seduce you.” “That’s why I leave it unlocked.” He closed the door, locking it. She took his hat and coat. “See. I can be very domestic when I want.” “Yes, and what is it that you want, Olivia?” The chemistry between them had increased, if anything, and Ivan was sure she had no idea of the risk she was taking nor of the brutality of his superiors. “I just want to see you.” “Good. Take down the wine bottle in that cabinet.” He pointed to the doors in the kitchen. “You can celebrate with me.”

Olivia took down the dusty bottle of wine. “Celebrate what?” “Stalingrad is back in our hands. General Paulus surrendered yesterday. We have taken three hundred thousand prisoners.” His pride showed in his voice. It was one of the greatest victories of the war. The fighting had finally shifted, and it was the German’s turn to be on the defensive. “Did you say you fought there during the revolution?” The memory of the battle troubled him. It had been a decisive victory against the White Russians, who were trying to reverse the Bolshevik takeover of the government. He had met Stalin there. Olivia’s curious expression brought him back to the present. “Yes. It was called Tsaritsyn at that time. Stalin was our political commissar. It was a crucial battle. We stopped the Whites there then, just like we stopped the Germans now.” Olivia gave him a thumbs-up salute. “This definitely calls for a drink.” She took down two glasses and filled each with the red wine. Ivan took his glass and lifted it toward her. “To the American-Soviet Alliance.” “To us.” Olivia clinked her glass against his and touched his face with her free hand. Ivan pointed to a kitchen chair. “Sit down, Olivia. We need to talk.” She took the chair and waited for Ivan to sit across from her. Concern rolled across her face. “What’s wrong?” Her words sank home. Why can I not be like other people? he thought. Why does the cause always have to come first? Why can I not just love somebody and say the hell with everything else? “Us. That’s what is wrong, Olivia.” He took her hands into his and fought to say what he knew had to be said. “I’m a Russian to the core, and I’ll always be a Russian and a communist. You’re an American. You might as well be from a different planet. You could never fit here. It’s too harsh.” Her face paled. “Maybe you could come to America—after the war is over, of course.” There was a quiver in his voice.

“It would never work.” “Why not?” She sat her glass on the table untouched. “Because Stalin would never let me go. Do you know how many people have died trying to leave this country?” She shook her head and watched him with glistening eyes. “You don’t want to know.” Her eyes hardened. “And what else?” This time it was Ivan who hesitated. “I would never fit as an American. I don’t belong there. This may be a violent, chaotic place, but it is my home. I don’t want to leave.” “You mean you don’t want to leave with me.” “That is not what I said. I can’t be with you. It’s dangerous. Stalin is a very temperamental person. If he thought you were a spy, you could end up in the Lubyanka.” “I know that, and I don’t care.” “Well I do, and there’s something else you should know. Soon after we met, Beria approached me and asked me to befriend you.” “Beria? Why would he do that?” “To see what the Americans were thinking.” Her face reddened. “You mean this was all a farce. You’ve just been using me to get information?” “Of course not. I was already infatuated with you. It just gave us some protection, an excuse for us to be seen together. I’m sorry. I should have told you.” “I guess I can’t throw stones. My boss told me to do the same thing.”

“I’m not surprised. They want to use us like pawns. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I care very much about you and I don’t want you to get hurt. Beria doesn’t play games. If he discovers how close we are, you could be killed. “And if he thought you were involved, you could be too?” “Yes.” “Then I will get out of your life.” “I think it would be best. We have no future. You’re only going to be hurt by being with me.” He did not want to lose her, but he more deeply did not want to lead her on where there was no future and much danger. She stopped and looked him directly in the eyes. “Ivan, I have a favor to ask. Will you do one thing for me?” “Yes. Of course. What do you need, Olivia?” “I want to stay tonight with you. I promise I’ll leave in the morning. I just want to be with you one last night.” Ivan held back his own tears and pulled her close. “You aren’t making this easy.” “It’s not supposed to be easy, my love. May I stay?” “Yes, Olivia, please stay the night with me.”

The following morning, Olivia was dressed and ready to leave by six o’clock. “Goodbye, Ivan,” she announced to his supine figure. “I hope you have a good life.” He sat upright, pulled her back into his arms, and whispered into her ear with a hoarse voice. “I’m going to miss you, Olivia.” “You’ll be fine, Ivan. You’re a survivor. You can make the best of the worst situations.” She kissed his cheek and rose to leave. “Wait. I have a favor to ask.”

She stopped, turning back to face him. “Well, I guess I do owe you one.” Ivan swung his legs over the side of the bed and took her hand. “I need to know the status of a Russian emigrant who lived in Bavaria at the beginning of the war. Your embassy has access to all kinds of information from refugees and spies.” Olivia shrugged. “What’s his name?” This time it was Ivan who blushed. “Valentina Kovalova was her Russian name. She married Captain Paul Schneider, commander of a U-boat.” The smile faded from Olivia’s face. “What’s your interest in this woman?” He hesitated, revealing his lie. “She’s a possible recruit—with Russian background and sympathies.” Olivia’s eyes flared. “I’ll see what I can do.” Ivan released her hand. “This is just between you and me, Olivia.” “Yes. You and me.”

CHAPTER 36 MUNICH (February 1943)

Valentina stood over the stove in her kitchen, warming a pot of soup. A loud knock on the door startled her. No one had visited for days. She walked to the living room and looked out the window. A SS Mercedes was parked on the street in front of her house. The knocking became more persistent. Valentina caught her breath. The SS did not make social calls. She opened the door. A tall man with jet-black hair stood on the front porch with Bernhard von Hertling. He wore a spotless uniform with polished shiny black shoes. The SS officer glared at her. “Mrs. Schneider?” Valentina felt an immediate dislike for him. “Yes.” The man’s demeanor oozed with self-importance. “I’m Lieutenant Lenck, and this is Mr. Bernhard von Hertling.” “We are acquainted.” She shifted her gaze to the despicable man that she had fired. “Andreas Adlon works for you,” the SS man continued. “Is that correct?” The smirk on Bernhard’s face frightened her. “Yes. Is he in some kind of trouble?” “Mr. von Hertling has discovered that he’s a Jew who has not ed with the government.” Valentina realized that Andreas was doomed, and it was all her fault. She should never have taken him with her to confront von Hertling. “That is not true,” she said. “Andreas is a member of the Lutheran faith. You can check with his pastor if you would like. I can give you his name and address.”

Lieutenant Lenck was not about to be diverted from his task. “That will not be necessary. We would like to speak with Mr. Adlon. Is he here?” Valentina shook her head. “I don’t know where he is.” “Do you mind if we search the property?” Valentina knew the question was a farce. The man was going to do whatever he wanted. “Of course not.” She had last seen Andreas fifteen minutes ago in the corral behind the house. There had to be a way to warn him, but how? “You might look first at his cottage. It is down the road about a half mile on the left.” She pointed with a finger. The officer took a step toward her. “If you don’t mind, we would like to look here first.” “Certainly.” She closed the door as the lieutenant did an about face. The officer and von Hertling walked down the porch steps and around the house. Valentina flew to her bedroom and retrieved her pistol from under the clothes in the top drawer. She did not know what she was going to do with it, but she was not going to let them take Andreas. She knew all too well what happened to Jews once the SS had their hands on them. She put the pistol in her pocket and hurried out the front door and around the house. The two men reached the corral. Andreas stood in the center surrounded by several cows. The men opened the gate and closed it behind them. They walked toward Andreas. Run! Valentina wanted to yell, but she knew it would be futile. Andreas must have realized it, too, because he did not move. Valentina wrapped her fingers around the pistol. The Nazis were too far away for her to have much chance at hitting either of them. She needed a more powerful weapon. Her gaze diverted to the huge black bull that stood within the pen beside the fence. Andreas had isolated him there, planning to use him for breeding. He snorted and stamped his feet as Valentina approached. The SS officer removed his pistol from its holster. Valentina prayed she was not too late. She released the latch and opened the gate to the bull’s pen. The powerful animal charged into the corral and ran toward the three men. Von

Hertling saw him first and ran, followed almost immediately by the SS officer. Andreas stood perfectly still. The bull charged straight at him but then veered after the two running men. It caught the SS officer half way to the fence, goring him through the back and tossing him like a rag doll high into the air. It hardly slowed before continuing after the second fleeing man. Von Hertling almost reached the fence where Valentina stood. She pointed her pistol directly at him through the railing. He skidded to the left to avoid her. The lost momentum was enough for the bull to catch him. It drove a horn deep into his chest, smashing him against the fence post. Valentina heard the post crack and knew that she was at the mercy of the beast. All it had to do was push, and the fence would come down. The bull, however, let von Hertling’s body tumble to the ground. It turned to face Andreas, but he cleared the fence on the opposite side of the corral. The SS officer floundered on the ground and tried to stand. The bull charged. Andreas ran to Valentina. “What was that all about?” She took his arm and led him to the house. “Hurry. They know you are a Jew.” He followed her through the back door. She handed him her pistol. “You may need this.” He stared at it with disbelief. “I have never shot anyone.” “Well, I have. It is not that difficult. You just point it and pull the trigger.” She led him to the kitchen and opened the cookie jar. Retrieving a handful of marks, she thrust them into his hands. “You must leave now, Andreas. He stared at the pistol as if it were a rare artifact from a distant universe. “The Nazis killed the man that helped Rebecca escape. I don’t know where to go.” “Well I do.” She wondered how many people she had helped to escape since Sarah. She led Andreas to her car, and this time she took the driver’s seat. “Keep your head down. We will both be dead if anyone sees you.”

Valentina pulled out of the driveway, ing the parked SS car. She drove across town and into a rural area. Eventually, she turned up a small dirt road that led to a tiny house. “Where are we?” Andreas asked. “I have a friend here who may be able to get you to Switzerland.” They got out of the car and went to the front door. A short elderly man answered Valentina’s knock. He was a thin, pale gentleman with a full head of gray hair and a thick white beard. “Valentina?” There was disapproval and fear in his voice. “I thought we agreed you would never come here.” “I know, Mr. Muller, but this is an emergency. This is Andreas Adlon, a dear friend of mine. He’s a Jew, and the SS is after him.” “Please come inside.” He opened the door and ushered them into the house as his eyes searched the woods behind them. “I can’t stay,” Valentina said. “I just killed two men who tried to take Andreas. I have to get back to my estate to dispose of the bodies.” “Then go.” He waved his hand. “I will take care of Andreas. God be with you.” Valentina smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Muller. I will always be in your debt.” “Nonsense, my dear. We are all in this together until the Fuehrer is dead.” Valentina patted his hand. She turned to Andreas and kissed his cheek. She wondered if she would ever see him again. “Mr. Muller will get you to Switzerland.” Andreas wrapped his arms around her. “I have never known anyone quite like you, Valentina. I’m going to miss you terribly.” Valentina brushed his tangled, dark hair out of his face. Life was totally unfair. In another time or another place their relationship could have blossomed and grown. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” He gripped her hand. “Then come with me.”

CHAPTER 37 BAVARIA (February 1943)

Valentina kissed Andreas on the cheek and walked out the door. She would gladly have given up her home and her wealth to leave , but Hitler would have retaliated against Karl. As she approached her car, she noticed an elderly woman watching from an upstairs window across the street. The scrutiny unsettled her. A word to the Gestapo could mean death to Andreas, Mr. Muller, and her—maybe even to Karl. She drove into Munich and stopped at a boutique to buy a new sweater to establish a reason for her outing. The drive home took thirty minutes. She found two cars parked beside Lieutenant Lenck’s Mercedes in her driveway. SS troops swarmed over her yard, and medics carried the dead trooper on a litter to the back of a truck. Captain Schumann stormed toward Valentina. She could not believe her bad luck. Of all the SS goons in Munich, the man she had insulted and thrown out of her factory had to be the one to investigate her. She stepped out of the car, carrying her new dress over one arm. He made no pretense at civility. “Mrs. Schneider, what happened here?” Feigning surprise, she looked around her yard with a baffled expression. “I don’t know, Captain Schumann. I’ve been shopping. Why are all these people here?” He rolled his eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this fiasco?” Valentina lifted her arms with a gesture of bewilderment. “You will have to tell me what you are talking about, sir. I just got here.” The captain pointed at the truck. One of my best men has been killed, and your

plant manager has been critically injured.” Valentina gasped. Von Hertling was alive, and she had no idea what he had told Captain Schumann. “Mr. Arp was here?” The captain answered with a loud voice as if he thought she was deaf. “No. Mr. Bernhard von Hertling.” He pointed down the road. “Medics took him to the hospital just a few minutes ago.” “What happened to him?” She tried to insert sympathy into her voice but failed miserably “We found him and Lieutenant Lenck in the pen with your bull. It had gored and trampled both men.” Valentina looked toward her backyard. “What would they be doing in the bull’s pen? That is a very mean animal.” “They came to arrest the Jew.” “The Jew?” “Yes. Mr. Andreas Adlon.” “Andreas is not a Jew. He’s a Lutheran.” “His grandmother was a Jew. Mr. von Hertling researched the records in Munich.” Valentina sighed and leaned back against her car. “Perhaps, but both his parents were Christian.” Captain Schumann’s face tightened with impatience. “A Jew is a Jew. He cannot change what he is. Now, where is he?” “I have no idea. You should check his cabin. It is just over there.” She pointed up a small hill. “We already did. He’s not there.” He thrust his hands on his hips. “Where else could he be?”

Valentina shrugged. “He could be anywhere. He manages the lumber yard and the cattle.” “I see you are going to be no help. Maybe you will be more cooperative at SS headquarters downtown.” “I told you what I know.” “I don’t think so.” He opened the back door to his car. “Get in.”

Captain Schumann drove Valentina to the stark, cold building that served as the local SS headquarters. She recognized several of the men who were former friends of her husband. They glanced at her with startled expressions but did not speak. Captain Schumann took her to the office of Colonel Wiegand, a tall, blonde, middle-aged man with a scarred face. He stood as Valentina walked to his desk. She glanced at the patch that covered one eye. He pointed to it. “A souvenir from the Russian front.” “I’m sorry. I have a son there now.” “I know. I have your file here.” He lifted a thick folder with his left hand. “I have a file?” “Of course. Everyone has a file. Your record is just a little thicker than some.” Valentina frowned. “Why is that?” He motioned for her to sit in the chair across from his desk and waited for her to do so before sitting himself. “Partly because you seem to like Jews and you have close access to some important people, including the Fuehrer.” “I hope your file reflects how much money my husband and I have donated to the Fuehrer.” “Yes. It does.” He peered at her with his one good eye. “Why is that, Mrs. Schneider?”

Valentina responded with a confident, proud voice. “Because I love . It needs a strong leader.” He leaned across his desk toward her. “But you are Russian.” My father was Russian, but my mother was German. The Russians slaughtered my family. I have no love for them. adopted me when my life was in shambles, and the people have treated me well. Colonel Wiegand looked down at her file for several minutes, shuffling through papers before finally returning his attention to Valentina. “What is your relationship to Andreas Adlon?” Valentina folded her hands in her lap and tried to appear calm. “He has been the manager of my estates for many years. To the best of my knowledge, he has performed the job well.” Colonel Wiegand set the file on the side of the table as he fixed his eyes on hers. “Is he your lover?” Valentina glared back at him. “No. I’m still in mourning for my husband. He just died fighting for the Reich. Andreas is only an employee.” “Did you know he was a Jew?” “No. He was raised a Lutheran and attended that church regularly.” The SS officer rose from his chair. “That will be all for now, Mrs. Schneider.” “I can go?” “For the moment. I talked with Reichsfuehrer SS Himmler just before you arrived. He feels you are a loyal er of the Fuehrer. He hopes you will continue to be as generous as you have been in the past.” She knew he would expect a large donation. “Heinrich is a good friend.” She rose from her chair and moved toward the door. It took all her control to walk instead of run. Will they really let me go? Is this some kind of a trick? An SS trooper waited for her in the front of the building. He opened the back

door to his car. “Here, Mrs. Schneider, I will drive you home.” Valentina did not want to accept his invitation. She wanted to flee as far away from the SS as possible. Unfortunately, she knew better than to appear openly uncooperative. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

The SS trooper drove Valentina directly to her house. She thanked him and walked to the front porch. He drove away only after she opened the door. She slept fitfully that night, unable to relax, angered by the arbitrary ways of the SS and afraid of what they would do to her if they caught Andreas. She knew he would not willingly betray her, but the SS had horrible ways of making their captives talk. When morning arrived, she felt more determined than ever to fight the SS any way she could. Helping Jews to escape was not enough. She had to subvert the war effort. The only way would be free again was to lose the war. Soon after the sun rose, she climbed into her car and headed for the lens factory. Hitler needed periscopes for his submarines and telescopic lenses for his rifles. If she could slow down the production, it would help, at least in a small way, to hamper the war effort. She was not sure how much time she had left. If von Hertling recovered enough to talk, he would surely incriminate her, and this time, Himmler would not call off his dogs.

The secretary for Mr. Arp ushered Valentina into his office as soon as she arrived. He rose from his chair and met her halfway across the room. “Mrs. Schneider, it’s good to see you again.” Valentina shook hands with the old man. “It is good to see you, Mr. Arp. We are going to be working closely together.” He seemed surprised by her statement but simply said, “Of course. Would you like a cup of coffee?” “Yes, please.”

Mr. Arp nodded to his secretary, and moments later, a tray appeared with coffee, cream, and sugar. The secretary poured two cups. Valentina took hers black and lifted it to her lips, savoring the morning stimulant. “I have stayed in the background all these years, but now that my husband is dead, I believe I have a responsibility to be involved with the factory. I want you to teach me everything you can.” Mr. Arp smiled at her. “It is a very complicated process. I don’t know where to begin.” Valentina could tell he did not take her seriously. She was just a baffled widow trying to get a grasp of her dead husband’s complex responsibilities. “You can begin by teaching me some basic optics.” Mr. Arp spent the entire day talking and explaining the mechanics of the factory to Valentina. He was enthusiastic about his work and proud to be in charge. As Valentina prepared to leave that evening, she asked him if he had heard about his predecessor. His smile faded. “Only that he died yesterday. A nurse from the hospital called and said his body had been brought to the emergency room.” Valentina felt the muscles of her neck relax as the tension she had felt all day dissipated. She felt guilty to be glad someone had died, but his living would have jeopardized her own life. “That is a shame.” He looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Yes, it is.”

CHAPTER 38 SOVIET UNION (1943)

Tania Chakovsky landed her Yak at the airport outside Moscow. In the terminal she found Ivan waiting for her. He extended his hand. “A smooth landing, officer.” Tania accepted his hand and smiled, hoping that he might have news about Yuri. “Ivan, how are you?” “Good. Let’s go to the canteen. I would like to talk with you.” She followed him, wondering what was so important as to bring him there to see her. They shared a tiny table and had coffee and bread. “What has happened?” She knew he had not come for idle chat. He broke the bread in half and gave Tania her allotment. “The Germans are going to try to take back Kursk in July. It is going to be one of the biggest battles of the war.” Tania leaned backward in her chair and crossed her legs. “How can you know that?” Ivan leaned forward and spoke with a whisper. “We have our sources. It is going to happen, and your unit will fly air for our soldiers.” She raised one eyebrow. I wonder if we have enough airplanes. “I hear the Germans have a lot of troops massed in the area.” “Nine hundred thousand men.” That many enemy soldiers seemed unreal. “They must be trying to avenge Stalingrad. Can we stop them?” “Yes. We are laying a trap. We have more troops, more tanks, and more airplanes

than they do.” The tenseness left her muscles, and she felt confident again. “Then we will knock them all the way back to Berlin.” Ivan smiled. “Just be careful. A lot of you will not be around to celebrate.” Tania ignored his pessimism and progressed to the news she most wanted to hear. “Have you heard anything from Yuri?” His smile faded. “Not directly, but it has been a long time since I last saw you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded, newspaper article entitled “The Hero of Leningrad.” It was dated July 3, 1942. She read about Yuri’s courage in Finland and his numerous trips over the frozen Lake Ladoga and then of his fierce stance against the Germans at Skaya Polist. He was given credit for slowing the German advance enough for much of the evacuation of the Second Shock Army to be completed. Tania looked up at Ivan with a sense of dread. “Where is he now? The article does not say.” Ivan held out his hands. “Dead.” She caught her breath. “No. That’s not possible.” Ivan looked as drained as she felt. “I’m afraid it is. I talked with the soldier who was the last to leave the hill. He said that about ten minutes after they left, the top of the hill exploded and Yuri’s machine gun went silent as the Germans swarmed over his position.” Tania felt her stomach churn. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the ladies room. Too late to reach the stall, she wretched in the corner until her sides ached. She dragged herself to the sink and rinsed her mouth, spitting into the sink. How could he have left me like that? He did not have to play hero. He had been discharged from the army. All he had had to do was wait for the damn war to end, and we could have been together again. She was unable to control her fury at Yuri, fury at the Germans, and fury at life in general. That did not stop the tears or the sobs.

In July Karl arrived with the German forces that nearly surrounded the Soviet city of Kursk. He had prepared for the greatest tank battle in history. His superiors planned to attack from the north and the south. They seemed confident of victory. After all, they had 50 divisions with 2,700 tanks and 2,000 airplanes —a force so powerful that no army could stop it. Karl was not so sure. It seemed that the tide had turned against the Reich and that only misery and death lay ahead. He commanded a force of five tanks. He wondered how many of his men would survive the day. Ralf commanded one of those tanks. He sat with Karl on a log between their armored vehicles, looking across the fields where they would soon be facing a determined enemy. Karl raised his cup of coffee. “To victory.” Ralf clicked his tin. “To survival, my friend.” “Don’t be a pessimist, Ralf.” “Why not? We had our ass kicked in Stalingrad, and they pushed us out of North Africa. Since the damn Japs brought the Americans into this war, we have just been treading water, waiting for them to build up enough strength to crush us. Even if we take Kursk, it is just a matter of time before they push us back to .” His diatribe reflected Karl’s own thoughts, but he knew that such cynicism would only get them killed. “We have got to keep fighting, Ralf. It is our only hope.” Ralf shook his head. “You’re right. Our forces have murdered Jews and “undesirables’ all over Europe. After the world finds out about what we saw at Kiev, the Allies will show us no mercy. “We can’t help that. It’s the SS.” “So what? Without us, the SS would not be slaughtering anyone. We made it all possible.” “Maybe, but what choice do we have? We can’t just throw down our arms and

go home.” “No, I guess not, but when the war is over, people will not recall or care how bravely we fought. They will all the civilians we killed and the homes that we destroyed. We will be ashamed to say we were German soldiers.” Karl tossed his coffee onto the ground and stood. “You’re wrong, Ralf. We may have made mistakes, but we have fought bravely and can hold our heads high.” “Well, I’m glad you are proud of yourself, sir, because I feel like a real asshole.” Karl did not want to think about it. In his heart he felt the same way, but what was he to do? He was a soldier fighting for his Fatherland. Only a coward would hide from his duty. He looked at his watch, relieved to end the conversation. “It’s time. Get your men together.”

Ralf climbed into his new Mark V Panther tank. He should have been proud. It was the best of the German tanks with a 690 horsepower engine and a weight of 45 tons. His other four crew were all in place. The engine roared. They drove toward Kursk. Karl walked to his tank. He stared at the skull and crossbones his driver had painted on the turret and doubted it would bring them luck. He ed his other four crew in the 60 ton Mark VI Tiger. It was ’s largest tank with 25 mm to 100 mm thick armor and a 650 horsepower engine. It was not as fast as the Panther, but its heavy armor made it formidable unless it could be attacked from the rear. Karl stared across the field. Ralf’s fatalism had killed his enthusiasm. He wished he were somewhere else, that the war was over, and that he did not have to kill anymore. He wondered what the men in the enemy tanks were thinking. They probably wish that the war were over and they were somewhere else too. He turned to his driver. “Go.” The engine was already running. They jerked forward, and the five tanks headed to battle, running parallel to each other and traveling beside scores of other Panzers, Tigers, and Panthers.

The tension grew palpable within the Tiger. It was hot, but the men would have been sweating, even if it had been cold. Death waited across the field, and they all knew that many of them would meet it that day. Karl thought of his mother and hoped she was not being too vocal with her opposition to the Nazi ways. She would never be safe in Hitler’s . He thought of Paul and hoped death had come quickly. Going down to the bottom of the ocean was a horrible way to die. He hoped Berta had survived the allied bombing that had menaced ’s cities since January. Then he ed Rebecca and felt only shame. The gunner pointed across the field. “Enemy tanks.” Karl inspected the horizon and saw hundreds of Soviet armored vehicles. Clouds of dust filled the air as they advanced toward the Germans. Moments later, he heard the roar of the Luftwaffe and, shortly afterward, felt the ground shaking from the pounding of bombs falling on the Soviet defenders. A number of enemy tanks burst into flames. Then the Soviets fired toward Karl’s side of the giant field. He returned fire, as did his compatriots. A Soviet tank jolted to a stop. “Heil Hitler”, the gunner yelled jubilantly. “Hit him again.” Karl said. The 88-mm gun fired once more, and this time the tank burst into flames. One of the crew had just climbed out. His clothes caught fire, and he rolled to the ground, where he writhed for several minutes. Flames consumed the rest of the crew inside the tank. Karl stared at the dying figure. How many more men have to die? When will it all end? The roar of more airplanes forced him to look upward. Soviet planes were now heading directly for them. Thank God for the Luftwaffe. He kept moving forward in the direction of the advancing Soviet tanks. Ralf’s Panther moved ahead of the other tanks, firing its 75-mm gun as it advanced. Another Soviet tank caught fire, and Karl said out loud, “Great shot, Ralf. Go get them.” Suddenly the blasts of bombs from the air reverberated from every direction. Dust hurled around the five tanks. When it cleared, Karl looked ahead. The

Panther sat tilted to one side. Smoke rose above it. “Go to Ralf,” Karl yelled to his driver. “But sir. The enemy is—” Karl grabbed his arm. “That is an order. Now do it.” “Yes, Major.” His voice was crisp as he turned the lumbering giant toward the ailing tank. The smoke increased. The hatch flew open. A man’s head appeared. Karl could not tell if it was Ralf. “Hurry.” “This is as fast as she goes, sir.” The panther exploded. Flames engulfed the entire tank. The man’s head disappeared. Karl watched in horror as the blue-red flames leapt into the air. Ralf is gone. I sent him to his death. “Major.” Karl looked up out of his stupor. “Yes.” “They are dead, sir.” Karl’s mood ed from disbelief to shock to fury. The bastards had killed his best friend. He glared back at his driver. “Get this machine moving. “Yes, sir.” The man turned the Tiger to face the Soviets and gunned the engine.

CHAPTER 39 SOVIET UNION (1943)

Lieutenant Tania Chakovsky taxied her Yak-9 down the runway, accelerating until the wheels left the ground. She pulled up the nose of the plane as she continued to gain speed. She loved this fighter. She had trained on the MiG-3, which could go faster, but it lacked the maneuverability of the Yak, and therefore, was at the mercy of the Luftwaffe. This fighter would put the fear into the Nazis. She continued to gain speed until she leveled off at 300 mph. She scanned the sky ahead for Emilian’s MiG-3. He preferred to have the added speed and was gradually disappearing from view. Tania hoped they would both make it back to the base. The odds were not in their favor. Soon the battlefield came into view. Tanks stretched across the horizon as far as she could see. The assault had started, and explosions dominated the ground below the warplanes. The sky was just as active with Luftwaffe and Soviet planes in dogfights and bombing raids. Tania spotted a German Ju 87 Stuka diving over a Soviet tank. The dive-bomber dropped its load, sending the tank crew to a fiery death. As the Junker reversed its descent and began its pullout, it came into range. Tania opened fire with her 20-mm rounds. The Junker pilot tried to maneuver away, but lost his left wing and veered out of control, tumbling to the ground below. Tania cheered as the airplane exploded on the ground a mile away. Continuing forward, she ed over the friendly tanks and entered Nazi airspace. Quickly she selected a massive Tiger tank that was pulling away from a burning Panther. With careful timing, she released her 220-pound bomb. She began her turn, and watched it explode behind the heavily armored beast, covering it in a cloud of dust and flames. She laughed at the skull and crossbones painted on its turret. “That’s for Yuri, you bastards.”

Low on fuel, Tania returned to the base. Emilian stood beside his plane, which

was being refueled. She hurried to him. “You got back fast.” “Barely,” he responded. “You look unscathed.” “I’m fine.” She looked at his plane and gasped. There were four bullet holes in the fuselage. She could not believe his plane had stayed in the air. It was a miracle that Emilian had survived. “You’re not going back up, are you?” He smiled. “She’s not pretty, but she still flies, and this battle is far from over.” Tania knew it would do no good to chastise him, but she did anyway. “You’re insane. We cannot afford to waste a perfectly good pilot and a fixable plane so you can show off.” Emilian laughed. “You worry about yourself. I know what I’m doing.” “I’m not so sure you do.” Tania had lost Pavel and Yuri, and now there was no doubt in her mind that she would lose Emilian.

She followed Emilian into the clouds again. This time she felt much less confident. His brush with death had brought home the reality of the danger they faced. His plane was not moving as fast this time, and Tania ed him miles before they reached the battlefield. She wished he would turn around. He was being stubborn and stupid. The approach of two Nazi fighter planes diverted her attention. They headed straight for her from opposite directions. If she turned to face one, it would open her to attack by the other. They came closer. She had no choice. She turned to the left and flew straight for the closest enemy. She answered its machine gun fire with her own and increased her speed. If she were going to die, she would at least take an enemy plane with her. The pilot changed course, but Tania turned toward him and continued firing. The German plane burst into flames. Tania pulled up to avoid a collision and turned to face the other plane. Where is it? Its bullets should have torn through my fuselage by now. She looked in every direction. It was nowhere in sight. Then she looked down and saw it spiraling to the ground with smoke pouring from its wing. Moments later Emilian’s MiG came into view. He waved and

continued forward. Tania waved back. Emilian saved my life again. Thank God he did not listen to me. She continued on and reached the battlefield without being challenged again. Disabled and burning Soviet and German tanks littered the field. She spotted two operational German tanks and released her bombs. One of the Panzers burst into flames, but the other survived. Tania turned back. She would have to leave it for someone else. Her fuel was getting low. As she approached the runway, she scanned the field for Emilian’s plane. It was not there. She parked her Yak and walked to the crowd of pilots that was forming at the edge of the field. “Has anyone seen Emilian?” A number of eyes turned her way, but no one said anything. A few pilots shook their heads. Tania turned back to the runway and watched two planes land. A MiG approached. A puff of smoke came from its left wing. She thought of Pavel’s fiery death. Just before the plane reached the runway, it tilted to the side and hit the runway at full speed. A wing flew off, and the aircraft bounced into another MiG parked beside the runway. Flames engulfed both planes. Tania screamed and ran to the wreckage. Reaching the crash site, she saw flames engulf the pilot of the MiG. “No!” Then she looked at the fuselage. The four bullet holes were nowhere to be seen. The dying man was not Emilian. She felt sorry for the pilot but could not help being thankful he was not Emilian. Looking back into the sky, she saw another MiG approaching. It was too far away to tell, but she knew it belonged to Emilian. She watched him land his damaged warplane and was unable to conceal her joy. He climbed to the ground and walked nonchalantly back to the crowd as if he had only been on a practice flight. She felt a surge of affection. Here was a man with courage and comion who really cared for her. She knew why he had gone on the last flight with a crippled plane. He was watching my butt, as my excopilot used to say. Vera was right. Emilian is always watching after me. As he drew closer, Tania broke away from the crowd and ran to him. He laughed

when she threw her arms around him. “To what do I owe this honor?” “You just saved my life, you stubborn fool.” He kissed her cheek and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Someone has to look after you if you are going to play chicken with German warplanes.” They had supper together at the canteen with the other pilots. Many of them bragged about their kills, and others relayed how they narrowly escaped death. A few were silent. Many had lost friends that day. The battle was going their way but not without a price. Eventually Emilian rose to return to his tent. Tania followed. She did not want to be alone. Still in her uniform, she lay down beside him on his blanket. They talked long into the night. She told him all about Pavel and Yuri and the trauma of learning of their deaths. His taking off in the damaged plane had evoked frightening memories. She did not want to lose him too. She tried to fight the tears, but they came anyway. He stroked her hair. “I’m not going anywhere. You know I’m crazy about you.” Tania drifted off to sleep with her head on his chest.

CHAPTER 40 MUNICH (August 1943)

Valentina answered a knock on her door to find the postman standing on her front porch. Her gaze fell immediately to the letter that he held. His solemn expression frightened her, although she knew he had no knowledge of the contents of the battered envelope. He handed it to her. “I did not want to bother you, but I thought you would want this right away.” “Thank you.” She looked at the handwriting. “It’s from Karl. He’s alive.” His letters had stopped when Operation Citadel began. The campaign to encircle the Russians at Kursk had failed, and thousands of men had died. She had become convinced that he was among them. She ripped open the envelope and stared at the date. It’s a month old. She thanked the postman again and walked back into the house. Slipping into the chair by the window, she looked again at the single page. The writing was unsteady, but it was definitely his hand. He’s been hurt. She held the paper to the light and read.

Dear Mutter,

You will be glad to know I’m still alive. The battle at Kursk was fierce. The Russians we are fighting now are far different from the ones we met at the beginning. They have bigger tanks and braver men, and the Luftwaffe no longer dominates the skies.

I know you never met my friend Ralf, but he was a good soldier and a good friend. He died in his tank soon after we began our attack. I was so angry I could only think of revenge. It did not happen. A bomb took out my tank. My leg is banged up pretty bad, but I guess I’m lucky. At least I am alive. That is more than I can say for my crew. They awarded me a Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross, and I have been promoted to lieutenant colonel. The doctor says I will not be going back to a tank. I will probably get an istrative job once my leg heals.

You did not want me in the army, but at least you can relax, knowing that I will be off the battlefield. Be strong. I know you will. You always are.

Love, Karl

Valentina felt her hands shaking from relief that he was alive. Even his injuries might be a blessing in a way. They would keep him out of the fighting. The eastern front was a dreadful place to be. Men did not survive very long there. Now, at least he would not be on the front lines. Something else made her want to cheer. There was no Heil Hitler anywhere in the letter. It made her physically sick to think of her son ing the evil man who had destroyed their country. She hated that Karl was fighting and could be killed for Hitler’s cause while she was doing everything she could to subvert it. She had managed to slow production at the lens factory by insisting on unrealistic quality control. Mr. Arp had argued with her that they must maintain production at all costs, but she had insisted that every item be inspected at every point in the assembly line, causing it to take twice as long to complete the process. She wished Karl could come home for a convalescence leave. Munich had been

lonely since Andreas fled. She missed having Rebecca there. She and Valentina were kindred spirits with the same determination to live life to the fullest. Rebecca was gone as were Paul and Karl and Andreas. She wondered if Ivan was still alive. The number of deaths in Russia from the war had been staggering, and people who were close to Stalin had a habit of dying prematurely. She had loved him with such intensity that she wondered why she had never really felt that way about anyone since he had left her. A tapping on the door interrupted Valentina’s thoughts. Her euphoria evaporated. She lived in constant fear that the SS would return for her. Anyone coming to her house was not likely to bring good news. She walked to the front of the house and peered outside. Her heart skipped a beat. Rebecca stood beside a man dressed in a black suit. He kept his head down so that Valentina could not see his face. She fumbled with the lock and swung open the door. Rebecca looked dirty, exhausted, and pale, but her appearance seemed immaculate compared to her companion. He swayed from side to side. Valentina took his arm, and with Rebecca, helped him inside the house. She closed the door and turned to her young friend. “Who is this?” The man returned her stare with sad blue eyes and tried to smile. He spoke in broken German with a raspy voice. “Jack Wilson. I’m an American.” Valentina looked at him with horror. Rebecca had never brought a soldier to her house. “An American? What are you doing here? They will kill you.” He shrugged. Rebecca held to his arm with both hands. “He needs to lie down.” Valentina saw the red puddle forming at his feet. “Good god, Rebecca. He’s been shot.” “I know. Help me get him to the bed.” The two women dragged the weakening man to the bedroom and helped him

onto the mattress. Valentina ripped open his shirt and found the bullet wound on his chest. Blood gurgled out. She grabbed a pillowcase and held it against the wound. “Was he hit anywhere else?” “No.” “He needs a doctor. I can’t take care of this.” She had never felt this helpless in her life. There was little that she could do. The Gestapo will kill him if we take him to a hospital.” “I’m not a nurse.” Valentina continued to compress the bleeding wound. “You worked at Berlin Hospital.” “That was twenty-five years ago, and I had no training.” “You’re all we have.” Valentina shook her head. I can’t perform miracles. This man is going to die no matter what I do. His presence endangered not only her life, but Karl’s too. The SS liked to include the entire family when they exacted revenge. “This is the thirtieth fugitive you have brought here since I told you no more. Are you deaf?” “No, just desperate.” Valentina turned back to the man. He had already lost consciousness. “What happened to him?” Rebecca looked at the slim, pale foreigner. “He’s a pilot. Got shot down last week. Our people got to him before the soldiers, and we have been hiding him in an old country house.” Valentina frowned, knowing there was more than that to the story. “So what happened? His wound is fresh.” Rebecca lifted the soldier’s wrist and felt for his pulse. “The Gestapo raided the house this morning. We drove them off, but one of them shot Jack with his pistol.”

“You drove them off?” Rebecca shrugged. “We killed two of them and wounded the third before he got away.” “How far away is the house?” “Ten miles.” “Damn. The whole countryside must be swarming with Gestapo by now.” “Probably.” “He has lost a lot of blood.” She lifted his legs and placed two pillows under them. “Yes, I know.” Valentina studied the half-naked man on her bed. He was tall with brown hair and an athletic build. She put her ear to his chest and listened to both sides. “Boil some water, and tear up that sheet in the closet there. We will make a sterile dressing with it after the bleeding stops.”

The next morning, her sleeping patient remained alive, but he had a fever and was short of breath. He grimaced with pain when Valentina changed his dressing. She felt helpless. He’s going to die if we don’t get him to a doctor. Rebecca should never have brought him here. “We have to take him to a hospital.” Rebecca shook her head as she adjusted the sick soldier’s pillow. “They would turn him over to the Gestapo.” Valentina stepped back from the bed and looked toward Paul’s closet. “What if we disguised him as a German? He speaks our language. We could say he was shot in a hunting accident.” Rebecca did not even pause to consider the proposal. “How would we explain his not being in the military? There are not any twenty-five-year-old men,

wandering around Bavaria, hunting at their leisure.” She gripped both of her friend’s shoulders as if about to shake some sense into her. “Think, Valentina. His German stinks. The Gestapo is conducting a massive hunt for a young American who just killed two of their agents. They would find him the first day, and after they tortured him, he would tell them .” The young man rolled onto his side and put his hand on Valentina’s arm. With a hoarse voice, he lectured her in English. “I would rather die here than face the Gestapo. You do what you can. I trust you.” His words stunned Valentina. She had thought he was asleep and was embarrassed that he had heard them talking about his fate so coldly. She squeezed his hand. Years had ed since she had spoken his language, but she found the words came easily. “All right, Jack. I will do what I can, but I have limited resources.” A noise outside caused her to whirl around. “What was that?” “The door,” Rebecca stammered. “Someone knocked on the door.” Valentina tried to slow her breathing. “No one comes here anymore. It may be the Gestapo.” Rebecca withdrew a pistol from her pocket. “We can’t move him. Do something.” Valentina took a deep breath and left the room, closing the door behind her. Reaching the front of the house, she looked outside and saw her neighbor, Alice Sasse. Alice’s husband was a party leader in Munich. Other than an SS officer, Alice was the last person in the world that Valentina wanted to see. She opened the door only a few inches. “Good morning, Alice,” she said with a hoarse voice. Alice smiled as she adjusted her bright blue hat. “I just came by to see if you were all right, Valentina. I never see you anymore.” “Actually, I think I have a very bad cold. I’ve been coughing and have a fever.” She coughed once in Alice’s face. Alice stepped back. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Valentina rubbed her forehead with her hand and sighed. “They can’t do anything. I just need a little time.” “May I come in?” Alice asked. Valentina was dismayed that the woman would not take the hint. Clearing her throat, Valentina spoke bluntly. “I really don’t think you should. I feel awful, and I don’t want you to catch what I have.” Alice stretched her neck, looking through the doorway. “I would only stay a few minutes.” “No,” Valentina answered as she coughed again. “I will come over when I feel better. We can go shopping. I must lie down now.” Alice tried to say something else, but Valentina closed the door. She looked down at the dark spot on the carpet and hoped her curious neighbor had not seen the stain. If she told her husband, there would be no hope for Jack, or for that matter, for herself or Rebecca.

CHAPTER 41 POLAND (Fall 1943)

Yuri looked around the small shack that served as his cell in the POW camp. Four blankets lay crumpled on the wood floor. They served as beds for the four guests of the Reich. The building had no windows, and the walls consisted of thin boards that let in blasts of icy air. Osip Kedzierski, the thin, Ukrainian soldier sitting on the blanket across the room, had been his roommate for two months. He had served as a radio operator for General Vlasov until the Germans captured him soon after Karl. He too had refused to the general in ing the Germans. He had lost at least forty pounds and was almost as thin as Yuri, with sunken eyes and pale, fragile skin. The only thing still vigorous was his hate for the Germans. Yuri knew that he himself did not look much better with his long shabby beard and rags for clothes. Next to him stood Gregory Badaev. He had lost much weight, too, but somehow he seemed sturdier than Osip. Like Yuri, he was a survivor. Instinctively, he knew how to protect himself from the weather and to avoid the beatings and psychological trauma inflicted randomly by the guards. His slanted eyes and short statue betrayed his origin from the hoards of Genghis Khan that had swept across Russia in the thirteenth century. He was a tough individual, but Yuri liked that attribute. Here was a friend who might still be alive in six months, unlike Moisey, the poor Georgian whose emaciated, dead body they had ed out to the guards earlier that morning. Yuri sat at the wobbly, wooden table in the center of the room, trying to clear his head. Hunger made it difficult to think about anything except the next meal, if meal was what you would call the daily bowl of water with pieces of fat floating on the surface. He sipped at his soup, grimaced at the foul taste, and forced himself to swallow. Osip took one taste and spat the awful drink back into the bowl. “We’ve got to find a way to escape. Otherwise, we are going to end up just like Moisey.”

Gregory shook his head. “It’s impossible. There are too many guards, and if we did get away, we would just freeze to death.” They looked at Yuri as he straightened in his chair. “It can be done,” he said, “but Gregory is right. We would never survive in the open in this weather. We have got to survive the winter, and then in the spring, maybe we can find a way.” “What way?” Osip rolled his eyes. “Four men tried in September, and where did it get them?” Yuri ed the resourceful captives who had somehow slipped through the barbed wire and run for the woods, only to be caught and dragged back to camp. The guards had hung them alive by their feet from large poles on the square in the center of the camp and left them there until the stink from their decaying bodies had annoyed the commandant enough to have them removed. “I don’t know.” Nothing in his mind seemed even remotely feasible. “Sometimes you have to wait until the opportunity shows. Then, you have to risk everything, and hope if you fail that you get killed instead of captured. Osip sighed. “I’m not sure I can last until spring.” Gregory patted his shoulder. “You can. You just have to keep up your strength.” Footsteps broke the silence outside. Loud German voices penetrated the walls. The door flew open. Guards shoved a large man with a torn, American uniform into the room. The door slammed behind him. He looked around the room at its starving occupants and tried to maintain his composure, obviously wondering if he would look that bad by spring. “Hello,” he said in English with a Texan accent. “Does anyone speak English?” The three listened without comprehension. Gregory responded in Russian. “Who are you?” The American shook his head and held his palms upward, indicating his lack of understanding. “Do you speak German?” Yuri asked in that language.

The man’s eyes lit up. “A little.” “Gut. Then we can talk, a little.” Where are we?” the American asked. Yuri shrugged. “Somewhere in Poland, I think.” The man hesitated, appearing shocked that these men, like him, did not know where they were. He held out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel John Sloan.” Yuri accepted the hand and introduced himself and his two roommates. Each related the story of their capture, with Yuri serving as interpreter. John was a pilot. A Messerschmitt Bf 110 fighter plane shot down his B-24 bomber. He bailed out, only to find five German soldiers waiting for him on the ground. He had not resisted, and they did not mistreat him. Apparently his captors did not hate Americans as much as they despised Russians. Yuri liked John and enjoyed talking to someone from such an unfamiliar culture. He also realized that the American could prove to be a valuable ally. John was strong and intelligent, and the guards seemed to like him. At least they treated him with less hostility than the other prisoners. More important, he spoke German, and Yuri wanted to practice the language. It was a skill that could prove invaluable in a German POW camp. John seemed just as anxious to learn Russian. It had to be stifling to be barely able to communicate with the other inmates. As the weeks ed, Yuri and John spent hours every day practicing the two languages and talking about life in their respective countries. After a lifetime living under Stalin, Yuri found it to be hard to comprehend the degree of freedom that John described.

CHAPTER 42 MUNICH (Fall 1943)

Jack Wilson carried a fever for weeks. There was not much Valentina could do except sponge baths and dressing changes. In spite of that, he eventually improved. His presence complicated Valentina’s life. She had friends who wanted to visit, and it was difficult to make excuses. She thought about having people visit and keeping Jack in the bedroom with the door closed, but his cough made that impractical. At least after he stabilized, she was able to leave the house for brief trips to the grocery store. After a month, he was walking around the house and regaining his strength. One morning he stumbled into the kitchen as Valentina was preparing the coffee. “Good morning, Mrs. Schneider.” “I have told you to call me Valentina. Mrs. Schneider sounds too old.” She pulled her bathrobe around herself and walked to the counter. “Would you like coffee?” “Yes.” He sat at the table. “Coffee would be nice.” He watched her fill a large mug. “Did I tell you I think you are an exceptional woman?” “Yes.” She enjoyed the sound of his voice. The American accent was very different from the British form that she had been taught. “Several times.” “Well, I mean it. You have all this property and wealth and status. Hell, you are even friends with the Chancellor, and yet, you risk it all to help a complete stranger. Do you know how much danger you have put yourself in?” Valentina smelled her coffee and took a long sip. “This wealth is all fluff, Jack. I have had much more than this before and lost it all. You cannot depend on wealth to give you a happy, stable life. You can’t depend on anything except your brain and energy and your sense of what is right. I know this war is wrong. Hitler is insane. I know because I have spent hours talking to him. He’s taking the whole world on a wild ride, and when it is over, will be in chaos,

along with much of the rest of the world. I cannot stop him, but at least, I can help a few individuals that cross my path.” Jack leaned back in his chair. He appeared to feel quite at home in the Schneider mansion. “It has been a lot more than a few individuals. Rebecca tells me you have become a legend within the resistance movement.” Valentina put her cup down and looked toward the door. “I never wanted to be a legend. I just somehow can never say no.” “You have a good heart.” She shrugged. “A soft heart, perhaps.” Jack poured cream into his cup and looked at Valentina as he stirred it into the coffee. “Maybe, but you are tough. You pretend to be a simple housewife, but in a crisis, you take charge and get done what needs to be done.” Valentina shook her head. “I’m not so tough, Jack. I lived with a man that I did not love for many years and, eventually, did not even like. I never had the nerve to leave him. The only thing that got me free was an American destroyer.” “What?” Valentina smiled at his confusion. “It sank his U-boat. He died a year ago. I’m supposed to be in mourning.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. He was a mean, arrogant man.” “Then why did you marry him?” She threw up her arms. “He was not that way at first. It was after the war, and I had just escaped from Russia. He was attentive and romantic and kind.” Jack took a sip of the hot coffee and set the cup on the table to cool. “So, what happened?” “Adolf Hitler and his group of misfits warped his mind.”

Jack frowned. “Why did you stay?” “My son needed a father.” Jack leaned forward and placed a hand on Valentina’s arm. “The sailor was not his father?” Valentina shook her head. “No. Karl was conceived in Russia.” She paused as she thought back over the many years. “His father was a Bolshevik—one of Lenin’s close friends. We were very much in love.” “What happened?” The revolution. He had to choose between it and me. He chose it. I guess he was not as much in love as I thought. Jack squeezed her hand. He stood and walked to the window. “He was a fool.” “No,” Valentina retorted, surprised at the vehemence of her feelings. “He was young and idealistic. He thought he was going to save the world.” She felt flustered. She thought she had erased Ivan from her mind, but just mentioning him evoked a longing and an anger that she could not reconcile. “Where is your home?” she asked, feeling she had to change the subject. He paused, as if bringing back a distant memory. “Indianapolis. Biggest small town in America.” “You have family there?” The smile faded from his face. “My parents and little brother. I guess they are worried sick about me.” Valentina nodded. She could identify with his loneliness. “I imagine. I hope we can get you home soon.” Jack returned to the table, suddenly more alert. He took the seat opposite Valentina and again took her hand in his. “How?” Valentina enjoyed the closeness that Jack had cultivated. He was a warm, comionate man who had not let the war warp his generous outlook on life.

She hated to think of him leaving soon. Her house would seem empty with him gone. “I have a cabin in the mountains near Friedrichshafen. Sometimes I drive there for a weekend. When you are stronger, I will take you there. It is near the Swiss border. Rebecca can help you slip across it.”

CHAPTER 43 (Early December 1943)

Valentina drove south in darkness on the bumpy road to Friedrichshafen. Her old Mercedes-Benz had one headlight out, and the opposite one was dim. Frequent bursts of lightning provided the only other light as rain poured from the sky. Her windshield wipers were broken. She had not tried to get them fixed. Parts were too hard to find in Munich. She drove for mile after mile with no sign of life. “How much further?” Jack asked from the floor of the back seat. Valentina answered without taking her eyes from the road. It took all her concentration to stay on the slick pavement. “About forty kilometers, I think. Stay down. I see lights ahead.” A few minutes later, she reached a roadblock. A Gestapo agent stepped in front of the car. Valentina stopped. She kept her hands on the steering wheel to keep them from trembling. A second guard left the shelter of a small shed and walked to the driver’s window. Valentina rolled it down. A gust of cold, wet wind soaked her hair. The guard leaned toward Valentina. Rain poured off his helmet. The scowl on his face broadcast his displeasure at her arrival. “What are you doing on the road at this late hour?” His harsh tone disconcerted her. She hoped he would not notice the fear in her voice. “I’m going to my cabin in the mountains. I meant to leave earlier in the day but was delayed.” “You should have stayed at home. This is terrible driving weather.” “This rain is awful.” He peered through the window into the automobile. “What is under the blankets in the back seat?”

“Just some food and clothes.” “Do you mind if I look?” He reached for the handle. Valentina struggled to keep her voice calm. If they found Jack, they would kill him. “No, of course not.” He opened the door and reached inside the car. As he did, Jack threw off the blanket. The man groped for his Luger, but he was not fast enough. Jack fired three shots into his face with his pistol. As the guard collapsed, the other man lifted his submachine gun. Valentina floored the accelerator. The grill smashed against his chest. He bounced backward and screamed as the left front wheel rolled over his chest. “Stop,” Jack yelled after the rear wheel had also bounced over the struggling man. Stopping was the last thing that Valentina wanted to do. She wanted to keep driving away from all this death and danger. She hit the brake in spite of her reservations. Jack jumped out the open door. The injured guard had dropped his weapon. He reached for it. Jack fired two shots into his left chest and third into his neck. Valentina watched the blood spurt from his neck. Nausea swept over her. She climbed out of the car and leaned forward, taking deep breaths. She felt cold and dizzy and held to the car to keep from falling while Jack dragged both bodies off the road and confiscated their weapons. He ran back to the car. “Good work, Valentina.” He opened the back door. She slipped back into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. Moments later, she steered the car back onto the road. “We will hide at my cabin. You may have to delay crossing the border.” “Yes.” He looked out the back window as he spoke. “I imagine there will be a lot of activity around here the next few days.” They met no more cars, and in thirty minutes, reached the cabin. Valentina pulled the car behind the cottage. Jack followed her into the building and locked the door.

She did not turn on a light, afraid that it would attract attention. She felt her way in the darkness to the kitchen. Lightening struck a tree in the yard. A loud clap of thunder hit her ears almost simultaneous with the flash. It did not frighten her nearly as much as the apparition sitting at the kitchen table. She gasped when it spoke. “It took you long enough.” Valentina recognized the voice. Rebecca. “You scared me. My nerves are shot.” Rebecca pushed back her chair. “What kept you?” She hesitated, not wanting to the events of the previous hour. “Gestapo.” “What?” Jack stepped beside Valentina. “We got stopped at a checkpoint. I had to shoot one of the guards. Valentina ran over the other one before he could gun us down with his submachine gun.” Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Are you all right?” “I just don’t know how Jack will get across the border now. There are going to be Nazis swarming all over this area.” Rebecca held up her hand. “How long ago did it happen?” Jack looked at his watch. “Thirty minutes.” “How did you get away?” There was urgency to her voice, and yet she seemed totally in control. Valentina marveled at the change in the frightened girl who had fled to her home only a few years ago. Jack pulled out a chair for Valentina. “There were only the two guards. We dragged their bodies into the woods and drove off.” “Then nobody knows about it yet?” Valentina slipped into the chair. “Probably not.” She saw the decisive change in her friend’s posture. Rebecca jumped to her feet.

“OK. Change of plans. We are not going to camp here for several days. We are leaving now.” The wind pounded against the roof, and lightning illuminated the room once more. Valentina stared out the window into the darkness. “In this storm?” “So much the better. It is the cover we need to slip across the border.” Valentina nodded. Rebecca stopped talking and looked at her. “I think you should come with us. If they find out you ed through the checkpoint tonight, your cover may be blown. I don’t think it’s safe for you anymore.” Valentina shook her head. Jack took her hand in his and kissed it. “Please come with us, Valentina. They will kill you if you stay.” She squeezed his hand. It would be lonely with him gone. Until that moment, she had not realized how attached they had become. “I can’t. If I flee, they will take it out on Karl. I cannot let that happen.” “If you get caught, what do you think they will do to you?” “I have friends in high places who will protect me.” “Not if the Gestapo arrests you,” Rebecca interjected. “They will not even know who you are.” Valentina leaned forward, her head in her hands. I know it’s true, but I have no choice. Karl is all I have left.” Rebecca pushed back her chair and stood. She dragged Valentina to her feet and hugged her tightly. “You’re the most incredible person I have ever known.” She held her at arms length, looking at her as if for the last time. “We have to go.” “I know. Be careful.” Jack turned to face Valentina. “Thank you for saving my life.” He kissed her forehead. “I will never forget you.”

After they left, Valentina went back outside and washed her car. There was blood all over the front bumper. It came off easily, but there was nothing she could do about the new dent on the hood. At dawn, the rain stopped. Valentina looked outside as if to see if Jack and Rebecca had returned. She prayed they were safe and that Jack was now in Switzerland. She locked the house and climbed into her car. It sputtered at first, but eventually cranked. Thirty minutes later, she reached the roadblock. This time there were six Gestapo agents. They looked more alert and meaner than the two who had gone to meet their maker. Valentina tried to control her fear while they inspected two cars ahead of her. A young man in uniform approached her window. Valentina was surprised to see him smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Schneider.” She struggled to understand how he knew her name. Finally, she ed. Paul had introduced them at a Nazi party gathering before the war. Paul had seemed to like the man, describing him as very loyal. Valentina was not sure to whom he was supposed to be loyal, but assumed it had to be Hitler. Why else would Paul have praised him for it? She could not his name, but fortunately, it was displayed on his Gestapo uniform. “Good morning to you, Captain Hofer. A lot has happened since we met in 1939.” His smile faded. “Yes. I’m very sorry about your husband. He was a great man, a brave sailor.” “Thank you. It has not been easy.” He straightened himself, assuming his official role. “I have to ask you some questions.” “That’s fine.” She smiled back at him. “Where are you going this morning?” “Home to Munich.” She tried to appear calm in spite of the fear that seemed

about to strangle her. “And your origin?” “I have a cabin near Friedrichshafen.” “And when did you go there?” “Several days ago. I have been a little depressed. I thought it would be relaxing, but it only brought back memories of Paul.” “Have you seen anything unusual or any people you don’t know?” “No.” He stepped back from the car. “OK, Mrs. Schneider. You may go. Drive carefully.”

CHAPTER 44 POLAND (December 1943)

One cold December morning, the camp guards marched all the prisoners into the courtyard to take the daily inventory to ensure that no one was missing. Yuri stood with John in the falling snow waiting for their captors to complete the task. To his surprise, the commandant appeared and stated that his new assistant commandant had arrived the previous evening. The announcement sparked little interest for Yuri. Whoever it was, he was not going to do anything to improve his lot. Still, Yuri wondered if he would be less brutal than his predecessor. The new second-in-command marched before his enemies. He had close-cut brown hair and sharp, blue eyes. The Iron Cross hung around his neck, and the insignia on his uniform indicated he was a lieutenant colonel. To everyone’s surprise, he addressed the prisoners in their own tongue. His words were brief. “For you, the war is over. I will do my best to make your stay here comfortable as long as you cooperate and do not try to escape. I regret that your food rations are not optimal. Your leaders destroyed most of the crops with their scorched earth policy. They left little food for you.” Yuri stared at the man, paying little attention to his words. He had heard it all in the past. There was something familiar about the officer. He felt he had seen him before but could not decide where. John seemed equally perplexed. He kept looking at the German and then back at Yuri. “What the hell?” Before Yuri could respond, a guard struck John in the gut with his rifle butt, knocking him to the ground. “No talking.” Yuri glared at the guard, but kept his mouth shut. He wanted to launch himself at the man but knew it would be a futile and fatal gesture. John crawled to his feet

and returned to the formation, keeping his gaze on the ground.

Yuri helped his friend limp back to the cabin. “Are you all right? he asked in Russian. John responded in German. “I will live. Who was that man?” Yuri wondered why John thought he would know and why he was excluding Osip and Gregory who did not speak German. “The commandant said his name is Karl Schneider. From his insignia, I would say he was with a Panzer unit. He’s wearing the Knight’s Cross. They don’t give them out to just anybody.” John held up a hand. “I was watching you. You recognized him.” Yuri shook his head. “He looks familiar, but I don’t know where I might have seen him.” John laughed. “How about in the mirror?” “What?” John shook his head. “Something is very strange here. If you did not have that shaggy beard, and if they had not starved thirty pounds off your frame, and if they put you in one of those Kraut uniforms, you could stand beside that lieutenant colonel, and no one would know who the real assistant commandant was. He looks just like you, Yuri. He even sounds like you. Hell, if he were not a German, I would swear you were twins.” Yuri caught his breath. “I do have a twin.” John almost fell off his stool. “Are you joking?” “No, but I never met him. He may not even be alive. My mother took him to Bavaria when he was an infant.” John’s mouth fell open. “My god. Why?” Yuri took a deep breath. He had believed Ivan’s story about his lost brother, but

this was surreal. “It was during the revolution. The Bolsheviks murdered her family, and she had to flee. She took my brother with her.” “And left you in Russia?” Yuri paced back and forth, unsure why he felt compelled to defend the woman who had abandoned him. “It could not be helped.” He wondered if that was really true and what quirk of fate had led him to be the son left behind? “Wow. Then this German lieutenant colonel really could be your brother.” “No, the officer’s name is Karl. My brother was named Ivan, after my father.” “Maybe Karl is a middle name. This man looks exactly like you. I think he’s your twin.” Karl stopped pacing and sat on a stool facing John. “I guess it is possible.” “Does he know about you?” “I don’t know.” He wondered what his mother had told his brother about him and if she regretted leaving him behind. John gripped Karl’s shoulders as if trying to make him focus. “What do you know about your mother?” “Only that her name was Valentina Kovalova, and she fled to Bavaria in 1917 after the Bolsheviks slaughtered her parents.” He paused a moment, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a ragged wallet and opened it to retrieve a dirty, faded picture of Valentina at age seventeen. “My father gave me this. It was the only picture he had of my mother.” John studied the picture. “She was beautiful.”

Two days later, Karl with two guards walked past John, who was on cleanup detail. John stood and yelled, “Colonel Schneider.” The guards spun to face him, lifting their rifles. John lifted his hands over his

head. “I’m an American. I have important information to give you.” Karl stopped walking and turned to face him. He recognized the prisoner as the only American in the camp. He wondered how he spoke German. “I’m listening.” John’s hands drifted back down to his sides. “It is for your ears only, sir. I need to talk to you in private.” Karl glared at the intruder. He had been warned that prisoners would vie for favors, and he had no patience with anyone who would compromise himself for personal gain. “I don’t have time for your tricks. If you have something to say, say it now.” “Only in confidence, sir.” “You waste my time.” Karl turned and walked toward his headquarters. The pilot would not fall silent. “It is about Valentina, sir.” Karl spun around and walked briskly to the American. “What did you say?” “I said Valentina Kovalova.” “Is this a threat?” Karl struggled to control his anger. “No, but I have information you will want to know.” The guard on the right lifted his rifle butt upward, threatening to smash John in the face. John ignored the threat. Karl held up a hand. He looked at both guards, then back at John. How could this American know my mother’s name? Did one of the guards tell him? How would they know? “The name means nothing to me.” He turned his back and walked away.

That night, after the usual sparse dinner, consisting of a potato and water, a guard pushed open the door to the prisoners’ shack. He looked at each man briefly,

letting his rifle follow his eyes. His gaze stopped on John. It was a hard stare conveying enmity and danger. “You. Get up.” John stood, fully aware of the consequences of angering any of the guards. “Come with me.” The man backed out the door, keeping his rifle trained on the inmates. John followed him outside. A second guard gripped his arm and led him across the compound to the house that served as camp headquarters. The interior looked like an old home, but the presence of several German soldiers, standing at attention, prevented any homey feeling. The guards took John through an office reception area where the first guard stopped at a door and knocked. A man answered with a voice that sounded like Yuri. “What is it?” The guard led John into the office. Karl, dressed in uniform, sat behind a large desk. A pistol lay on the table beside his hand, and a basket of fruit rested to his right. Karl gestured to the guard. “You can go now.” The guard hesitated. “But do you think it is safe, sir?” Karl tilted his head toward the Luger and looked back at the guard and at John. “I know how to use this thing. Please close the door behind you, Private.” The guard clicked his heels and threw up his hand, evoking a loud, “Heil Hitler.” Karl returned the salute and waited for the door to close behind him. He then turned to John. His face kept its impatient expression. “You wanted to talk, Major? You have two minutes.” John stood just inside the door, keeping a distance from the desk to reassure his keeper that he was not going for the gun. “Thank you, sir.” He spoke in a clear voice, glad for his hours of language practice with Yuri. “In 1917 your mother fled Russia and took you to Bavaria. Is that not correct?” Karl glared at the American. “My origins are none of your concern. What is your message?” John decided it would be best to get to the point quickly, while the colonel was

willing to listen. “During the Russian revolution, Bolsheviks massacred a young mother’s family. She fled from Russia with her son to Bavaria. That son grew up in , but he had a brother, a twin, whom she left behind.” He continued in spite of Karl’s disgusted look. “He grew up in Russia. The German forces captured him last summer.” John stopped, waiting for a response from the intimidating lieutenant colonel. Karl just stared at him with an annoyed expression. Finally, he spoke. “And I suppose you are going to say this woman was Valentina Kovalova?” “That was her name.” “You’re lying, Major. I don’t know what you think you are going to gain by this charade, but it is not working. Anyone could have told you my mother’s name. It is no secret that she came from Russia. That does not lessen my loyalty to . You have wasted my time enough.” He looked toward the exit. “Knock on that door.” He pointed to the door that John had just entered. “The guard will take you back to your cabin.” John stood facing him without moving. “I’m not lying, sir. I can prove every word.” Karl stood, keeping his hand beside the gun. “Do you want to be locked in a cell by yourself?” John ignored the threat. “He’s in this camp now.” Karl eyed him with suspicion. “What is his name?” “Yuri Krylov.” “And where is he?” “He’s in my cabin, sir.” Karl looked hard at him, and then shrugged. “Knock on the door.” This time, John complied. The guard opened the door. Karl told him to go to cabin #12 and bring back the prisoner, Yuri Krylov.

CHAPTER 45 POLAND (December 1943)

The door to Karl’s office flew open. The guard shoved Yuri into the large room. “Your prisoner, Yuri Krylov, sir.” “Thank you, private.” He took one look at his prisoner and knew that no one else should be present. “Leave us alone, please.” Again the guard seemed reluctant, but this time he said nothing as he retreated through the door. Karl shifted his gaze to the man in rags who had just entered. He was quite thin, obviously compliments of the camp cuisine, but he stood erect with a confident, almost haughty, stance. A straggly beard hid his face, but the deep blue eyes above it peered across the room at him with curiosity and alertness. The American major had been right. If you looked past the beard, this man looked very much like himself. “Who are you?” Karl asked in Russian. Yuri kept his gaze on Karl. It had an unsettling effect. He answered in German. “Yuri Krylov is my name.” Karl did not try to conceal his surprise. “You speak German?” “Yes,” Yuri responded with a perfect guttural accent. The woman that raised me insisted that I learn it. I did not know why at the time, but later, it became clear.” Karl could not take his eyes off Yuri. How can he look so much like me? These men are obviously lying. Mutter would have told me. “And you claim to be my brother?” Yuri seemed to be appraising his captor with the same curiosity that Karl was studying him. “Perhaps. I don’t know for sure. I was hoping you could answer that question.” Karl sat back at his desk, keeping his hand beside the pistol. “I have no brother.”

“Then why did you flinch when I mentioned Valentina Kovalova?” John interrupted. Karl resented the insinuation. This American was getting annoying. “I did not flinch.” Yuri stood erect, unintimidated by the assistant commandant’s hostility. “Is she your mother?” “That is none of your concern.” He raised his voice more than he intended. He could not possibly be my twin brother. He’s too thin, and I do not have a twin, anyway. “Why not? She is my mother.” He’s trying to trick me. Surely I would know if I had a twin. Mutter had no reason to hide it from me. “That is preposterous.” “My mother was a cousin of the Tsar. When the Bolsheviks started massacring the nobility, my father sent her to Bavaria to find her aunt. I was sick and could not go with her. My father took me to a kulak farmer and asked him to raise me. I was grown before the farmer told me he was not my father and his wife was not my mother. My real mother was Valentina Kovalova, who fled to with my twin brother.” Karl stared at Yuri. This has to be a hoax. “She never told me about any brother. Why should I believe you?” Yuri reached into his back pocket and pulled out his tattered leather wallet. Opening it, he retrieved the worn picture. He handed it to Karl. Karl gaped at the picture. “Where did you get this?” “My father gave it to me.” Karl looked at him with continued suspicion. “What is your birthday?” “October 1, 1917. I was born on the Kovalov estate near Moscow.” “That is not my birthday.”

Yuri nodded. “That is because Lenin changed our calendar to conform with the rest of the world. October 1 became October 14. Karl listened in amazement as he studied the high cheekbones and dark brown hair of his guest. We are the same height, and even the voice is mine. It is true. It is really true. He stepped around the desk, and forgetting about the pistol, walked to his brother. Extending his hands, he grasped both of Yuri’s shoulders. “I always wanted a brother.” “Me, too,” Yuri responded, blinking from the moisture in his eyes. Karl wrapped his arms around Yuri. He did not notice the American major who stepped away to stand between Karl and the desk. “I can’t believe Mutter would have left you like that. She is the bravest woman I have ever known.” Yuri stepped back. “She had no choice. Our father forced her to leave. He promised to bring me to her, but he never did.” Karl lifted an eyebrow. There is so much that I don’t know—so much I want to learn. “Who is our father?” Yuri frowned. “His name is Ivan Maximov. He was a friend of Lenin and is now Deputy Minister of Defense.” Karl thought back to a day before the war when his mother had met with him on the patio of the Café Troyka, a Russian restaurant in Munich. Two men approached her table. One of the men pulled a pistol and pointed it at her. The second man shot his companion, saving Valentina’s life, and then jumped a rail and disappeared. Karl had overheard Valentina ask the dying assassin why Ivan had come with him. She had later denied recognizing the man, but Karl now wondered if the man who had saved her life had been his father. “Sit down, Yuri.” Karl pointed to a soft chair by his desk and turned to his companion to offer him the adjacent seat. Only then did he realize the American was standing directly beside the desk with his hand resting beside the gun. John surprised him then. Smiling, he said, “Do you mind if I sit, too?”

Karl stared at him briefly, letting the sudden tension drain out of his body. “Of course.” He pointed at the chair. John stepped away from the gun and slid into the seat as Yuri took the other one. Karl picked up the basket of fruit and ed it to his guests. Yuri took an apple, and John, a pear. Both took large bites and chewed. Karl returned to the chair at his desk. He turned back to Yuri, reassured that neither man was a threat. “Tell me about our father.”

Upon returning to the cabin, John and Yuri found their roommates to be awake with anxious expressions on their faces. They slipped backward when the guard flung the door open and shoved the two men back into the room. No one spoke until the Germans had closed the door and left. Osip was the first to speak. “Did they beat you?” John shook his head. “No. We have been with the new assistant commandant.” Gregory’s mouth fell open. “What?” “He just wanted to talk,” Yuri interjected. “We are fine.” “To talk? What would he want to talk about with you?” Yuri shrugged. He felt it best to keep secret his relationship with Karl. “Conditions at the camp. Morale of the prisoners. He wants us to be sort of a liaison between the captors and the captives.” “Do you think that is wise?” Osip asked. John shrugged. “I don’t think we have much choice.” Karl reached into his pocket, found a large red apple and handed it to Osip. “A gift from the assistant commandant.” From his other pocket he pulled a second apple and handed it to Gregory. “I don’t think we’re going to starve this winter.”

CHAPTER 46 BERLIN (June 1944)

Valentina strolled down the sidewalk in the center of Berlin. The confident, triumphant mood of the early months of the war had disappeared. The Allied invasion of Normandy on June 6 had destroyed it. People looked downcast and worried as they hurried along the sidewalk. They know, she realized, it is only a matter of time before the Wehrmacht crumbles. She was not sure why she had come to Berlin. Months had ed since she had made the trip. She had received a telegram the previous day inviting her to a tea at an address she did not recognize. It was unsigned and could have been from anyone, but Valentina hoped it was from Rebecca. She had, in the past, sent unsigned messages for obvious reasons. Valentina had not seen her for several months and hoped she was all right. Her prolonged absences always made Valentina anxious. The sound of air-raid sirens interrupted her thoughts. People ran to the shelter entrance. Valentina accelerated her pace but walked past it. She was only a block from her meeting site. If she was going to spend hours underground, she wanted to spend the time with Rebecca. Soon she saw her destination across the street. It was a three-story gray building with a heavy door and shuttered windows. Ignoring the sound of airplanes and explosions in the distance, she stepped into the street. The explosions began a block away. A man screamed. The building behind Valentina disintegrated. She dove to the pavement. Debris flew all around her. She lay motionless as the pain in her skinned knees and elbows ed. Someone gripped her arm. “Get up.” She opened her eyes to stare at a tall man with brown hair. Something about him seemed familiar. “Who are you?” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

She stumbled after him toward the gray building. He opened the thick wooden door and dragged her inside a narrow vestibule as another building exploded, sending debris and shrapnel through the windows of her new shelter. “This way.” Valentina followed him through another door and down a flight of stairs into a damp, musty basement. Darkness filled the room. She felt trapped. The space resembled a dungeon. She had no idea who this man was or what he wanted. He could be some kind of pervert or an SS spy sent to entrap her. Reaching the foot of the stairs, Valentina confronted him. “Who are you?” He turned to face her. “Don’t you me?” Valentina studied his features through the dark shadows until she realized why he seemed familiar. “You’re the American from the Spanish embassy party. You wanted me to meet secretly with you.” He nodded. “You have a good memory, Mrs. Schneider.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for coming.” Valentina ignored his hand. “Mr. Holmes? Is that your real name?” The room quaked. Dust whirled through the air. “You can call me Fred.” “You’re not really from the American embassy, are you?” “No.” Valentina knew that secrecy was essential for people in the underground, but she still resented being deceived. “Who are you, Fred? What is your relationship to Rebecca?” The tall man leaned against the wall and studied Valentina’s face. After a moment, he relaxed and seemed to make a decision. “I work for the Jewish underground. You have to know that Hitler is massacring the Jews all over Europe. We are helping our people to escape to Palestine. It’s going to be our new homeland. We are going back after 2,000 years to the place we belong.” Valentina slipped down to the floor and sat with her arms wrapped around her legs. “You don’t have much time, Fred. There aren’t many Jews left in

.” “I know. That’s why I need your help.” Valentina did not care what he needed. She just wanted her friend. “Where is Rebecca?” Fred sat on the stone floor beside her and seemed oblivious to the explosions that continued in the distance. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” Valentina felt nausea and fear. “What do you mean?” “I have not seen her for two weeks. That’s why I sent you the telegram. I thought if anyone would know where she was, it would be you.” Valentina leaned against the wall, staring blankly ahead. “Is she dead?” “Maybe she’s just hiding.” The glum expression on his face betrayed his true opinion.” Valentina shook her head. “What can I do?” “Just keep doing what you have been doing. I will be your .” “How will that help Rebecca?” “It’s what she would want. You have saved scores of lives, Valentina.” She looked away. She wanted it all to be over. She did not want to play this game anymore. She was tired and afraid. She did not want to meet his eyes because she knew he had won. “All right, but promise me you will send word as soon as you hear from Rebecca.” “I promise.” This time Valentina accepted his hand.

CHAPTER 47 POLAND (October 1944)

The cold wind whipped through the cracks in the wall of the little shack. Yuri shivered and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. He looked around the room. Osip, Gregory, and John slept, wrapped in their blankets in their respective corners. He wished that he could relax like them, but his mind would not ignore the ever-increasing danger that they faced. Fortunes had turned. The Germans were retreating. Soon the Soviets would push them out of Poland. That should have been good news except he knew that the Nazis would never allow anyone to liberate the POWs. They will kill us all. The sound of feet and voices outside diverted his attention. The door opened. A guard stepped into the room and motioned for Yuri and John to come with him. It was a familiar ritual. At least once a week since the brothers had met, a guard had taken Yuri, sometimes by himself and sometimes with John, to Karl’s office for long talks and for a donation of food to hide in their clothes. It was not exactly luxury, but it kept them from starving. Yuri had actually regained fifteen of the thirty pounds he had lost before Karl arrived. The sunken appearance of his face had filled, and he was beginning to look half-decent again. Two weeks had ed since their last visit, and both men were puzzled by the long interval. They followed the guard to Karl’s office. After leading them inside, the man left, closing the door behind him.

Karl hugged both men. “I’m sorry it has been so long. With the war turning like it has, it has gotten complicated here.” Yuri patted his brother on the shoulder. “We understand. It’s good to see you, Karl.” John stared at the new insignia on Karl’s coat. “Congratulations, Colonel.”

“Thank you, John. You’re looking at the new commandant.” He had not only been elevated in position, he was now a full colonel. There was a time when this would have made him unbelievably proud. Now he just wished the war would end. John raised one eyebrow. “What happened to Colonel Schmidt?” “He was called back to Berlin. I don’t know why, but I’m glad. He did not like my meeting with prisoners.” John slid into his usual seat. “So when are you going to let us go?” Karl shook his head. He wished it were that simple. It seemed the war would never end. “If I did, you would just get shot by the troops that are swarming all over this area.” Yuri took the chair beside John. “Have you heard from our mother?” Karl returned to his desk. “I received a letter last week from Bavaria. She’s well, but she says people are restless. The stores are empty, and everyone is waiting for the Americans to invade.” Yuri leaned forward in his chair, meeting Karl’s eyes. “Have you told her about me?” “No.” He thought how excited she would be to know they were both alive and together. “It is not something I can put in a letter. The Gestapo reads our mail.” “I guess you’re right. I just wish I could have met her. I hope we all survive the war and can finally be together.” “What’s new with the war?” John said. “Your invasion of has been a success. You know I was in the original blitzkrieg of that country. I could not believe how easily it fell. It’s a different story now.” He sighed, looked toward the window, and then turned back to his guests. “Most of has been freed, and in the south, Bucharest has fallen.” John stood and stretched. “Why doesn’t Hitler call for an armistice? It’s obvious he is going to fall. Continuing to fight is suicide for .”

Karl lifted his hands in frustration. “For one thing, Roosevelt has said he will accept nothing less than unconditional surrender.” Yuri pulled his chair closer to Karl’s desk. “That is better than annihilation.” Karl shook his head slowly. “Not to Hitler.” “What about his Generals?” John continued. “Surely they can see that this is futile.” Karl wished he knew the answer. Few were willing to say what they truly thought. Displeasing the Fuehrer could be fatal. At least he knew of some who opposed Hitler, but they had paid with their lives. “Yes. They tried to stop him in July—blew up a bomb in his headquarters.” Yuri’s mouth dropped open. “What happened?” “The explosion temporarily paralyzed his arm and perforated his eardrums, but he emerged meaner than ever. His search for the instigators has led to many arrests and deaths. The purge is still going on. General Rommel died yesterday. I’m sure that is not a coincidence. I think he was involved in the assassination attempt.” John frowned. “You know, of all the German generals, he is the one that I have always respected. He was a genius and a very brave man.” “I know. I was with his Panzer division in . I would have followed him anywhere.”

CHAPTER 48 (December 1944)

Valentina sat in the rocking chair in her living room, listening to news reports about Teutonic victories that she knew had never occurred. One advantage of working for the underground was hearing what was really happening. The war was not going well for . She hoped Hitler would surrender soon before the Allied bombers had a chance to do much damage to the homeland. The radio said that the Allies were retreating, but she knew that they had liberated Riga and Athens in October. ’s defeat was inevitable. A knock on the front door diverted her attention. She wanted to ignore it. No one visited anymore without a reason. Could the SS have discovered her involvement with the underground? She opened the door. The short, bespectacled postman stood on her porch. “Good morning, Mrs. Snyder. I have mail for you and for your son.” The letter to Karl was postmarked over a year ago. The man had no idea where it had been all that time. “A casualty of the war,” he joked. Valentina thanked him as he left. Closing the front door, she opened the envelope. The message was brief.

My Dear Karl. I hope you are well. I’m now working at Berlin Hospital. Find me when this is all over. Love, Berta.

Valentina reread it twice before setting it on the hall table. Who is this woman? Karl had never mentioned her. Berlin Hospital. Maybe I will go meet her next

time I am in Berlin. Putting the note down, she looked at the letter addressed to her. She shivered when she saw that it was from Heinrich Himmler. Why would he be writing to me? She tore the envelope open and read. It was a personal letter, hand written and signed by Himmler himself. The tone was intimate.

My Dear Valentina,

I have missed seeing you in recent months. I look forward to spending time with you at the Berlin Hotel.

Your Servant,

Heinrich

Valentina wondered why she had received such a strange letter. Then she ed the party that was scheduled for the next day at the Berlin Hotel. She hated those Nazi gatherings. She had torn up her invitation the day it arrived. Now she would have to go. Failure to appear could be seen as a sign of disloyalty, almost rebellion. At least it would give her the chance to meet this Berta. She left the letters on the table beside Karl’s picture and stood for a moment, staring at his face. It was a strong, masculine face, like his father. She wondered if Ivan ever regretted his choices in 1917. If he had come with her to , they could have had a good life together with Yuri and Karl safe with them. Her heart ached to know if Yuri was alive and happy. She wondered what had gone wrong with Paul. I never felt for him that uncontrollable, all consuming ion that I had with Ivan. What made me so obsessed with Ivan, and why do I still

miss him?

The next day, she caught the train to Berlin. The trip depressed her. Looking out the window, she could see the deterioration of her country. There were no more carefree faces. Everyone looked serious and cautious. She arrived at her hotel an hour before the event and barely had time to get dressed. Visiting Berlin Hospital to find Berta would have to wait a day. For the party, Valentina wore an evening dress, which she purchased in Munich. It was black to show she was still in mourning for her late husband and simple because she could not bear to be too flashy when so many people were dying. Valentina arrived at the lavish affair thirty minutes late. She was pleased to learn that she would not have to deal with Hitler. He was off at the eastern front orchestrating his war. Himmler was the first person that she saw. She cringed as he took her hand and expressed his regrets for her beloved husband’s death. “I miss him terribly,” she lied. “I’m sure.” The a tinge of doubt in his voice worried her. Could he possibly know how much I hated my husband? Could Paul have confided in him? She felt compelled to embellish her statement. “I know he was mostly at sea for years, but the house seems more empty now that I know he’s never coming back. I still have not been able to empty his closets. It is almost like I think he will return some day.” The chief of the Gestapo frowned. “It is time to move on, Valentina. He will not be back. You need to pick up where he left off. You’re in charge of the Schneider fortune now.” Valentina flinched. She resented the reference to the Schneider fortune. Most of it came from her inheritance and her facile management of the estates. “Yes, it is a big responsibility.” “The war is not going well,” he continued. “Hitler would appreciate another of your generous donations. This is a critical time for the Reich.”

Valentina met his piercing eyes and wondered if this was a friend asking for help or a fiend demanding it. Somehow, the latter seemed most likely. “I will see what I can do.” I will never again give the Nazis another coin. Himmler nodded and crossed the room to speak with Herman Goering. Valentina spotted Magda Goebbels sipping a glass of wine beside the fireplace. Magda was the only person there that she did not dislike. They had been friends since before Hitler came to power, but their friendship had mellowed as Valentina had avoided Berlin in recent years. Magda seemed surprised to see her. She draped her arms around Valentina and held the hug for a long time. It reminded Valentina of the way she had seen mothers cling to their sons as they put them on the train to return to the Russian front. Valentina was not sure how to respond to the tears in her friend’s eyes. “I’ve missed you, Magda.” “I have missed you, too,” Magda said with a strained voice. “I wish you had moved back to Berlin.” “I just don’t feel at home here anymore. Munich is more to my liking.” She wanted to say that Berlin was too full of Nazi fanatics. Of course, there were plenty of those in Munich, but there she could stay at her estate and not have to deal with them. “But even there, you never go out.” Her eyes seemed to scan the room. Her unease disturbed Valentina. She’s more than sad. She’s afraid. Valentina wondered how Magda could know what she did. “I do, Magda. Just not as often as before.” Magda hugged her again, but this time she whispered into her ear a message that chilled her to the core. “They know about you, Valentina. Get out of the country.” Valentina froze. What do they know? If they discovered what I’ve been doing, they will torture me—force me to tell them about Rebecca. She faced Magda and saw her panic. She had risked her life to warn her friend. No wonder her eyes are

darting around the room. Being seen with a collaborator could be fatal. Magda looked at her friend as if for the last time. “You need to go. Now.” Valentina watched her walk away and knew she would never see her again. It had taken tremendous courage to warn her of the danger. Valentina had seen Magda’s fear and now she felt it overtaking her own body. I’m trapped. How could I get out of the country, or for that matter, out of the building? She must have been referring to the Gestapo. What did she mean? Do they know I helped the Jews? If they do, they will kill me. Valentina retrieved her coat and walked for the door. She expected to be stopped, but no one seemed to notice. Relieved, she rushed down the steps. It took great restraint not to run. Her entire body shook. Looking behind her, she sighed. No one is following. Maybe Magda was mistaken. At the bottom of the steps, two SS soldiers stood at attention. As she approached, they turned toward her. Her heart almost stopped. The nearest one held up a hand. “Mrs. Schneider, Reichsfuehrer SS Himmler has requested that you come with us. He would like to talk with you.”

Valentina reached the SS headquarters at 10:00 p.m. The guard led her into the outer office. “The Reichsfuehrer asks that you wait here until he arrives.” She tried to control her trembling hands. “How long do you expect him to be?” The guard did not seem to notice her anxiety, or for that matter, to care. He answered in a crisp, military voice. “I don’t know.” Valentina leaned back in the chair. The long trip from Munich and the wine at the party were taking their effects. She felt exhausted. Only her fear kept her awake. Hours ed. At 4:00 in the morning, the guard let her use the rest room while he stood outside the door. Then she fell asleep, sitting on the wooden chair in Himmler’s outer office. At 8:00 a.m., people arrived. Himmler walked through the door at nine o’clock. He smiled at Valentina. “I

hope you have not been waiting too long. Please come into my office.” Valentina followed him through his doorway. He motioned for her to sit on the couch as he took the large cushioned seat behind his desk. “Are you comfortable?” His words were civil, but his eyes, cold. He made her feel like an insect trapped in a spider’s web. His demeanor ignited her anger. “No. I’m exhausted. This is horrible, Heinrich. I have been sitting here all night. I’m one of the Fuehrer’s most loyal ers. He would not approve of this.” A man walked into the room with a tray. “Coffee?” Valentina nodded, and the man handed her a cup and placed one on the Reichsfuehrer SS’s desk. “I think Hitler would say I have been neglecting my duty,” Himmler responded with an unemotional, analytical voice. “It is only because I like you that I let you stay in my own office instead of the cells downstairs.” He had a strange smile on his face, and Valentina felt a chill throughout her body. She had always known he was an evil man, but now malevolence permeated the air. “I have no idea what you are talking about?” A shiver in her voice betrayed that she did. “I’m talking about harboring Jews and enemy soldiers.” His cold voice sent a chill through her body. “Are you going to deny that you keep Jews hidden in your house?” Valentina’s heart sank. What if they caught Rebecca? “Yes.” Her voice seemed far away. “I deny it.” “Wrong answer.” His face remained placid, but his posture became rigid. “You know I’m your friend. I will do what I can to protect you, if only to protect the memory of your husband, whom I believe was a great man. I’m on your side, but you have got to tell me the truth.” Valentina could feel the sweat collecting beneath her blouse. He knows. I don’t understand how, but he knows, and nothing I say is going to change that fatal

fact. “What do you want me to say?” Himmler’s eyes had seemed dull. Now they gleamed as he leaned across the desk toward Valentina. “Who helps you, Valentina? Who brings the fugitives to you, and who receives them from you?” He walked around the desk and leaned back on its oak edge, facing Valentina. “That is all I want to know. Tell me, and you can walk out of here now. They will never know. You will be safe. I promise.” It was a fatherly voice now, pleading for her life. Maybe it is all a bluff, Valentina thought. He has heard rumors and is trying to trick me. I will not betray my friends. “This is absurd. I don’t know why you would think I could be involved in anything so stupid. I’m a loyal er of the Fuehrer.” Himmler motioned to the guard. The young man left the room. Himmler sat back in his chair, staring at Valentina. The door reopened. A battered, naked woman, ed by two burley men, stood in the doorway. Her face and breasts were covered in bruises, and her hands were bloody where her nails had been avulsed. She smelled of urine and feces. It was the most awful sight Valentina had ever seen. “Rebecca!” The beast tortured her. “You animal.” She sprang from her chair. Her fist collided with Himmler’s cheek. His chair flipped. He landed flat on his back with Valentina pouncing on his chest and swinging her fists at his face. The two guards dropped Rebecca and ran to their leader. They grabbed Valentina and jerked her off the Reichsfuehrer SS. One leg was free, and she used it to kick him in the thigh just before a fist slammed into her abdomen, sending her to the floor. Himmler stood, straightening his shirt and ignoring the bruises on his face. “That was a very big mistake, Mrs. Schneider.” His calm expression disappeared, when the spit hit his face.

CHAPTER 49 BERLIN (December 1944)

The two guards dragged Valentina into the basement and shoved her past rows of cells packed with emaciated prisoners. In the dim light, she could see a young woman leaning against the bars, holding to them to keep from falling. Her arms looked like twigs, and her eyes had sunk in their sockets. Valentina caught her breath. Oh my god. How long has she been here? Will I look like that? Am I going to die here? At the end of a long hall, her captors stopped in front of a thick, metal door. The taller of the two men removed a key from his pocket and twisted it in the lock. The rusty door swung open. The other guard pushed Valentina forward. She tripped and fell. The door slammed shut. She lay on the cold wet stone floor trying to stop the trembling that seized her body. Her elbows and knees bled from the fall, but she hardly noticed. She had seen Rebecca. She knew what lay ahead. When the pounding in her chest slowed, she lifted her head and stared into the darkness. The only furnishings for her cell were a badly stained mattress on the floor and a chamber pot in the corner. The air felt stuffy and smelled of urine and vomit. It made her stomach churn, and she fought to keep from regurgitating the wine and Russian caviar she had consumed hours earlier at the party for the Reich’s favored few. She sat on the filthy mattress and waited. What am I going to do? Himmler will be here soon. Why did I have to hit him? He will enjoy whatever he does even more. Please God, do not let that door open. Her teeth chattered, and the shaking of her body resumed. As the hours ed, hunger superseded her fear. She hoped the door would open. They have to feed me if they want me alive to answer their questions. Eventually she heard the key turn in the lock. She was not sure whether it was

morning or night, since the two were the same in her cell. Her jailors kept the space cold, dark, and damp. The door swung open. A huge figure came straight for her. She crouched in the far corner of the cell. The morbidly obese man towered over her. A jagged scar marred his face, and his reptile eyes traveled over her body with sadistic curiosity. Valentina tried to slip further into the corner, but the cold stone would not move. In spite of the stench of the cell, the man’s odor was even more repulsive. When he opened his mouth, the smell of his empty gums turned her stomach. He extended a grimy hand with a tray of food. “Your breakfast.” As she reached for the tray, his other hand cradled her breast. She shoved him away, tilting the tray. The bowl of soup flipped onto the floor, and the bread fell into the mud. The man slapped her face. “Bitch.” He turned and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. Valentina listened as his footsteps receded down the hall. When they were gone, she stood and hobbled to the door. It was locked. She returned to the filthy mattress. Her stomach growled. She curled in a ball and tried to sleep. Sleep would not come. She could only think of food. She had no idea how much time lapsed, only that no one returned with anything to eat. Eventually she found herself staring at the filthy bread. The roaches had arrived in force. It will be gone soon. She tried to think of something else— anything else, but her eyes kept drifting back to the diminishing piece of bread. More hours ed. Her head hurt, and weakness overpowered her body. The insistent ache in her stomach would not be denied. She picked the bread out of the mud, flicked away the bugs, and chewed.

Days ed before the two original guards returned. They opened the door and led Valentina down the hall past the other cells. This time her eyes had accommodated to the darkness. She searched for Rebecca but did not see her.

The emaciated girl no longer occupied a cell. Valentina suspected she had died. The men dragged her up the stairs to the same office she had visited after the party. Heinrich Himmler looked up from his papers. Unlike their last encounter, there was no subtlety in his voice. “Sit down.” Valentina welcomed the seat. Just walking up the stairs had exhausted her. She stared at his emotionless face. “What do you want?” “I want to know all about the spy ring that you and Rebecca Gutman organized. Who was in it, who did you help to escape, and what information did you give to our enemies?” “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Don’t lie to me. I’m trying to help you.” Valentina laughed. “You have a strange way of helping. I would have sworn you left me starving in that filthy cell for a week.” He leaned back in the chair. “Eight days, to be exact. I thought you needed some time to think. There are other ways to persuade you to talk. I just prefer to not use them. After all, your husband was my friend.” “You have a strange way of rewarding friendship.” “I am your friend. If you would like, we can go downstairs, and I will show you what happens to people who are not my friends.” Valentina stared back at him. “What have you done with Rebecca?” Himmler smiled. “She’s still alive, if that’s what you mean. She still may prove to be useful.” “If I tell you what you want, will you release her?” Himmler shook his head. “That would be difficult. She’s a Jew, you see.” “No, I don’t see.” “She’s little more than an animal. Her kind almost ruined . They caused

us to lose the last war. They are a blight on the very soul of .” “Well, I am her friend. Why don’t you just kill me too? That is what you are going to do to her.” “It’s not that simple, Valentina. I need answers. I don’t want to hurt you. All I ask is that you tell me what I want to know, and I promise that I will let you go home. Oh, you will be watched constantly, but you will not be in that cell, and you will not meet some of my associates who are very skillful at convincing people to tell the truth.” Valentina knew he was lying. As soon as he had extracted what he wanted from her brain, she would no longer be of use to the Reich. There would be no reason to keep her alive, except perhaps, to torture her for her unfaithfulness. “Why do you think I’m involved in some stupid plot? I have been one of Hitler’s biggest ers.” His mouth turned upward in the beginning of a smile. “In the beginning you were, but not for years. Your husband was the er. You were something else.” “That is ridiculous.” “That’s not what Rebecca said.” “Rebecca told you nothing.” Valentina held her chin up defiantly. The Reichsfuehrer SS laughed. “You’re wrong. Rebecca told me everything. Agreed, at first she was a little reluctant, but after my men had their turn with her and after a few electric shocks to some sensitive places, she realized I was her friend and confided everything to me—just like you will.” “Where is she now?” “Auschwitz.” Valentina cringed. Rebecca had told her about the slave labor camp. She said that the Nazis had slaughtered thousands of Jews there. “Is that what you call setting her free?”

Himmler shook his head. I never promised to set her free. She did not have a husband who died fighting for the Reich, and she was no friend of Hitler.” “And I’m supposed to believe that would make a difference?” “Yes, I am your friend.” He again adopted a soothing tone to his voice. “Let me help you.” Valentina wanted help. Images of the horror she faced flooded her mind. She wanted to be free, but the price was too high. She faced her tormentor. “I would rather die.”

CHAPTER 50 POLAND (January 1945)

Karl sat at his desk, staring at the wall. The plethora of news over the previous weeks had shocked him. The Russians conquered Warsaw, and the Allies pushed the Germans out of the Ardennes on their western border. He realized that was going to lose the war. It was just a matter of time and lives. To make matters worse, he received orders to halve the rations of the POWs. He assumed his superiors realized they would have to flee westward soon, and if more prisoners died, there would be fewer to execute when the time came. He cringed at the thought of receiving those orders. Can I do it? Starving these men will not save . Mutter was right. This war was a nightmare brought on by a man with nothing but hate in his heart. What a shame that the assassination attempt in July failed. A knock on the door broke his trance. He looked up. “What is it?” The door opened. A young private stepped inside the room and saluted. “Heil Hitler.” “Heil Hitler,” Karl answered, casually returning the enthusiastic salute. “You received a telegram just now, sir. I thought you should see it right away.” Karl held out his hand and took envelope. He had difficulty maintaining his composure when he saw that Reichsfuehrer SS Himmler had sent the message. He opened it and read.

Colonel Karl Schneider:

Your mother, Mrs. Valentina Schneider, has been convicted of treason and has been sent to Auschwitz. You’re relieved of command and are to report to SS Headquarters in Berlin for questioning. Your replacement, Colonel Vogt, will arrive by convoy at 1600 today.

Karl stared at the paper long after he had finished reading. He knew it was true. Mutter hates the Nazis. She would have fought them with whatever means she could. She was not a coward. She stood for what she believed. Why couldn’t I have inherited her courage? I’m commandant of a POW camp, watching men die every day because Hitler will not send enough food to feed half of them. I’m just as bad as the SS.

An hour later, Karl stepped into Yuri’s hut, carrying a large piece of luggage. He looked at the four skinny men and wondered if they were up to the dangerous plan he was about to present. Gregory and Osip appeared startled but too frightened to speak. Yuri told them to stay seated. “He’s not our enemy.” They looked at him with disbelief but did as they were told. Karl informed Yuri about their mother’s plight and his summons to return to Berlin. “I cannot protect you anymore. I know the man coming to replace me. His brother died at Stalingrad. He hates Russians. When he discovers that you have gotten special treatment, he will probably be particularly hard on you.” John held up a hand. “Then help us escape. If you do, we will help you free your mother.” The proposal was just what he had hoped to hear. “And how would you do that?” “You told us yourself that the Russians have marched into Poland and conquered Warsaw. That is only 150 miles from Auschwitz. It should be liberated within weeks. If we get free, we will go there, and find your mother, and make sure she’s safe.”

Karl looked over at Gregory and Osip. “What about them? Their cooperation will be essential.” Yuri stood and explained in Russian the proposition. Disbelief spread over their faces as he revealed that the commandant was his brother. They stared with amazement at Karl and then back at Yuri, who continued explaining the plan. When he finished, they nodded. They knew that the Germans would kill them all before releasing them to the advancing Russians. “They agree,” Yuri said. Karl held out a hand. Gregory took it. Osip put his hand on top of theirs, followed by John and Yuri. “OK,” Karl said. “Here is the plan. I have been told that a band of partisans are living ten miles south of here, west of the road from Krakow. A convoy with Colonel Vogt will come along that road at 1530 today. If we can convince the partisans to attack the convoy, I will send most of the soldiers out of here to help Colonel Vogt. Then we will be able to disarm the few guards that remain and free the POWs. Yuri looked doubtful. “But how in the world can we reach the partisans?” With his index finger, Karl pointed at his brother. “That is your job.” “Mine?” “Yes.” Karl opened his bag and pulled out a pair of shiny, black boots and a uniform that was identical to the one he was wearing. “You need to shave.”

Fifteen minutes later, Yuri modeled his new uniform. John smiled. “I cannot tell which of you is which.” “That’s the idea,” Karl answered. He turned to Yuri. “Are you ready?” “Yes.” Yuri slipped Karl’s pistol into his holster, walked out the door, and pretended to lock it. Corporal Boeckh, Karl’s bodyguard, frowned, but as Yuri stepped toward him, he saluted. Yuri returned the salute. “Come with me.”

He led the guard to Karl’s jeep and climbed into the enger seat. “Drive.” “Where to, sir?” “The main gate.” The guard set his rifle on the floor and cranked the jeep. Moments later, the sentry at the gate stopped them. “Where are you going, sir?” “A little reconnaissance,” Yuri said. “I will not be gone long.” “It’s not safe out there, sir. Do you not want to take some troops with you?” “No. I have the corporal, here. That’s all the protection I need from those stupid Bolsheviks. Open the gate.”

The corporal drove away from the camp. When they reached a sharp turn, Yuri told him to pull off the road. When he did, Yuri opened his door and stepped out of the Jeep. “Come.” The corporal followed him onto the icy bank of the road. He stopped when he saw the pistol in Yuri’s hand. “I’m sorry.” Yuri said. He pulled the trigger. Yuri left the rifle and Karl’s pistol in the jeep and walked across a wide field. He held a white scarf in the air with his right hand and shouted in Russian. “I come in peace.” After an hour, he doubted that he would find the partisans. At least they had not shot him, but he would freeze to death out there by himself if he did not locate somebody soon. He had to find them. If they did not create the diversion, his friends would never escape. There would be hell to pay when the Germans found out Karl had helped him to escape. Snow fell, and the wind blew against his reddened ears. He kept walking and calling into the wind. His arms felt exhausted from constantly waving the scarf, and his feet hurt. He worried about frostbite. He

wondered if he would die today and never see Tania again and never see the mother whom he had never known. He had not expected to survive the war, but he wondered if his brother would die for trying to save him. Suddenly he heard gunshots and saw the snow splash around his feet. “I come in peace,” he shouted in Russian. “I’m Russian.” A man stepped from behind a tree. “Keep your arms in the air.” Three other shabbily clothed, bearded men stepped into view and pointed their rifles at Yuri. Yuri faced his captors. “Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed. I’m on your side.” “We are not naive, Colonel.” The man walked closer. “That uniform tells us very clearly whose side you are on. Your soldiers burned my village and killed my wife and little daughter.” He stood in front of Yuri with his three friends aiming their rifles at their enemy. Without warning, he swung his left fist, socking Yuri in the jaw. Yuri slipped on the ice and landed in the snow. The man hovered over him. “Get up, you pig.” Yuri crawled to his feet. Pain coursed through his jaw. “You don’t understand.” “Shut up, or I will put you out of your misery right now.” “Go ahead and shoot the asshole, Yevgeny,” said the closest of the bearded men. “No, we are going to have some fun with him first.” Yuri rubbed his chin. He recognized the hate these men felt for the Germans. It was in his own heart. The Nazis had killed Dmitrii and Svetlana, and Taras. These partisans had one goal in life. It was to kill Germans, and now, to them, he was their enemy. Yevgeny pointed to the east. “Move.”

Thirty minutes later, they walked into an encampment of forty partisans under a canopy of trees. Puzzled expressions covered the faces of the freedom fighters. A large, muscular man with prominent Slavic features and a coarse brown beard

stepped out of the crowd, blocking their advance. Yevgeny pushed Yuri toward him. “Greetings, Konstantin. Look what we found.” The man’s eyes widened. “That’s the camp commandant. How in the hell did you catch him?” Yevgeny laughed. “You would not believe it. He was wandering around in a field. Did not even have a gun.” “What kind of fool would do that?” “I’m not a fool, and I’m not—” “Shut up, you bastard.” Konstantin drew his pistol and placed it against Yuri’s head. “No. There is no time. I came to—” Konstantin hit him in the head with the butt of the pistol. Yuri fell. His vision blurred, and blood ran down his face. Yevgeny kicked him in the thigh. “Shall I finish him off?” Konstantin stared at the crumpled figure in the snow. “Not yet, little brother. I want to see what he can tell us first.” Yuri shook his head, trying to keep from losing consciousness. “I’m not the commandant. I’m a POW.” Yevgeny laughed. “That sure is fancy garb for a POW.” Yuri lifted himself onto his elbows. “It is not mine. The commandant gave it to me so I could escape.” “Konstantin walked closer and stood over him. “You must think we are stupid.” “His mother is in Auschwitz. He wants you to help him get her out.” An amused expression crept across Konstantin’s face. “Why should we help him?”

Yuri felt dizzy. He had to stay alert. His only chance lay with these men. “Because he is going to turn the camp over to you.” “Right. He expects us to walk around the barbwire, and he will tell his men to lay down their arms?” I have to prove who I am. “It is not that simple.” “I didn’t think so.” Konstantin’s lips turned upward in a snarl. “I don’t know why we are listening to these lies.” “Because there are a thousand Russian prisoners there, and you have this one chance to free them. The Germans will kill them before they let our army set them free.” The partisan leader rolled his eyes, his patience growing thin. “So, what does this other commandant want us to do?” “A German convoy will come up the road from Krakow at three-thirty. He wants you to attack the convoy and pin it down so they will call for help. He will then send most of the soldiers to rescue the convoy. Once they are out of the camp, he will help the prisoners to revolt.” He lifted himself to his knees. “Stay where you are.” Konstantin lifted his pistol and pointed it between Yuri’s eyes. “This is nuts.” “You don’t have to stand and fight for long. Just attack and retreat as soon as the soldiers come out of the fort.” Yevgeny placed the bayonet of his rifle at Yuri’s throat. “I smell a trap,” Sweat flowed from Yuri’s face, freezing before it reached his neck. “It is not a trap, and I’m no German. “I think you’re lying.” Konstantin cocked his pistol. Yuri did his best to ignore the weapon. His survival and that of his friends depended upon his staying calm. “How many Germans do you know that speak Russian as well as I do? And do you think the commandant would march into these woods by himself, with no weapon, waving a white flag, and calling out to

you?” Konstantin looked over at Yevgeny. “Is that what happened? Was he waving a flag?” “Yes. I told you he’s a fool.” Konstantin took a step toward Yuri. “Where are you from?” “Moscow, but I was living in Leningrad before I was captured.” “Are you familiar with Gorki Street?” He climbed to his feet, surprised that neither man objected. “Yes. It’s in Moscow.” “What is the name of the famous hotel on Gorki Street?” “Hotel National. Supposedly Lenin slept there. It is on the corner of Prospekt Marksa.” “What is the main street in Leningrad?” “Nevsky Prospekt.” “What unit were you with when you were captured?” “None. I was helping the Second Shock Army escape from Skaya Polist during the siege of Leningrad. I was a supply person, but when the machine gunner was killed, I took his place while our troops escaped.” Yevgeny kicked him again. “Why would you do that if you were not a soldier?” “Quiet.” Konstantin lifted his hand, signaling in no uncertain that he did not want to be interrupted. He turned back to Yuri. “What is your name?” “Yuri Krylov.” Konstantin extended his arm. “I believe you.” Yuri accepted the hand. “Why?”

Konstantin slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re famous. They call you the Hero of Leningrad. Everybody knows about Yuri Krylov—except maybe for Yevgeny.”

CHAPTER 51 POLAND (January 1945)

Karl watched the hands of the clock make their circuit. At three forty-five, he called a meeting of his officers and explained that an important convoy would arrive within the hour. He hoped that this was untrue. If his plan failed, Yuri and he would be executed. Their survival depended upon his brother convincing the partisans to attack the convoy. He regretted involving Yuri. He had heard a single gunshot soon after Yuri left, and he feared the partisans had killed his brother. The Russians probably shot him from 50 meters away without giving him a chance to say a thing. It was a mistake to send him there in a German uniform. I wonder how long it will take the guards to discover that he has gone. He glanced toward the window as if he would be able to see Yuri leading the partisans against the convoy. Gunfire and explosions erupted in the distance. Karl held his breath. Yuri survived. “Colonel?” Karl looked back at his officers. They were all staring at him. He nodded to the officer in charge of the guards. “Go see what is happening.” Lieutenant Gereke, a small but confident young officer who had reported for duty two months earlier, jumped to his feet. Karl disliked the unnecessary brutality he seemed to enjoy and hated to think how the prisoners would treat him if this plan worked. The man looked outside. “The partisans must have attacked the convoy.” Karl walked to the window. He could see smoke billowing from the road a number of kilometers away. “It looks like a major battle.”

Major Bennecke, the officer in charge of security, pointed to the smoke. “What should we do, sir?” Before Karl could answer, the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver and listened to his radio operator. “Sir, Colonel Vogt is on the telephone. They have been ambushed by partisans.” “What is their status?” “Three trucks have been knocked out, but the other ten are intact. They have returned fire, and the partisans are falling back into the woods. It should be over shortly.” “Thank you Corporal,” Karl hung up the telephone. His head pounded. The ambush failed. There was little time. He turned to his officers. “The partisans hit the convoy. It looks bleak. We have to send help.” He pounded his fist on the table around which his officers were seated. “Major Bennecke, take all your men and go now. I want them stopped. Do you understand?” Bennecke cocked his head to one side, studying his superior officer. He made no secret of his dislike for the commandant. He had even complained to the previous commandant about Karl fraternizing with the POWs. His expression declared that he considered the order to be absurd. Karl knew the officer would welcome him making a major mistake that he could use against him. The major saluted. “Yes, sir.” He left the room. Karl listened to his boots hurrying down the steps. He then turned to Lieutenant Gereke. “Lieutenant, they’re going to need all the help they can get. Take half the remaining guards and follow Major Bennecke.” Gereke stared at Karl as if he were insane. “But sir, that leaves the camp with only fifteen guards for over a thousand prisoners.” “I know that.” Karl turned an angry face to the dissenting officer. “Those prisoners are all locked in their huts, and the guards that remain have machine guns. Are you questioning my orders?” “No, sir.”

“Then do it now before you earn a court-martial.”

Within ten minutes, the soldiers were all out the gate. Karl walked back to the communications room. Corporal Lehmann jumped to his feet. “What is happening, sir? Almost every soldier has left the camp.” “I know. I sent them to help Colonel Vogt.” “But sir, he said he had it under control. You have left the camp undefended.” “Are you questioning my judgment, Corporal?” “No, sir, but something strange is going on. Private Baeyer called from the gate and said you left this morning with Corporal Boeckh and did not return?” “That’s ridiculous. Call Private Baeyer and tell him to come up here immediately.” “He’s on duty at the gate, sir. He can’t leave.” “There is another guard there. He can leave if I tell him to leave.” “Yes, sir.” He made the call and turned toward Karl too late to see the knife descending to his throat. It severed his windpipe. Blood spurted high across the room. The dying man clutched his throat and tumbled to the floor. Sweat dripped from Karl’s brow. He had finally done it. He had turned against his own country. He could not the evil any longer. It still was not an easy choice. Corporal Lehmann was not evil. He was just a soldier doing his job, just like Karl had done up until that moment. Unfortunately, that job facilitated the power of some deranged fanatics who had destroyed the soul of and who were trying to destroy the rest of the world. Karl wiped his knife on the soldier’s pants and dragged the corpse into the closet. Closing the door, he drew his pistol and sat at his desk, concealing the weapon and trying to control the tremor of his hands.

Moments later Private Baeyer arrived. Karl motioned for him to come inside his office. “Close the door.” He did as ordered and stood in front of the desk. “You wanted to speak with me, sir.” “Yes, Private. You’re under arrest.” Baeyer’s face went pale. “Why, sir?” “You have been sneaking food to the prisoners.” “No. I would never do that. They are nothing but animals.” Karl pointed his pistol at the startled soldier. “I hope you are telling the truth. Now take off your uniform.” “What?” “Just do as you are told, or we will skip the court-martial and commence with your execution now.” The soldier stripped to his shorts. Karl handcuffed his hands behind his back, tied his legs with rope, and slapped a wide piece of tape over his mouth. Satisfied, he confiscated both men’s pistols and took two spares from his drawer. All went into his coat pockets. The private’s submachine gun and his uniform went under his coat.

Karl walked directly to Yuri’s cabin. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and addressed the three prisoners in Russian. “Yuri reached the partisans. They ambushed the convoy.” Gregory frowned. “What was all the noise in the camp?” “I sent most of the soldiers to rescue the convoy. Only fifteen men are left here. I killed one of them and tied up another.” John peered out the slit in the boards that served as a window. “Where are the

remaining soldiers?” “Six guards are pacing their paths across the camp grounds. The four towers at the corners of the camp are each manned by a guard with a machine gun. The other three Germans remaining are the cooks. They are in the kitchen, preparing for the evening meal.” John stepped back from the wall. “The guards in the tower are the main obstacles.” Karl pulled the submachine gun from under his coat. “I know, but we have a solution for that.” He handed the weapon to Osip. “Do you know how to use this?” “Yes.” “Good. Hang on to it.” He handed the uniform to John. “Put on this outfit. I will be back.”

Karl walked to the next cabin, drew his pistol, unlocked the door, and walked into the enclosure. Eight startled men looked up at him. He spoke quickly, hoping to win their confidence before anyone tried to disarm him. “I’m here to help you to escape.” One of the men, a Russian with a scruffy beard and hairy arms, shook his head. “Why would you do that?” “My mother has been sent to Auschwitz. I want you to help me get her freed.” A tall man from the far corner of the room cocked his head to one side. “So you will let us go if we agree to help you?” “I’m going to help you whether you agree or not.” He paused to see their reaction. No one spoke, so he continued. “It will be dangerous. I sent most of the soldiers out of the fort, but there are still thirteen of them here, including four in the towers with machine guns.”

“What if we don’t want to risk it?” the second man asked. “Then just stay in the hut. I must warn you, however, that the Russian army is moving this way. Our guards will not let them free you. They will kill you first.” “What do you want us to do?” the original speaker asked. He was a short, thin man, but he had a strong face and appeared a natural leader. Karl pulled a whistle out of his pocket. “I’m going to try to disarm a few of the guards before you make your break. I will leave the door unlocked. When you hear the whistle, come out and run for the large building to your left. It’s the weapons room. If you can get to the guns, you will have a chance.” “Not a very good one,” the second speaker groaned. “A better chance than you will have staying here and starving or being executed.” A short, emaciated man with sunken eyes stood and pointed a scrawny finger at Karl. “How do we know this is not a trick? You could have men waiting outside to shoot us as soon as we come out the door.” “I could, but why bother. You’re unarmed now. My guards could march you against a wall and shoot you at anytime I want.” He returned the man’s hard stare. “If I wanted you dead, I would not be giving you a gun.” He handed a pistol to the leader. “Good luck.” He stepped outside, pretended to lock the door, and then walked in the direction of the next cabin. Halfway there, a guard stopped him. “Is everything all right, sir?” Karl answered. “Most of the soldiers have left. I’m making sure the prisoners are secured in their cabins. Why do you ask?” “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to go inside the cabins by yourself?” “No. These prisoners are so weak and so cowered that they would not try a thing. Besides, I’m armed, and they are not. Carry on, private.”

“Yes, sir.” The puzzled guard resumed his pacing. Karl reached the next cabin and delivered his surprising message again. After covering five cabins, he returned to Yuri’s hut. John had dressed in Private Baeyer’s uniform. The shirt was a little tight, but not too obvious. It would have to do. John followed him outside and stood as Karl pretended to lock the door. They walked around the buildings and climbed the stairs to the far tower. The guard at the top watched them the whole time. When they reached him, he saluted Karl. Karl returned the salute. “I need your help in my office. The private here will cover the tower until you get back.” “Yes, sir. What is it you want?” “I will tell you when we reach the office.” Karl descended the steps. The man followed, looking back with suspicion at the American who had just replaced him. When they reached the office, Karl pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the guard. “What the hell!” “Just put your hands over your head and turn around.” Karl removed his prisoner’s pistol from its holster and told him to disrobe. “What are you doing, sir?” Karl kept the pistol pointed at his head. “Something I should have done a long time ago.” Moments later he handcuffed and gagged the man and locked him in the room beside the other prisoner. Karl returned to Yuri’s cabin with the guard’s uniform. He left with Gregory dressed as a guard and had Gregory replace the guard in the tower across the yard from John. As he descended the stairs with the guard, he saw the cloud of dust on the highway. The convoy was moving. He had run

out of time. Reaching his office, he pulled out his pistol. The guard lunged at Karl. Karl darted backward, firing as he did. The bullet entered the man’s abdomen. He shrieked in pain. Karl fired twice more. The soldier slumped to his knees and fell forward on his face. Karl blew his whistle. Hearing the signal, John and Gregory opened fire on the other two towers. The unsuspecting tower guards collapsed. The doors of the cabins sprang open, and prisoners fled into the yard. The startled guards turned toward the cabins as John and Gregory directed their fire at them. It was over in moments. Karl walked out into the courtyard. The prisoners cheered. “The camp is ours,” he yelled to the crowd. Gregory pointed at the trucks approaching from a kilometer away. “The Germans are coming.” Karl held up his hands. “We outnumber them, and we have surprise on our side.” He turned to Osip. “The guns are in the building over there. Hand them out, and instruct everyone to stay out of sight. I will give the order to attack when the time is right.” Karl ran inside his office. As expected, his radio was going berserk. It was Colonel Vogt. “What the hell is going on, Schneider? First, you send out most of your troops, when I had just called and said everything was under control, and now, I hear gunfire.” “Everything is fine here. A few of the prisoners tried to take advantage of the situation, and we had to dispense with them. Come in, Colonel. Welcome to your new command.” “It sounds like a major screw up to me. We will talk about it when I get there.” “I’ll be waiting.”

Karl watched the convoy approach. He was still shocked at the action he had taken. He had betrayed his government and helped its enemies. His future was irrevocably severed from the Reich. He shuttered to think what would happen to his mother if word of his treachery reached Berlin. It was too late to dwell on that now. Everything depended upon capturing this convoy in its entirety. If anyone escaped, his compliance would be known. It would not be easy. Colonel

Vogt may have been a bastard, but he was an excellent soldier, and his men were well equipped—much more than this band of scrawny POWs. Everything depended upon surprise. Karl waited for the convoy to reach the gate before giving the order to open fire. Machine gun bullets smashed through the windows of the trucks, and hand grenades exploded all around them before the Germans realized it was a trap. They returned fire, but within minutes, those in the front were all dead, and those in the rear abandoned their vehicles and fled toward the woods. There was no way to prevent some of them from escaping. Then, gunfire erupted from behind the trees. The partisans had returned and had cut off any possibility of escape. The Germans had no cover, and the few who survived the first volley of gunfire surrendered to the partisans. Colonel Vogt was one of the first to fall. Karl thought he was fortunate. The partisans would not have treated a German Colonel well. They had suffered too much at the hands of the Nazis. Major Bennecke and Lieutenant Gereke were also among the dead. Karl would not miss either of them. With the partisans and the prisoners, Yuri returned to the camp. Wild cheers erupted from the freed men as Yuri and Karl embraced. Every one was shocked as the two twins stood beside each other, wearing identical German uniforms. Yuri turned to the crowd. He pointed to the partisans, who had ed the celebrations. “These men have risked their lives to help us escape today. We can never fully repay our debt to them. I wish my brother and I could stay and their band as many of you may decide to do. Unfortunately, as some of you know by now, the Gestapo has incarcerated our mother in Auschwitz. We are leaving in the morning to free her. I hope some of you will be willing to come with us. We will need all the help we can get. I only hope we can reach the camp in time. You’re all free men.”

The next morning, Yuri found the entire camp had decided to come with them. Karl and he had been elevated to hero status, and everyone seemed ready to follow them anywhere. Konstantin shook their hands as they prepared to leave. “You are both brave men. I am glad you are on our side in this war.”

Yuri had come to ire the freedom fighter who had almost killed him just twenty-four hours earlier. The man was courageous and, even if driven by an intense hatred for his enemy, had been willing to take a chance on the word of a stranger. “You’re the brave one. You fought the Germans all these years against impossible odds. I will always you with gratitude and even awe. Be careful, Konstantin.” The partisan leader slapped him on the shoulder. “Why are you saying goodbye?” “What do you mean?” “We are going with you.” Yuri could not believe his good fortune. The partisans would give his followers a real chance of surviving the trip to Auschwitz and maybe of saving the mother he had never known. “Wonderful, Konstantin. But why would you do that?” The big man faced him with arms folded together. “Two reasons, Yuri. First, because I really want you to free your mother, and I don’t think you can do it without our help. We know the roads and speak the language, and we know how to live off the land and to avoid the Germans.” “And the second reason?” “It is only a few days to Auschwitz. Once you have freed your mother, I hope we can persuade you to us.” “It sounds appealing to me.” We will definitely need to keep fighting the Germans, and what better way than with this partisan? It would do no good to free Valentina now if the Germans were to win the war. The thought of Valentina reminded him of someone else who would want to know her status. “Oh, there is one more thing I want to do before we go.” He took Osip, went back into the main building, and headed into the communications room. “Do you know how to use this radio if I tell you what settings to use?” “Of course.”

We need to take this with us, but first I need to send a message. He still ed the frequency Ivan had given him years ago to use when he reached . He hoped it was still in service. Moments later, he radioed the message to the Deputy Minister of Defense. THE WOMAN FROM BAVARIA IS AT AUSCHWITZ. I’M GOING TO FIND HER.

CHAPTER 52 POLAND (January 1945)

The POWs confiscated what food and weapons they could carry on their backs, and within an hour, marched out of the camp for the last time. Their advance toward Auschwitz was slowed by twenty captured Germans and by twelve wounded men, eight of whom were carried on stretchers. Most of the newly freed men wanted to kill the prisoners, but Karl would not allow it. It was a difficult decision because he wanted to reach Auschwitz as soon as possible, but his conscience would not let him stoop to the level of his enemies. A light snow followed them the entire day. That night, it turned to sleet. The men huddled together under tarps trying to keep dry and warm. Karl feared they were in more danger from the weather than from the Germans. This thought evaporated the next day when a German warplane caught them walking in the open. Its machine gun fire killed twenty-four men as it swooped past them. They found cover before it returned for a second sortie, and several hundred rifles returned its fire. Fifteen more men died, but the plane crashed in flames. Karl gave the order to leave the dead where they lay. It was too dangerous to linger. The pilot had most certainly radioed their position to his compatriots. Within fifteen minutes, the procession reached a dense forest and disappeared beneath the thick foliage. Soon four more fighters flew directly over their heads. “Hold your fire and don’t move,” Karl yelled. He hoped everyone heard. If one fool shoots at the planes, we might never live to reach Auschwitz. I have to get there in time. What if they have already killed Mutter? The planes continued to the east without opening fire. On the fourth day they stumbled upon a platoon of Germans. Karl and Yuri lost ten more men before the outnumbered Germans threw down their weapons and held up their arms. The last thing Karl wanted was more prisoners to feed, but he resisted his men’s desire to dispense with them quickly and corralled them with

the other Germans. That night he and Yuri questioned them for hours. They learned that the platoon had fled from a much larger Soviet force a week earlier and had been retreating since that time. Morale had been low for months, and it was obvious to all of them that the war was lost. “Why won’t Hitler surrender?” Yuri asked Karl as they returned to their tent. “Is he waiting for to be annihilated?” Karl shook his head. “I think he’s insane. There was a time when I though the man was brilliant, perhaps the greatest leader of the century. He was bold and decisive and won back everything we lost in the first war. Now I realize he was a ruthless gambler who preyed on the cowardice of his enemies until he had pushed them so far that they had no choice but to strike back with everything they had.” Reaching the tent, Yuri pulled back the flap for his brother. “But surely he must know now that the dye is cast. What is to be gained by forcing the Allies to destroy his country?” Karl shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said. I think he is insane.”

The next day, sleet pelted the men, and many developed frostbite. The night was cold, and the wind, strong. The following morning, snow fell and morale plummeted. Sergeant Rudny, the man who had questioned Karl’s motives at the camp before Karl gave him a gun, now questioned his right to lead the group. With fifteen of his friends, he stood in Karl’s path as they were preparing to leave. “This forced march is a disaster. We are not taking any more orders from a German.” Yuri stepped between the two men. “This German saved your miserable life.” “Baloney. We were better off at the camp. Every one of us is going to die if we don’t get out of this storm. He’s so obsessed with rescuing your mother, that he and you don’t give a damn living or dying.” Karl had heard enough. “Fine. Nobody forced you to come with us. You’re welcome to leave. Just follow your tracks back to the camp. I’m sure you will

find a warm fire and plenty of food waiting for you.” The man spat on the ground at Karl’s feet. “We sure as hell aren’t going with you.” Karl stepped back and motioned him forward with his hand. “Good luck. I hope you find whatever you are looking for.” The man motioned to his followers and stomped forward ten feet before looking back. Not one had followed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “We’ll die out there,” one of the men said. “You would stay with this fool?” “He got us out of the camp.” Rudny scowled at his former followers and then back at Karl. “All right. I’m staying, but we had better get somewhere warm soon.” Karl shook his head. This man had been divisive from day one and could still lead a mutiny. “No. You severed yourself from this group. Now keep walking.” He folded his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.” “I think you are.” Yuri pulled his pistol from his belt. Rudny tightened the grip on his rifle and faced Yuri. When he did, his friends reached for their rifles. Karl braced for a barrage of bullets. To his surprise, Rudny’s friends pointed their rifles at Rudny. The belligerent sergeant threw down his rifle and walked away.

The liberated POWs reached Auschwitz the afternoon after Soviet troops liberated it. The new partisans stayed outside while Karl and Yuri proceeded to the camp. A captain with the Soviet First Ukrainian Front Army intercepted them at the gate. He refused to allow them to enter until Yuri explained their mission.

The officer stared hard at Yuri when he told of his capture by the Germans. “I was with the Second Shock Army at Skaya Polist,” he said with enthusiasm. “You saved my life. I was one of the last soldiers to escape.” He gave Yuri an unexpected bear hug and opened the gate. The Russian led them down a roadway past a number of buildings that the fleeing Germans had demolished. They came to a barracks where he stopped. “I think you need to see this,” he said. They followed him inside. The room was packed with cots containing women and children who looked like barely living skeletons. Most appeared too weak to sit. Soviet nurses were assisting several of them. Some appeared on the verge of death. Karl walked slowly through the room. He scanned every face. Mutter was not there. Fighting back an urge to vomit, he hurried outside, welcoming the fresh cold air. “I’m sorry,” the captain said. “Your mother is not likely to be alive.” Karl took a deep breath. “How many survivors are there?” “About seven thousand now, but some are not going to live through the week.” “Are there any records?” The officer shrugged. “Not many. The guards burned most of them. What we have are over there. He pointed at a building to their left. “Can we see them?” “Of course.” Yuri placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I would like to look around while Karl is searching the records.” “Certainly.” The soldier pointed out several other prisoner quarters. After Yuri left, he led Karl to the building. While they walked, he told Karl what he had learned about the camp. Auschwitz was really a conglomerate of slave labor and

extermination camps. The Nazis shipped Jews and other undesirables from all over Europe, often in cattle cars, to Auschwitz, either to serve as slave labor or for extermination. The slaves worked in coalmines, stone quarries, farms, fisheries, or armaments factories. “When they became too weak to work, they faced extermination,” he said. “We believe that over a million people were killed here.” Murder had become a scientific feat, accomplished with an assembly line technique. Victims were sent en mass into large crematoria buildings, where they were made to disrobe and then to go into a large gas chamber, which was disguised as a shower room. Zyklon B gas was then pumped into the chamber, killing everyone within minutes. Other inmates carried their bodies to the crematorium ovens for disposal after removing any gold fillings from their teeth. Karl had suspected that people were being slaughtered in the camp but the extent of the evil amazed him. Finding his mother alive seemed impossible. The captain led Karl to a stack of papers with each sheet containing a photograph below which was written the prisoner’s name, date of birth, date of incarceration, and date of death. “This is what we found,” he said. “They are written in German, so I have not really looked through them.” Karl sighed and thumbed through the mounds of paper. As he studied the records, he noticed that most of the people died within a few months of arrival. After an hour, his gaze locked on a photo of a young woman. Her face was thin and bruised, her head had been shaved, and her eyes seemed to have lost all life. “Oh god.” He scanned to the written record and read the name: Rebecca Gutman. She had arrived at the camp August 14, 1944. The date of death was blank. “She’s alive.” “Who?” “This woman. She was my girlfriend when I was a boy. She’s here. The captain looked at the record and frowned. “Not likely. She was in Block 18.”

“What is Block 18?” “It is a barracks in the north part of the camp.” “Can you take me there?” His hands shook. He had seen some of the prisoners. Would Rebecca be as emaciated and sick as they had been? “I would like to inspect its inhabitants.” “I’m afraid that is impossible.” “Impossible? Why?” “Block 18 was empty when we liberated the camp. They were probably all exterminated.” He slumped into the chair beside the table. “Are you all right?” the captain asked. Karl could hardly think. He failed to hear the door of the hut open. A full minute ed before he responded to the captain. “Yes. It’s just hard to believe that so many people have been murdered.” He felt the captain’s steadying hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re OK?” Karl had to turn his head away to conceal the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Rebecca had warned him of the evil ahead, and he had done nothing. “I’m fine. May I see the survivors?” Before the captain could answer, a voice from behind Karl said, “It will not do any good.” He turned to see a large man standing beside a tall woman in a pilot’s uniform. Karl resented the interruption. “I will look anyway, if you don’t mind.” The man’s face took on the same puzzled expression of the girl. “She isn’t here. You’re wasting time.” Karl sighed. There was no way this man had any idea why he was there. “Who is not here?”

“Valentina.” The man looked at him as if he were retarded. “How would you know about Valentina?” He stared at the man, ignoring the woman at his side who appeared totally mystified. She thrust her hands on her hips. “Are you not going to speak to me?” Karl was so focused on the man who knew about his mother that he did not even look at the angry woman. Ivan frowned. “We have been here since yesterday. She is not in the camps, and I have been through all those records. She isn’t here so you can forget about looking yourself.” Karl felt a knot in his stomach. Am I too late? Has she disappeared into those horrifying furnaces? Why is a Soviet looking for my mother? Then he had a horrible thought. The only people more anxious to be rid of his mother than the Nazis were the Bolsheviks. She was related to the Tsar. This man was searching for her for one reason. He wanted to rid Earth of all Romanovs. “You bastard.” Without warning, he shoved Ivan. Tania sighed deeply and pushed herself between the two men. “Don’t be such a fool. He’s trying to help you.” Karl stepped around her. “Stay out of this, woman.” Not seeing the Soviet captain reach for his pistol, he grabbed Ivan’s shirt. Too late, he heard the hammer being cocked. He realized he had been a fool and was going to pay with his life. Ivan spun himself between Karl and the officer. “Holster your gun.” The man did not fire, but he kept his pistol pointed at Karl. Ivan yelled this time. “Put down the pistol.” This time the man complied. Tania was not so compliant. She slapped Karl hard across his face. He ignored the pain and turned back to Ivan. “Are you going to let your girlfriend do your fighting for you?” Ivan’s face grew red. “She is not my girlfriend. I thought she was yours.” Karl turned to the furious woman, sensing that something was wrong. “Who are

you?” The bewildered expression on her face surprised Karl almost as much as the change in Ivan who looked like he had just seen a ghost.

CHAPTER 53 AUSCHWITZ (January 1945)

Ivan caught his breath. This is not Yuri. This is his brother—my other son. How did he get here? Who sent the radio message? He placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk, Ivan.” Karl looked at him as if he were crazy. “Ivan? That’s not my name. I’m Colonel Karl Schneider. Who the hell are you?” Ivan winced. There was no doubt that this was the twin Valentina had named after him. He looked just like Yuri and was looking for Valentina. Valentina changed his name. She took my name from my son. The fact that it was justified did nothing to ease the pain. He had abandoned his sons, and nothing could undo that act. The captain recognized his cue. “I have got to get back to work, sir.” “Thank you, Captain.” Ivan did not take his eyes off Karl. The officer left. Karl stepped closer to Ivan and Tania and repeated his question, this time to both of them. “Who are you?” It seemed like a simple question, but Ivan was not sure where to begin. “I am your father, Ivan Maximov.” Karl’s whole body stiffened. He stared at him for a full minute before continuing. “My father was Captain Paul Schneider, a brave man who married my mother and raised me as his own child.” Ivan lowered his eyes. How could he expect anything except hostility? After all, he had had his way with this boy’s mother and then sent her away with their son to an alien land. He really had no right to call himself a father at all. “I’m glad he was like a father, but I am the one responsible for your coming into the world. I loved your mother, but I had to send her away. She and you would have been

killed if you had stayed.” “You could have gone with her. It was a dangerous trip.” He folded his arms in front of his chest and faced Ivan. “She told me about it. Bandits almost killed her, and she would have starved or frozen to death if the Finns had not helped her.” Ivan realized that this reunion was not going well. What made it worse was the fact that Karl was right. “I’m sorry. I made a terrible mistake. The revolution had begun, and at the time, I thought bringing Lenin to power was more important than life itself. I was wrong. I should have gone with her.” “Yes, you should have. But you did not. Why are you here now?” He had the same aloofness that Yuri had exhibited when he first came to Ivan’s office. He looked exactly like his brother except for a scar on his scalp. Even their mannerisms were the same. “I received a strange radio message saying Valentina was here.” Karl shook his head. “It must have been from Yuri.” The woman stepped toward him. “Yuri is alive?” “Yes.” He turned his attention to the tall blonde pilot and smiled. “You must be Tania.” Her eyes brightened. “He mentioned me?” Karl laughed. “Only every time I have ever talked to him.”

Ten minutes later, Yuri spotted the three most important people in his life. He ran to greet them. He hugged Tania and then turned to Ivan. “You got my radio message, I gather.” “Yes. I was not sure it was you but could not think of any other explanation.” Yuri looked back at Tania as if he could not believe it was really she. “I like your pilot.”

Ivan laughed. “I think she likes you a little, too.” Yuri faced the woman he loved. “Is that true?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I thought you were dead.” He kissed her back. “There were times when I wished that were true. You don’t ever want to be a prisoner of the Germans.” Tania looked at the crematorium. “I know.” Then she turned back to Yuri. “Is that where you have been all this time? In a POW camp?” “Yes. Would you like to meet the Commandant?” He held out a hand toward Karl. Ivan nodded. “So that’s how you two got together.” “That’s how I survived. Karl slipped me extra food and protected me from the guards. He led our escape. He saved the entire camp.” Ivan looked back at Karl. “I gather you are not a fan of the Fuehrer.” Karl reached into his pocket and pulled out his telegram from the Reichsfuehrer SS. He handed it to Ivan. “My mother hated Hitler and the Nazis. I did not. I thought they had brought back respectability for , but I was wrong.” Ivan was already reading. “My god. Himmler himself sent her here.” Yuri looked around the room as if he expected her to materialize from the walls. “Then where is she?” Ivan shook his head. “Maybe she never got here. Maybe she disappeared forever in the crematoria. Maybe she left with the prisoners that evacuated to Wodzislaw before we arrived. We may never know.”

The impromptu family reunion was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone there, but more for Tania than anyone. Her whole life had been turned upside

down when she heard Yuri was dead. Now he was alive, and her life was upside down again. What am I to do? I have been with Emilian almost every day since Kursk. We have even discussed marriage. Now Yuri is back. The desire in his eyes felt overpowering. She wanted him, but she wanted Emilian too. She led him out of the tent. He was still thin but had gained some weight since she had seen him in the hospital in Leningrad. “You look wonderful. They must feed you well in the camps.” He laughed. “It definitely helps to be the Commandant’s brother.” He took her hands in his. “You look beautiful—just like I ed.” He does still love me. She pulled him close. “I cannot believe you are really alive.” He pressed his lips against hers. “I could not die without seeing you again.” She kept her hand in his and led him down a dirt path. “We have so much to talk about. Everyone thought you were dead.” He shrugged. “Everyone? Who would care except you and Ivan?” “Just about everybody in Russia. I read about you in the newspaper.” “What? How could that be?” “They call you the Hero of Leningrad. You have become a legend. Did you really single handedly hold back the Germans while our troops escaped? Are you the reason that Leningrad survived?” Yuri shook his head. “I had been wounded and could not run so I stayed and manned the machine gun until they got me with a grenade.” He told her about his injuries and the unexpected care by the Germans who wanted him to General Vlasov’s traitors. “I guess I made the right choice,” he continued. “I’m still alive, and it looks like we are going to win the war.” Tania wondered what she would have done. Anything seemed preferable to starving to death in a POW camp. She just felt glad that he survived. “I would not want to be one of Vlasov’s men after the surrender. Stalin will not rest until they are all dead.”

Yuri nodded. “For some, the end of the war will be worse than the war itself.” “I’m just glad you are alive.” They arrived at Tania’s tent, and she led him inside, closing the flap. She found her canteen, took a sip, and ed it to Yuri. “The last time you were at my place, we had wine. We will have to settle for water today.” “Until we were interrupted, that night was the happiest night of my life.” “Mine too.” He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. “I dreamed about you every night.” “It has been a long time, Yuri.” “And a lot of empty dreams.” He kissed her just as he had that night five years ago. Tania closed her eyes as her body responded to the urgency of his lips. Tomorrow I will worry about Emilian. Tonight belongs to Yuri.

Tania awoke at 6:00 o’clock in the morning wrapped around Yuri in her sleeping bag. He was sleeping with his face planted between her breasts. He looked so relaxed and content that she did not want to disturb him. She lay still, watching him breath and enjoying his nearness. He seemed to sense her attention and opened his eyes. “You look spectacular this morning.” Tania could only imagine what she looked like after sleeping on the ground all night. “Sometimes you tend to exaggerate.” She ran her hand along his back and shoulders. He lifted his head and almost purred. “That feels good.” “It is the least I can do after what you did for me last night.” “Which time?”

“Every time.” She kissed his forehead. With his body pressed against hers, it was all too obvious that he was not about to send her away. “I don’t want to leave.” He rolled to his side, taking the weight off her arm. “To leave?” “I thought you knew. Ivan has to be back in Moscow today.” “Can’t you stay?” She shook her head. “I’m his pilot. He can’t get back without me.” “That’s unfair.” “I know.” She ran her fingers down his chest and slowly over his abdomen. “We don’t have much time.”

Thirty minutes later, they were still in the sleeping bag. Yuri turned to her. “When will I see you again?” “I don’t know. Where will you be?” She wondered how she could see Yuri and Emilian at the same time. Why did life have to be so complicated? “I’m not sure. I just know I do not want to wait another five years.” She smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She climbed out of the sleeping bag and reached for her bra. Yuri followed and took her hand. “I think we should get married.” Tania froze. He was about to ruin everything. She needed time. She loved Yuri, but she loved Emilian too. How could she tell Emilian that Yuri was alive, or worse, how could she tell Yuri about Emilian? She stood holding his hand. “I do love you, Yuri.” He kissed her, pulling her once more to his chest. “I take that as a yes.” Tania pulled away from him. “No. You will have to settle for a maybe.” A frown crept across his face. “Why? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Tania hesitated. She was not sure what to say but knew she could not lie to him. “I have been seeing someone for the past year. I thought you were dead. He was kind and looked after me.” She almost said watched my butt but decided against it. Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “I bet he did.” “Not like that.” She resented his insinuation even if it was true. “He’s a fighter pilot, and he saved my life at least twice.” “So you have not slept with him?” Tania’s anger rose. He had no right to interrogate her like this. “I did not say that.” “So you have.” “So it is none of your business.” Suddenly she did not want to be in Auschwitz. Anywhere else would be just fine. “None of my business? I have the right to know who my future wife is sleeping with.” “Who said we were getting married?” Yuri’s face grew red, but he kept his voice low. “If this jerk is your lover, what were you doing in my sleeping bag?” Tania was fully dressed by now and totally disgusted. “He is no jerk. He would never talk to me like this.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I was here last night. It was a mistake. Maybe I just felt sorry for you.” The devastated look on his face did nothing to cool her fury. She turned and stormed out of the tent without looking back.

Only after she was rolling her plane down the runway did she begin to consider the implications of her anger. It was over. She would never see Yuri again. She felt Ivan’s hand on her shoulder. “What?”

“You’re crying.” He said. “What’s wrong?” She kept her gaze forward as the plane left the runway and soared upward. “I already miss Yuri.”

Yuri watched Tania lift the transport plane off the runway and turn eastward. With it went all his hopes for the future and his only reason to return to Russia. Karl broke the silence. “I guess we cannot just keep standing here forever.” “No, I guess not. Where to now, brother?” Yuri hardly cared what they did. He had lived for the moment he would see Tania again, and she had not shared his obsession. “We have no way of knowing where Mutter is imprisoned or even if she is alive. I guess all we can do is try to get this war over as quickly as possible.” Yuri was more anxious than ever to find his mother. He had heard Karl talk about her and realized that she was a very special person. She had suffered terribly and still managed to survive and thrive, at least until now. He wondered what she would think if she realized that he was still alive and had ed with Karl. It looked like they would have to win this war before they could have a chance to find her, if she was still alive. “Should we go with Konstantin?” “I think so. He’s a good leader, and if we our men with his, we will be a formidable force.” “All right. We will do it.” The brothers walked back to their camp. Karl seemed to look forward with anticipation. Yuri looked back at the clouds behind which the airplane had disappeared. He felt a chapter of his life had just ended. He had not seriously contemplated life without Tania. It was time for realignment. He did not know what life had in store, but he was going to be with his brother and with his mother if they ever found her alive.

CHAPTER 54 MOSCOW (March 1945)

Ivan poured Olivia a glass of vodka. It was his favorite drink, and he assumed it should be hers too. She leaned back against the soft cushion on his couch and spoke in English. “How was Yalta?” He handed her the drink and sat beside her. “Stalin was his usual boorish, stubborn self. I don’t think Roosevelt or Churchill liked him very much, but he does seem to get his way.” He liked having Olivia back at his house. Months had ed since he had broken off their intimate relationship. He was glad they could still be friends. She lifted the glass and touched it to his, all the time watching his face. “You disappeared for several days before the conference. I tried to reach you, and nobody seemed to know where you were—at least, no one was willing to acknowledge it.” Ivan had planned not to mention the trip, but he had never been able to lie to Olivia. “I went to Auschwitz.” Her mouth fell open. “Auschwitz? Isn’t that where Hitler exterminated all those people?” Ivan swallowed his vodka in one gulp. It failed to make the conversation any more pleasant. “Over a million. He had a regular assembly line. Your Ford Motor Company could not compete for efficiency. Cattle cars would bring in the Jews, and the weak ones would go straight to the gas chambers. If they were stronger, they would go first to a slave labor camp until their bodies wore out. Then, they would get to their friends in the crematorium.” “Why did you go?” A puzzled expression crept across her face. “Couldn’t your subordinates have just given you a report?”

“Yes, but I had heard that an old friend might be there. I wanted to see if she was still alive.” Olivia’s eyes widened. “The woman from Bavaria?” He nodded. “You didn’t find her, did you?” “No, I personally looked at every surviving victim and read all the ledgers, but most had been destroyed. I guess the Nazis incinerated her body, and no one will ever know what became of her.” Olivia shook her head. “She didn’t go to Auschwitz, Ivan. She’s at Ravensbrueck.” “What?” Olivia set her empty glass on the table beside the couch. “That’s why I was looking for you. She was working for the underground, helping Jews and an occasional soldier to escape from . Apparently she was a very valuable agent. Himmler had her imprisoned in Berlin and was going to send her to Auschwitz but changed his mind, probably because your troops were getting too close. She went to the woman’s section of Ravensbrueck instead.” “How do you know this?” He was unable to control the anger in his voice. Olivia frowned. “We have a spy in Himmler’s office. You asked me to find out about her.” Ivan felt helpless. He had given up all hope, but now she was alive, and he could do nothing. “How long have you known this?” “Since January.” She glared back at him, obviously not pleased at all by his change of mood. “You have not exactly invited me to visit. Besides, there is nothing you can do about it anyway.” Ivan tried to calm himself. He realized he was being unfair to Olivia. He slumped into the couch. “Do you think she is still alive?”

“She was living three weeks ago.” Olivia shifted her position on the couch and stared hard at Ivan. “What is your relationship to this woman, Ivan? I know she’s more than just a spy, but you can’t possibly have seen her for decades.” “It has been a long time.” “I don’t understand. I’ll bet you don’t even what she looks like.” “Oh, I .” His voice fell silent as he recalled that fateful day in 1917. If he had only listened to his heart, maybe their lives would have turned out quite differently. Then his lips moved again almost in rote fashion. “The look on her face when I sent her away has haunted me for my whole life.” “She was your lover?” “Yes, and the mother of my sons.” “You have sons?” “Yes.” “Then why did you send her away?” He shook his head. “She had to go. The Bolsheviks would have killed her.” Olivia appeared baffled. “But you are a Bolshevik.” “True, but I could not control them. They would have killed her and my sons.” “I’m sorry.” Olivia put her hand on his, and he squeezed it. “You’re a good friend, Olivia.” He stood, leaving his glass on the end table. “So, what now?” “I need to send a message to my sons.

CHAPTER 55 POLAND TO (March 1945)

Karl leaned back on his duffle bag and closed his eyes. He had been with the partisans for two months, and they were approaching Berlin much too slowly for him. He realized that if Mutter still lived, she could not have much time left. Yuri ran into the tent. Karl reached for his rifle, but Yuri held up his hand. “Keep your seat, brother. We need to talk.” “All right, but what is the big hurry?” Yuri found an ammunition box on which to sit. “Our mother is alive.” Karl sat up straight. “How do you know?” “Ivan. He called on the radio. She’s at Ravensbrueck.” “Ravensbrueck? That’s close to Berlin.” “Yes. Apparently Himmler knew Auschwitz was going to fall soon and did not want to risk her being freed.” Ravensbrueck was still in German hands, but the Nazis were retreating. It was obvious that the war was in its final phase. The Germans were continuing to starve and to kill their prisoners and were particularly vigilant if it appeared that the camps would be captured. It was not good to have witnesses alive to talk about their treatment. Karl stepped out of the tent into the brisk air. “How old is this news?” Yuri followed him outside. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, but he did not seem to notice. “Three weeks.” “Damn.” Karl shook his head. “She may not be there anymore. We cannot even be sure she’s still alive.

“No, but she may be. Do you know how to get to Ravensbrueck?” “Yes, my father took me to that area years ago. It’s north of Berlin. I know how to get there, but it may take weeks, and there are a lot of German troops between us and it.” “We have to try.” Karl wondered why Yuri was so anxious to save her. She was his mother, but she had left him in Russia, and he had no memory of ever seeing her. Personally, he realized she was the only family he had left except for Yuri. She had loved him and looked after him all of his life. Even more important, she had tried to warn him about the Nazis, and he had shut her out. She had had the courage to fight them while he was still singing their praises. He could not let her die. “It will be dangerous, and we are probably going to be too late.” Yuri gripped Karl by the shoulders. “I know that, but I intend to meet my mother. You had her for most of your life. I’m entitled to at least get to know her.” Karl smiled and placed a hand on Yuri’s hand. “Then we need to get moving.”

The band of POWs and partisans had decreased in size since Auschwitz. Many of them had left the group to regular Soviet Army troops. Others had simply deserted, hoping to make their way back to their homes or to the places that had once been their homes before the Nazis arrived. Konstantin and his guerrillas traveled with Karl and Yuri to the German border but stopped there. Their goal was to push the Nazis out of Poland, not to save the world. They had no desire to continue to the heart of the Nazi empire to face entrenched soldiers in a fight to the death. Karl and Yuri hugged their partisan friends and wished them well. One hundred twelve veterans of the POW camp continued into the homeland of the Third Reich with the two brothers. The rest of the band stayed with Konstantin. This suited Karl and Yuri fine. The men that came with them were fiercely loyal. They appreciated the daring and skill their two leaders had used to save them from the camp and almost certain death. Their smaller band would be better able to slip past enemy lines without being discovered. They wanted to reach

Ravensbrueck as soon as possible without being delayed by any major skirmishes. Karl thought of Berta and wondered why she had never answered his letters. Had she returned home to Frankfurt? He hoped she had survived the war. Their last night together was an event he would never forget. She had been kind to him when he had truly needed a friend. The ex-POWs avoided the main concentrations of German troops and proceeded westward, only seeing enemy troops twice. The first time, a small band of German soldiers had apparently separated from their main force. The partisans opened fire, killing six of them as the others fled. The next encounter was not so favorable. As they were walking across a field, they found themselves within one hundred meters of hundreds of Germans. The partisans ran without even firing their weapons. A man-to-man battle would have been suicidal. It was more important to survive and to fight another day on more even .

Between Mecklenburg and Ravensbrueck, Karl spotted a group of prisoners being led by armed German guards. He pointed to them. “They are coming from the direction of Ravensbrueck.” Yuri followed the trajectory of his finger. “Maybe they’re evacuating the camp.” Karl reached for his binoculars. “Valentina could be with them.” “I hope we’ve gotten here in time.” Karl scanned the procession. The prisoners wore rags and most looked emaciated. They stumbled through the snow as the guards pushed them forward. His attention froze on a handsome woman with blonde hair. She walked with a limp but held herself with a dignity that seemed out of place in this barbaric setting. “There she is.” “Where?” “Over there.” He handed the binoculars to his brother. “The woman with the

torn, blue coat.” Yuri focused on the woman. “Are you sure it’s her?” “I couldn’t see her face well, but I recognize that coat. I when she bought it. It was just before the war. My father…” He paused and corrected himself. “Mutter’s husband was in Berlin. We went to visit him. She bought it for the trip.” An old woman fell behind and stopped walking, apparently too exhausted to walk any further. The partisans watched as one of the guards shouted and motioned for her to resume walking. She did not move, even when he pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her face. She collapsed to the ground, moments later, with blood pouring from her forehead. Years of war had hardened Karl. He had become used to seeing cruelty and sadistic behavior, but this senseless murder was too much. He thought of the impotence he had felt when witnessing the slaughter in Kiev. He gritted his teeth. This time I will not run away. He glanced at Yuri and nodded. Yuri lifted his hand, signaling his men. They left their cover and ran toward the prisoners, firing their weapons as they ran. Several guards fell into the snow. The others returned fire with automatic weapons. One guard ran into the center of the prisoners and began shooting them. Karl fired at him, but missed, hitting an old man instead. He cursed and continued running, afraid to shoot again into the crowd. Then he saw the guard turn toward the blonde woman. “No!” Karl raised his rifle and fired. Another prisoner fell. The guard was less than ten meters from the women. He fired three rounds. Her body jerked, and she collapsed onto the snow. Karl fired again at the guard, but missed. The man spun around and pointed his weapon at him. Karl pulled his trigger again, but his rifle jammed. The guard fired. Searing pain pierced Karl’s thigh. He fell to one knee and dropped his rifle. The guard aimed again. Karl paid no attention to the gunshots that erupted behind him until the German

dropped his rifle and tumbled into the ditch beside the road. The surviving guards dropped their weapons. Yuri squatted beside him. “How bad are you hurt?” “I’ve been hit.” “I know. Blood is covering your coat. Let me look at it.” “No. He shot Mutter. Go to her.” Yuri ran to the wounded woman and knelt beside her. Blood poured from her chest. He cradled her in his arms. “Mutter.” She looked at him with a dazed expression. “Aidez-moi. Je meurs.” She coughed blood and then fell back with a moan just as Karl reached her side. She gasped for air. Yuri wiped the tears from his cheek and turned to his brother. “Do something.” Karl stared down at her face and once again felt hope. “She’s dead.” Yuri grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none. He looked back at Karl. “Why did she speak to me in French?” “Because she was French. This coat belonged to Mutter, but this woman is not her.” “Then, where is she?” “Ravensbrueck. She must still be there. Where else would this woman have gotten her coat?”

Many miles away, Valentina trudged away from the Siemens & Halske Factory at Ravensbrueck Concentration Camp. She had lost twenty pounds since her arrival and was not sure how much longer she could survive. She knew that she had to find a way to escape, but it was hard to think about anything except eating. The long grueling hours of work in the factory and the paucity of food

had sapped more than just her physical strength. She could hardly concentrate on anything except staying alive one more day. She stared at the twenty-five other women marching with her and saw only defeat in their eyes and in their stumbling pace. Yesterday, Catherine, the girl walking beside her, had fallen. Fritz Kollwitz, the new SS officer, had not even tried to help her to stand. He had smashed his rifle butt into her head while everyone watched. No one had protested. It would have only elicited more brutality. She tried to stand straight and to appear robust. The women who faltered faced certain death. When they reached the Woman’s Camp, she fought the depression that always overcame her as she studied the watchtowers, walls, and barbed wire fences. Escape seemed impossible. Fritz’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Mrs. Schneider.” She stopped walking and turned to face him as the other women continued toward their quarters. “Yes?” “Come here.” She stepped toward him, wondering if her time had arrived. His scowl reinforced that fear. “Are you Karl Schneider’s mother?” “I am.” “I thought so.” She forced a smile. “Do you know Karl?” “You might say we were acquainted in high school.” Valentina realized that if he was a friend of Karl, her life might improve. The war was going to end soon. Maybe he could help her stay alive just a few more months. She studied his face, but there was no recognition. Karl had never mentioned a Fritz Kollwitz. She was sure of that. “I gather you were friends,” she said hopefully. He laughed a hard laugh. “Not exactly. He kicked me in the balls for no reason.”

“That does not sound like Karl. He never got in fights.” Then she recalled the day Rebecca had brought him home covered in bruises and hardly able to walk. Two older boys had assaulted her, and Karl had intervened. Rebecca had escaped, but the boys had beaten Karl. “He’s a Jew-loving bastard, and we would have killed him then if his father had not been the Fuehrer’s friend.” Valentina’s heart sank. “Karl is a colonel in the Wehrmacht defending our country.” “Not anymore. Not since his mother was arrested for treason.” Valentina caught her breath. “What do you mean?” His eyes went cold. “You did not just betray . You destroyed your son.” Valentina did not even dodge as he rammed his rifle butt into her stomach. She fell onto the ground, hoping he would finish it.

CHAPTER 56 MOSCOW (April 1945)

Ivan returned to his office following a conference with Stalin. He usually would feel uneasy after meeting with his boss, but the news had been good. Soviet troops had reached Berlin. Victory was possible within weeks. The most devastating war in the history of the world was coming to a close, and this time, Russia would be on the winning side. More important, her troops occupied Rumania, Hungary, Poland, Czechoslovakia and a large part of . The new world order would find Russia at the top. President Roosevelt had died April 12, leaving the United States with untried leadership for the dividing of the spoils. Besides, Truman would be preoccupied by the war with Japan and would certainly make concessions to convince Russia to declare war. A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. “It’s open.” Olivia stepped into the room. She was decked out in a bright blue sweater with a softer blue skirt. The cheerful colors were in marked contrast to the more serviceable clothes worn by the women of Moscow. “Good afternoon, Ivan.” “How are you, my dear?” He was a little disturbed that she would so openly visit. He had warned her of the vulnerability of their relationship and of the repercussions if Stalin or any of his cronies thought they were more than just acquaintances. “I’m fine. Have you heard from your sons?” “Yes. Just this morning I received a message. They are with the partisans in . I’m glad this war is coming to a close.” “You would think the Germans would have surrendered by now, instead of seeing their country reduced to rubble. Perhaps they have done so many atrocious things that they are afraid of what will happen when they do

surrender.” “I think they have good reason to be afraid. Twenty million Russians have died because of their greed and brutality, and they massacred millions of Jews. The world is just beginning to learn about the systematic killing of prisoners in their concentration camps.” Olivia’s face dropped, and she sank into the soft chair across from Ivan. “That is why I’m here. I have some disturbing news.” Ivan raised an eyebrow at the seriousness of her tone. “Tell me.” She hesitated as if afraid to continue. “Your friend in Ravensbrueck. Our informant in Berlin has just radioed a message that Himmler himself has decreed that she be terminated.” Ivan’s calm veneer evaporated. The room felt as if it were shrinking. “Oh my god. Not now. The war is almost over.” “I know. I’m sorry.” “Why would Himmler care about one prisoner?” His hands trembled. “He knows the war is lost. Valentina would be a damning witness when the Allies decide to punish the losers.” “When did the order go out?” He stood and walked back and forth. “This morning.” He stopped pacing in front of her chair. “How much time do you think we have?” “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “What difference does it make? Your troops will not get there in time.” “I know, but I’ve got to try.” Olivia frowned “To try what?” “To get her out.”

Ivan rushed to his office. He doubted that there was time. Valentina was most likely dead, but he refused to trust the odds. If there was even a small chance, he would do whatever it took. He went to work, changing files and creating documents. He finished at midnight. Everyone else had gone home hours earlier. He sat at his desk and picked up the telephone. Moments later he spoke to the commander at Moscow’s Air Force Base. “I need a transport plane for 6:00 a.m., and I want Major Tania Chakovsky as the pilot.” There was a long pause over the line before the General answered. “I know you are the Deputy Minister of Defense, Mr. Maximov, but this is highly irregular.” Ivan almost threw the telephone across the room. “General, Stalin has ordered this excursion. Shall I tell him you are refusing?” “No, sir.” “Good, and this is for a highly secret mission. No one is to know.” “I understand, sir. Your expedition will be confidential.” “Thank you, General.” Ivan slammed down the receiver. He had not expected resistance. The commander had not questioned his use of the plane last time. Anyway, there was no time to worry about that. He had a lot of work to do before six o’clock. The door creaked. Ivan spun around. A dark-haired man with a mustache stepped into the room. “That was an interesting conversation.” Ivan recognized the man who had followed him for years. “What do you want?” “I’m your shadow, Mr. Maximov. Comrade Beria asked me to keep track of you.” He showed his I. D. Ivan forced himself to appear calm as he glanced at it. The knowledge that Beria had taken a special interest in him made that difficult. “I know who you are, Agent Kobin. Why is the NKVD following the Deputy Minister of Defense?”

Kobin leaned over his desk. “Mr. Beria gets a little upset when one of his agents is thrown out of an airplane.” Ivan shrugged. He had to stay calm. “You will have to explain. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Kobin smiled. “Maybe the name Valdislav Figner will refresh your memory.” “He died years ago. Have you been following me all that time?” “Intermittently.” “Well, you have been wasting your time. I did not kill the man.” “Maybe not, but you are involved.” “That’s absurd.” “Really? That pilot you just requested was Valdislav’s girlfriend. Why did she leave Moscow right after he disappeared?” Ivan knew that he had to protect Tania. She could implicate Yuri if they tortured her. “She ed the Air Force when her country went to war. Is that a crime?” “No, but it seems strange that Valdislav disappeared after he went to her house. Why is she a friend of Valdislav’s greatest enemy?” “She is not a friend. She just happens to be one of the best pilots in the Air Force.” Kobin shook his head. “You’re a poor liar, Mr. Maximov. I think this girlfriend killed Valdislav and then threw him out of an airplane to get rid of the body.” “You have a very vivid imagination, Comrade Kobin. How do you propose to prove such a ridiculous myth?” “It will not be hard. I think I will pick her up tonight. After a few days in the Lubyanka, she will tell the whole story, and if she does not, she had a boyfriend who disappeared at the same time—a Yuri Krylov. When we find him, I’m sure we will get the whole story.”

Ivan tried to control the panic spreading through his body. This could not be happening now. “There is no story.” He slammed his fist down on his desk. “They had nothing to do with Valdislav’s death. Harassing them will get you nowhere.” Kobin shrugged and smiled, revealing his glee at Ivan’s obvious distress. “I think, with appropriate encouragement, they will tell an exciting tale.” “There is nothing to tell.” Kobin ignored Ivan’s hostile posture and did not flinch. “If they don’t talk, I can always interrogate your girlfriend.” Ivan looked puzzled. “My girlfriend?” “Yes—that American spy—the pretty one from the American embassy. I think a trip to the Lubyanka could convince her to tell me all sorts of things.” “That is ridiculous. She’s not a spy, and she certainly is not my girlfriend. Besides, she has diplomatic immunity.” “You don’t really believe that will protect her, do you? Are you that naïve?” He sighed. “I want you to come with me to discuss this whole matter. I’m offering you a chance to confess. In return, I will see that you are treated leniently, and just possibly, I will not have to question these other people.” “There is nothing to confess.” Kobin cocked his head to one side and stared at Ivan. “You’re making a mistake.” “Good-bye, Mr. Kobin.” “Have it your way, Mr. Maximov. Don’t plan on taking that airplane tomorrow.” Kobin walked for the door. “I will have that pilot picked up tonight. I’m sure we can find out what we need to know without your cooperation.” Ivan knew he was beaten. He could not let everyone he loved be tortured or killed. “Wait.”

Kobin looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?” “I will come with you.” Kobin acknowledged his victory with a slight nod. “A wise choice, Mr. Maximov.” They descended the stairs without speaking and walked into the parking lot. “My car is over here.” Kobin pointed to a black ZIL forty meters away. A large muscular man sat on the hood. When they reached the car, Kobin introduced his partner, Agent Tkachev. He instructed him to handcuff his prisoner. Ivan objected. “But I volunteered to come.” “Maybe, but I have no intention of ending my career like Valdislav. I am taking no chances with you.” He extended his hands toward the man with the cuffs. “I had nothing to do with his death.” Kobin opened the back door of the car and motioned for him to enter. Agent Tkachev climbed in beside Ivan while Kobin walked around to the driver’s door. Ivan sat with his cuffed hands in his lap as Kobin cranked the car and steered it out of the lot. After several blocks, the car turned right onto a major road and accelerated. Ivan immediately realized that something was wrong. “This is not the way to the Lubyanka.” “No, we are going to my dacha.” They left the city and drove along the Moscow River. Ivan was all too aware of the number of bodies that had disappeared into its churning waters. If Kobin had just waited one more day, I would have been gone. Now, I’m trapped. Even if I survive, Valentina will be dead, and Yuri, Tania, Olivia, and probably Karl will be swept up in Beria’s web. I have to do something. The road was empty, and the sky, dark, matching Ivan’s mood as the car

continued to speed along the riverbank. Without warning Ivan sprang forward, flinging his arms over Kobin’s head. With all his strength, he jerked backward, slamming the chain connecting his wrists against the agent’s throat. Kobin released the wheel and reached for the metal that was cutting off his air. His mouth opened to emit a scream that came as no more than a gurgle. Ivan pulled back, lifting his enemy out of the seat as the cuffs dug into the exposed neck. Tkachev slammed his fist into Ivan’s side, but Ivan did not lessen his grip. The agent then reached for his pistol. The car hit the embankment, went airborne, and spun three hundred and sixty degrees. Ivan jolted forward as the car splashed into the water. Everything went black.

Ivan opened his eyes and stared into the darkness beneath the surface of the river. He felt the car settle on the bottom and tried to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He braced for the impact from Tkachev’s bullet, but the pistol did not discharge. The momentary sense of relief dissipated as cold water soaked his shoes and pants. He tried to move, but the cuffs held his arms fast. The water reached his shoulders and lapped at his face. Reaching forward, his hands found the shattered windshield. He had landed in the front seat and was trapped on top of Kobin. As he pulled Kobin’s head back from the shattered glass, more water rushed in through the unplugged hole. He took a deep breath before it covered his face, and then he slipped the cuffs free from the limp corpse. He pushed himself into the back seat. He had to get out of the cuffs. Frantically, he felt along the entire seat. Agent Tkachev was gone. Ivan’s lungs fought an insatiable urge to inhale. He groped for the door handle, and feeling it, pulled. Nothing happened. The door was locked. Finding the lock, he released it and returned to the handle. It still would not open the door. He pushed with all his strength, but it would not move. He slid back across the seat, felt the other door, found the handle, and pulled. He almost cheered as it gave way and began to open. Then it jolted to a stop and would not move. It was stuck in the mud at the bottom of the river. He felt his lungs would burst. Nausea and dizziness swept over him. It’s too late. I can’t hold my breath any longer.

His hand groped along the door and collided with the crank. He tried to turn it, but nothing happened. He tried the opposite direction, and with some protestation, it turned. He looked at the window, but could not see if it was opening. He continued to turn the crank and then felt for the window. It was partially open but not enough. He twisted the crank more. It was tight and took all his strength. It turned some more and then broke off in his hand. Ivan felt the window again. It was about one half open. It would have to do. He floated up and extended his head through the opening. Pushing with his feet, he slipped his shoulders outward. His chest stuck. He pushed harder but could not budge. With some effort he pulled himself back inside. He would not fit. He yanked at the buttons to his coat and ripped it off. Again he felt for the window and pulled himself forward. This time he managed to slip through the opening and struggled to the surface. He inhaled deeply as his head broke the surface. Air and water poured into his lungs. He coughed. His head slipped back under the surface. He kicked frantically with his feet, forcing his mouth out of the water for another gasp of air. His foot hit the side of the car as he sank again. With flailing hands striking against the water, he climbed onto the roof. Standing, his head and shoulders extended out of the water. He breathed again, sputtering to bring up the water he had aspirated. He struggled to keep his footing as the current tried to carry him away. He took several more deep breaths. Never before had fresh air tasted so good. He took deep breaths until his breathing approached normal. Two trucks ed along the road, but neither stopped. Finally, when he was breathing comfortably again, Ivan slipped back under the water. He had to find the keys to his cuffs. Feeling the open window, he slipped into the back section of the car and then over the seat into the front. Tkachev’s body was slumped against the windshield. The key was in his right pant’s pocket. Smiling with relief, Ivan returned to the back seat and slipped out the window, carrying his coat with him. Reaching the top of the car, he again caught his breath. Then with cold and trembling hands, he tried to fit the key into the cuffs. It will not go. Is it the

wrong key, or are my hands shaking too badly? He felt it slipping from his grasp. It fell to the river. Ivan flung his hands down into the water. His left hand touched something hard, but it bounced away. He swept his other hand inward and felt the object against his palm. He closed his fingers around it and lifted his hands out of the water. He opened his numb and blue fingers and looked down at the tiny key. Again he put the key between his thumb and forefinger and directed it to the lock at his wrist. It would not turn. He twisted harder. The cuff popped open. With his hands free, her released the other wrist. He threw the cuffs and key into the river and dove into the water. Swimming with wet clothes exhausted him. Reaching the waters’ edge, he climbed up the embankment and sat on a log, catching his breath. He looked back toward the submerged ZIL. There was no sign of it, except a slight ripple as the current ed over and around it.

CHAPTER 57 MOSCOW TO (April 1945)

Tania had Ivan’s plane ready with the propellers turning when he appeared the next morning. His appearance shocked her as he climbed into the fuselage. “What happened to your beard?” Ivan slipped into his seat and shrugged. “I’m going to see an old friend. Want to look my best.” He rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven face. She was not satisfied with his answer, but she taxied to the runway and waited for a Tupolev ANT-20 to clear the ground. Ivan nodded at the large, six-motor plane. “Where is the Tupolev heading?” Tania had just checked the manifest. “A landing field near Stettin in northern —not too far from where you want to go. I plan to hang behind it most of the way.” As they approached the German border, Tania steered north of the other plane. It was barely in sight when Ivan pointed toward a smaller plane that was rapidly approaching it. “Looks like trouble.” Tania felt her pulse race as she accelerated her own plane. “Yeah, real trouble. That is a Me262 jet fighter.” Thirty seconds later, Ivan saw the Soviet Tupolev explode and tumble to the ground. No parachutes appeared. “Will this thing go any faster?” Tania wished it would. “No. This is it. I hope they haven’t seen us. We can’t out run it. It goes over five hundred miles an hour.” Tania watched the Me262 change course. We are going to die. There is no way I can escape from that jet. It continued its turn, ed over the burning wreckage, and headed south. Either the pilot had not seen them, or it was low on fuel.

Either way, it was leaving. For several minutes, Ivan stared out the window. Finally, he broke the silence. “Those poor bastards never had a chance.” “No. They should have had an escort.” “We don’t have one.” “I had a feeling you did not want anybody knowing about this flight.” “You were right about that.” He paused a moment, rubbing his hand across his newly shaved chin. “Tell me. How difficult would it be to add my name to the Tupolev’s manifest?” She did not like the way this was playing, but she answered truthfully. “Not too difficult. It would be in the same file as my flights.” What is he thinking? Why would he want people to think he’s dead? Ivan seemed relieved. “Good. Do it.” “But why?” The tenseness in his voice betrayed his desperation. “Himmler ordered Valentina’s execution.” He told her everything that he knew. “What are you going to do?” “If she is still alive, we’re going to get her out.” His voice was too calm. “But, how? It will be at least another week before our troops can get there.” Somehow she sensed he was going to do something desperate, and she did not like the way he said we. Surely he would not make Yuri do anything that stupid. Ivan smiled. “I know. That would be too late.” He opened his duffel bag and showed her his counterfeit German papers and a stack of cash. “Karl and I have orders to pick up the prisoner and to take her back to Berlin for questioning.” He pulled out the bogus orders he had printed the previous night. “I think we can pull it off.”

Tania could not believe he could be that naive. The whole concept is suicidal. Ivan always seemed practical. How could he possibly think the Germans would be stupid enough to believe them? “What about Yuri?” “He will be the driver. He speaks enough German to get by unless he is seriously interrogated.” She did not like the odds. “And you?” “I lived in Switzerland with Lenin before the revolution. My German is perfect.” She found it difficult to concentrate on flying and ceased to watch for enemy planes. She focused on Ivan. “What if they decide to question Yuri?” He concentrated on repacking his duffle bag. “Why would they do that?” Tania did not share his confidence. “Does he know about this?” “Not yet.” “This is the most harebrained idea I have ever heard.” He can risk his own life all he wants, but he has no right to drag Yuri down with him. “It will never work. You will just get yourselves killed.” “Possibly.” “What if he does not want to go?” “Who?” “Who do you think?” Tania felt the urge to shake him back to sanity. “Yuri.” Ivan shrugged. “He will.” “What if he does not?” “Then he can stay behind. I will go with Karl.” “Does Stalin know about this?” “Of course not.”

Tania stiffened as she realized the implications of what she had heard. He had shaved his beard so he would not be recognized. It was obvious why he wanted her to alter the Tupolev’s manifest. “You’re not coming back, are you?” Ivan shook his head. “Valentina can never return to Russia—at least not while the Communists are in power. It would not be safe.” “What about Karl and Yuri?” “Karl is German. I assume he will stay in . Yuri has wanted to escape from Russia since he was sent to the gulag.” Tania was mad at Ivan for his stupid plans and madder still at Yuri. “That son of a bitch. He is just stupid enough to try it.” “He is no coward.” “I knew I could not rely on him.” Her hands trembled. She felt trapped in the cockpit. “He makes me so mad, I could kick him in the balls.” Ivan laughed. “It is the Maximov in his blood. We seem to bring out that emotion in our women.” Tania turned in her seat and put a hand firmly on Ivan’s arm. “Will you deliver a message for me?” “Of course.” She wondered why it had taken so long for her to it the obvious fact. “Tell him I love him.” Ivan met her gaze. “What about Emilian?” “I broke off with him as soon as I got back from Auschwitz.” Ivan raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why?” “He is not Yuri.” She thought back to that lonely flight back from Auschwitz. She had realized what a mistake she had made then, but it was too late. Yuri was gone and would never be back. She should have accepted his proposal. It could

never be the same with Emilian or anyone else for that matter. Ivan patted her on the shoulder. “I could have told you that and saved you a lot anguish.” “Well, what kept you from doing it?” He laughed. “I assumed you could figure that out for yourself.” He looked out the window. “How much further?” “Five minutes. You had better get ready to jump.” Tania brought the plane down lower over the site where Yuri had indicated the partisans were camped. “Good luck, Ivan. Don’t get him killed.”

Ivan faced the open sky. This would be his first encounter with a parachute, and doubts swamped his mind. Tania had explained what to do, but listening and doing were two entirely different things. His first mistake was looking down. The second was more serious. He did not ask Tania to repeat her instructions. Gritting his teeth, he leaped into the sky and met a blast of wind that sent him tumbling through the air. Tania had said to pull a cord. Where is it? The ground that had seemed so far away was approaching rapidly, and there was no one to help him. His hand finally found the cord and pulled it. A sudden jolt took his wind. He looked up at the billowing parachute and felt like a human bird. He was surprised at the thrill of soaring through the clouds. It’s beautiful. This must be what Tania feels when she flies her fighter planes. His euphoria turned to apprehension as the ground neared. His feet slammed onto solid ground. His ankle turned. Pain shot up his leg. Ivan released himself from the parachute and struggled to stand. The ankle was already beginning to swell. He took one unsteady step before lifting his eyes and seeing four men with automatic weapons step out of the woods. They wore rags and looked as if the world had not treated them well for years.

The closest man seemed to be their leader. He appeared thin but tough with several scars on his face. He poked his new prisoner with his rifle and shouted something in an unfamiliar language. Ivan had no idea who these men were or even what side they favored. Which ever it was, they did not seem to like him very much. He looked down at his civilian clothes and realized they could execute him as a spy. Noncombatants did not jump out of airplanes and carry guns. He raised his hands and said in German, “Don’t shoot.” The leader became even more agitated and shoved Ivan. His companions roughly confiscated his parachute and pistol. They spoke to each other in chopped, guttural voices, making angry gestures at their prisoner. Then a short, red-headed man, who could not have been more than seventeen years old, raised his pistol, pointing it at Ivan’s face. He cocked the hammer, seeming to enjoy the drama. Ivan knew the time to be coy was long past. He reverted to his native tongue. “I’m on your side.” The man wavered, seeming puzzled by the change of language. Ivan hoped his disclosure would lead to a reprieve rather than sealing his fate. The leader lifted his hand and motioned with his head. The young man lowered his arm, and the other two men nudged Ivan forward. They walked down a narrow path through the thick woods. The pain in Ivan’s sprained ankle increased, but he hardly noticed. He was much more concerned with his destination. Who are these men, and what will they do to me? I cannot afford a delay. I have to find Valentina. “Take me to your leader,” he demanded, but the men seemed not to hear him. Finally, they arrived at an encampment deep in the woods. As Ivan hobbled forward, he saw a man in a ragged United States Air Force uniform. When the man turned, revealing his nametag, Ivan’s anxiety vanished. “Colonel Sloan?” When John did not reply, Ivan continued using the English he had learned at Moscow University as a teenager. “I am Ivan Maximov. Yuri and Karl are my sons.” The American’s expression of hostility turned to curiosity. “What is the Soviet

Deputy Minister of Defense doing here?” “Urgent business.” Ivan motioned toward his captors. “Tell them I am not their enemy.” John shouted in Russian to the captors. “He’s a friend.” The men lowered their rifles and smiled. “Welcome to the last Reich,” the younger freedom fighter said in jest. Ivan ignored him. He turned to John. “Where is Yuri?”

Valentina lay on her cot as the dim morning light shined through the bars of her cell at Ravensbrueck Concentration Camp. Heavy doors grated open and then clanked shut. Gruff voices confirmed her fears. Soon the guards would reach her cell. They would expect her to stand and to follow them. That was their routine every morning. Today would be different. She was too weak to stand. She was no longer of use to the Reich. Boots clomped against the concrete floor. The voices grew closer. Guards forced prisoners out of their cells. Her fellow inmates moved with stooped shoulders and scuffling feet. Their faces lacked expression as if nothing mattered except the rote movement of one foot in front of the other. A guard reached her cell and stopped. She glanced at her clipboard and then at her. Valentina wondered why she did not open the door. A frown crept across the woman’s face. She resumed walking. Valentina stared in disbelief as she disappeared from view. The door at the end of the hall slammed shut. Silence filled the air. No one spoke. No one cried. No one groaned. Valentina was alone for the first time in five months. She closed her eyes and welcomed the solitude, but tranquility did not come. One thought reverberated through her mind. Why did she leave me here?

Karl was having coffee with Yuri in their tent when the flap opened. Ivan entered

behind John. Karl felt his muscles tense. There was no reason for Ivan to be there. He had his chance to be in their lives when they were infants. Instead, he abandoned them when he abandoned their mother. Yuri stood to greet him. “Ivan? How did you get here?” “It is a long story.” The big Russian man hugged him. “Your mother has been condemned to die.” “What do you mean?” Karl put down his tin cup and stood, suddenly very interested is what Ivan had to say. “Himmler sent out an execution order yesterday.” That Ivan should be privy to such information seemed totally illogical to Karl. “How do you know that?” “A friend in the American embassy told me. One of their spies saw the order.” Karl had been around the SS long enough to know that they would be unlikely to delay very long. “Do you think it has been carried out?” “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” “How?” Ivan removed his knapsack and opened the flap. “I have fake IDs for you, Yuri, and me. We can take one of your stolen Nazi trucks and drive to Ravensbrueck.” He held up a set of papers in his hand. “With these orders, we will pick up the prisoner and take her away for questioning.” Yuri frowned. “It might work, but we are several days from Ravensbrueck. We will be too late.” John lifted a hand. “Not if you take the Siebel.” Ivan’s faced the American. “You have a German airplane?” “Yes. We overran a small airfield two days ago. There was only one plane, but it flies. I took it up yesterday. We were going to use it for reconnaissance.”

Ivan looked at John. “Good. Then I have a plan, if you are willing to help.” John shrugged. “I would be dead now if it were not for these guys.” “It will be dangerous.” “I assumed as much.” Ivan described his plan. He made one change. Yuri would have to pose as the SS officer. Karl’s pronounced limp from his thigh wound would raise too many questions. Karl did not like the change. He was the one who was closest to his mother, but he conceded that Ivan was right. “Do you think you can do it?” he asked Yuri. “Yes, I have been practicing my German for months. I will be able to as long as we don’t get trapped in any detailed conversations.”

Valentina heard the hall door open and shut. She recognized the cadence of footsteps. Lieutenant Fritz Kollwitz seemed determined to make her final days on this earth miserable. She rolled onto her side and faced the wall as if that would make him disappear. The footsteps stopped. A key rotated in the lock. Turning to face the open door, she watched the tall man with short blonde hair and stiff posture march into her cell. He hovered over her, staring through the rip in her blouse at her exposed breasts. Being alone with him was like facing Himmler again. She was not sure how much more abuse she could endure. The hint of a smile crept across his face, betraying the pleasure he derived from her fear. His hand went to his belt. He unclasped the buckle. “No!” Valentina retreated to the back of her cot. Her strength was gone. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Fritz laughed. He refastened his buckle. “Good news.”

Valentina knew that anything that he considered good would be the opposite for her. She did not bother to respond. “What did you do to get special attention from the Reichsfuehrer SS?” She caught her breath. Has he changed his mind? Is he setting me free? “What do you mean? “He sent orders especially about you.” “I don’t understand. Am I leaving here?” “Yes. You have a reservation in hell. He ordered your execution.” If his intention was to frighten her, he failed. She felt only relief. Life was a tragedy, and she looked forward to the conclusion without an encore. Only the early years in Russia had been great, especially the brief time she spent with Ivan. She did not fear death. She was ready to embrace it. “When?” His gaze drifted back to her breasts. “Today.” “How will it be done?” Fritz shrugged. “The commandant has left that for my discretion.” He removed his pistol from its holster. “I was thinking of shooting you in the head, but it seems a shame to waste the bullet.” He replaced the pistol and removed a cord from his pocket. “I think strangulation might be more economical. What do you think?” She did not answer. He laughed again and walked to the door. “I shall be back later today. Maybe I will let you decide then.” Fritz closed the door and disappeared down the hallway. Valentina lay back on the cot and shut her eyes. She did not waste energy trying to devise a way to survive. Escape had been her obsession for months, but now she knew that was impossible. All she could do was to wait for Fritz to return.

CHAPTER 58 (April 1945)

The Siebel took off with Ivan, Karl, Yuri, and John all wearing captured Nazi uniforms. John kept the plane low to the ground, hoping that Soviet guns would not shoot down their German plane before they reached Ravensbrueck. Ivan spotted the dreary facility with its ugly, barbed wire fences. From the air, he could see armed guards watching ragged women tend a farm, and in the distance, a factory stood against a background of barbed wire and guard towers. It was hard to imagine Valentina treated so shamefully. He ed her poise and dignity when she arrived a prisoner at his Bolshevik camp. It does not seem possible that these animals hold her life in their hands. Then he saw guards in the closest tower train their rifles on the plane. Now the lives of the rescue party were in their hands as well. “What should I do?” John asked. Ivan saw a field near the fence. He pointed to it. “Land there. They will not shoot as long as you don’t fly over the camp.” I hope I’m right. If I am not, this charade is about to end very badly. John brought the plane down in the field and taxied toward the fence. He stopped forty meters short of the gate. Ivan and Yuri climbed out of the Siebel. Karl stayed behind, holding his rifle ready to cover them if things went sour. John remained in the cockpit ready to take off with a moment’s notice. The two men marched forward with Ivan limping with pain from his sprained ankle. He wore the uniform of an SS lieutenant colonel. Yuri posed as a major. The guards saluted and asked their purpose. Ivan answered with a curt voice. “We have come to pick up a prisoner for interrogation.”

The guard pointed at the first structure to the left. “You will need to talk with the commandant. He’s in that building.” “Danke.” Ivan led Yuri away before the guards could ask any more questions. They found the commandant at his desk. He stood, lifted his arm, and chanted, “Heil Hitler.” Ivan and Karl reciprocated with equal vigor. The SS captain looked at them with curiosity and a mixture of anger and fear. “We were not expecting visitors. You’re fortunate the guards did not shoot you down.” He retook his chair. Ivan reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper he had printed at his facilities in Moscow. “I have orders to take this prisoner to Berlin for questioning.” The Commandant opened the paper and read it carefully. A furrow formed on his brow. “Valentina Schneider.” He paused as if trying to something. “I’m sorry gentleman. I received orders yesterday from Himmler to execute her.” Ivan felt the blood flow from his face. He thought of the woman he had sent away 28 years ago. He had been unable to save her family then, and now he was too late to rescue her. He felt a constriction in his chest, and his breathing became irregular. It was difficult to talk. The commandant stared at him. “Are you all right?” Ivan struggled to regain his composure. “Yes. I’m just fatigued. Where can we find the body?” “Her body?” “Yes.” He would never accept that she was dead without actually seeing her corpse. “Usually when somebody dies, there is still a body.” “There is no body.” “Why not?” he asked. Then he ed the incineration ovens. “Because she is not dead yet.”

Yuri frowned. “But you said—” “I said you could not have her. I did not say she was dead. The orders came from Himmler himself. They cannot be canceled except by Himmler.” Ivan took a deep breath. Valentina is still alive. We arrived in time. Now all we have to do was to outwit this bureaucrat. “But these orders were given at Himmler’s initiation.” The commandant held the papers in the air, pointing with his index finger at the bottom of the last page. “He did not sign them.” Ivan glared at him. “The Reichsfuehrer SS is not going to be happy.” “Perhaps we should call him.” He motioned to the telephone. “No. I saw him this morning. He’s in no mood to be bothered by something this trivial. We will question her here.” “Good.” The commandant called to the guard outside his door. “Lieutenant Kollwitz, come in here.” Fritz Kollwitz stepped into the room and lifted his arm. “Heil Hitler.” The commandant glanced at the two intruders’ nametags and glared back at Fritz. “Take Lieutenant Colonel Keppler and Major Hirt to see the prisoner in cell A-3.” Fritz did not move. He stared at Yuri, then at his nametag. The commandant shifted his gaze between Fritz and Yuri. “Is something wrong?”

Light appeared and faded in the hallway as a door opened and shut. Valentina ignored the boots that slapped against the floor. Her gaze fell upon a rat that crept between the bars. He was a frequent visitor. She had even awarded him a name. Adolf seemed to be a fitting title. She thought that he would keep his distance, but this time he came close. He seemed to sense that she had lost her

strength. She hoped that he would wait. There was nothing that she could do if he decided to begin his meal early. Adolf scurried away as Fritz appeared at her door. Two men in SS uniforms stood behind him. “You have guests,” he said Valentina pulled herself upright and looked at Yuri. Her heart pounded. She had yearned to see her son before she died, but not in an SS uniform. Had she misjudged him that much? Could he really have become one of them? “Karl?” She saw Fritz’s eyes dilate and realized what a deadly mistake she had made. Fritz stepped back. “Karl?” He stared hard at Yuri. “Karl Schneider?” In less than a second, he drew his pistol and slammed it into Yuri’s stomach. “You Jew-loving traitor.” “No!” Valentina lunged from her cot. Her frail body was no threat to the burley SS officer, but she did not go after him, only the pistol. As the hammer fell, it closed, not on the pin, but on her thumb. “You fucking bitch.” Kollwitz twisted the pistol free. Valentina felt the bone in her thumb splinter and groaned in pain, but she grabbed again for the pistol. This time she missed and tumbled to her knees. From the floor, she saw her son dive at Fritz, but it was too late. The pistol was already pointed at his head. Fritz’s neck jerked backward. The pistol clattered to the floor as he grabbed frantically for the cord that her son’s companion had pulled around his neck. Her tormentor’s feet left the floor. He flailed until his body went limp. Her son came back into view. He grabbed the pistol and then knelt beside her. “Matushka.” She squeezed his hand and wondered why he was speaking Russian. Pain shot through her thumb, but it did not matter. Her son was alive. “Karl? What are you doing here?” He looked at her as if for the first time. He answered in German. “I’m not Karl.”

She wondered why he would lie to her. Her body was weak, but her mind was clear. I know his voice. I know his face. He lifted her head and cradled it in his hands. “I am Yuri. We have come to take you out of here.” As the realization of what he was saying hit her, she gasped, “Yuri, my baby?” She threw her arms around his neck. “I thought you were dead.” “No.” He glanced toward Ivan. “My father looked after me.” She followed his gaze to the big man standing behind Yuri. His face had aged, but she would have recognized it anywhere. “Ivan?” “Yes, it is I,” he said in her native tongue. “I have come to take you home.” Valentina looked around the damp dungeon. “How?” “You will see. Come on. We’ve got to go.” He motioned for her to stand and took her hand. With their help, Valentina pulled herself to her feet. “I’m not sure I can walk.”

Yuri lifted her into his arms. She was so light that it was not difficult. Valentina wrapped her arms around her lost son’s neck. She seemed so weak and frail, and yet in that one instant, she had displayed amazing grit and courage and had almost sacrificed her life to save his. This is not a woman who would willingly abandon her son. She fought with every ounce of her strength to protect me. He was consumed with an overwhelming need to protect her—to get her out of this death camp. He still could not believe they had actually gotten this far. No one but Ivan would have considered such a daring scheme. Could he have as good a plan to get out of this place as getting in? Ivan locked the cell, leaving the dead SS lieutenant inside.

“What are we going to tell the commandant?” Yuri asked. “Nothing.” They walked out the door and proceeded across the courtyard as the two guards stared at them. When they reached the gate, the first guard held up a hand. “Where are you going?” “Berlin,” Ivan answered crisply. The man held his position between them and the gate. “You cannot take the prisoner without authorization.” Ivan showed him his orders. The guard thrust the papers back into Ivan’s hands and said, “These are from Berlin. I need authorization from the commandant.” He reached for the telephone. Yuri realized Ivan had no plan B. As soon as that call is made, we are as good as dead. He revealed the pistol he had kept concealed under Valentina’s skirt. “How is this for authorization?” Ivan drew his pistol as well. “Put down the phone.” The receiver came back down. Ivan nudged the first guard with the muzzle of his pistol. “Open the gate.” The man seemed frozen by fear. He stood with his mouth open in shock. It was a deadly stalemate. Yuri knew that a gunshot would alert the men with guns in the tower. The second guard released the gate. Ivan nodded toward the Siebel. “Now, both of you walk directly to the airplane and act natural. We will be right behind you.” “And keep your rifles on your shoulders,” Yuri added. After they stepped through the gates, Ivan shut and locked them. When they reached the airplane, Yuri lifted Valentina into his brother’s arms. Her eyes

widened. “Karl, is it really you?”

Ivan watched him hug her and saw the tears in her eyes. He could hardly believe what they had done. They had beaten the Bolsheviks and the Nazis and were together as a family at last. He collected the weapons from the guards and climbed into the airplane. “Don’t try anything stupid.” He kept his pistol in view. “The war is going to be over in a week anyway.” As Yuri was about to climb into the plane, one guard ran. The other dove for the ground and pulled a pistol from his boot. Karl opened fire with his rifle, scoring hits on both soldiers. Gunfire erupted from the tower. Karl tossed the rifle out of the plane to Yuri. He took careful aim as bullets flew by the fuselage. He fired once, and the rifleman fell. “Go,” he yelled to John. John started the engine as Yuri fired once more at a second German in the tower. The Siebel moved forward. “Run!” Ivan called as the plane pulled away from his son. Yuri sprinted after them and dove for the open door. Ivan grabbed his arm. It took all of his strength to pull his son into the plane. More shots came from the camp. A bullet tore through the fuselage and lodged inches from Valentina. She clung to Ivan as John accelerated. Another bullet slammed into the seat beside her. The plane rose into the clouds and the gunshots ceased. “Where to?” John asked. Ivan looked back at the hideous concentration camp. “West. We are not far from the American lines. Valentina needs a hospital.” He sat beside her and lifted her head into his lap. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Ivan? Are you really here?”

“I’m here, darling.” He raised his hand and touched her cheek. “I will never leave you again.”

Valentina stared at Ivan with disbelief. She had never anticipated his risking his life in such a dangerous scheme to rescue her from Ravensbrueck. When she had first seen him, she thought he was a hallucination, and even now, he did not seem quite real. She wondered what had prompted him, after so many years, to throw away everything he had worked to achieve, and to walk into the lair of the most evil regime of modern times, just to rescue her. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair. All those years had not diminished the vibrations he instilled in her. He was still a handsome man with charisma and charm. She fought the memories of that fateful day in 1917 when Ivan had chosen his cause over her. It was not easy to forgive or to forget. She had given him total devotion, and he had not returned it. She was not sure she could risk such a commitment again. She looked around the fuselage. Karl and Yuri stared back at the death camp with identical triumphant expressions. The resemblance was remarkable. She could not believe she was alive and reunited with her sons. Even more amazing was Ivan’s presence. He had left his beloved Russia and his communist Utopia to rescue her.

Karl watched his mother resting with Ivan. She seemed strangely relaxed and happy for someone who was still in great danger. He realized how fortunate he was to have had her for his mother. She is the wisest and bravest person I have ever known. No wonder Ivan was unable to forget her after all those years. She’s a truly remarkable person. I can’t believe she is still alive. Now, if we can just survive this short flight. Explosions rocked the plane. “What is that?” Karl yelled. John gave the engine full power. “Flak. Stay in your seats.”

Another burst rattled the plane. It fell into a dive. Karl braced for the impact with the ground. They had come so far to have it end now. There was no way they could survive the crash. Then, as suddenly as they had begun to fall, John pulled out of the dive and leveled out. There was no more flak. He continued to fly westward. “Gentleman,” John announced ten minutes later. “I think we have entered Allied territory.” “Keep heading west,” Ivan said. “The hospitals near the front are going to be too busy with fresh casualties.” “OK, but there is a swastika on this plane. It makes a good target.” Karl unbuttoned his shirt. “We need to get out of these Nazi uniforms. They may be hard to explain when we land. As they shed the uniforms, Ivan turned to his sons. I printed papers for you before I left Moscow. You’re going to need fake identities, or the Americans may assume you are Nazi soldiers trying to escape.” “What about you?” Karl asked. “You can just tell them you are the Soviet Deputy Minister of Defense. They will lay down the red carpet.” Ivan laughed. “That’s ridiculous. I’m a poor Polish businessman whose property was destroyed during the blitzkrieg. Here are my papers to prove it.” Karl felt his mouth fall open. “You’re not going back?”

Ivan shook his head. “Karl, I made a terrible mistake twenty-eight years ago when I did not leave with your mother.” He looked at the woman at his side and realized that nothing else mattered to him. “I don’t know if she will have me or not, but she is going to find I’m a difficult man to send away.” Valentina opened her eyes and grasped his hand. “You’re full of surprises. I thought you had lied to me, and now after all these years, you not only come back to me, but you keep your promise.”

He wondered what she meant. “What promise?” Valentina tilted her head upward to better study his face. “In Moscow Park. You promised to find Yuri and bring him to me. You did even better. You brought both my sons home.” Ivan ed they were not actually home yet when he saw Karl jerk his head toward the window and yell to John, “American Mustang fighter off to your left.” “I see him,” John responded. “He’s turning this way.” John flipped on his radio and spoke in a loud voice. “This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sloan of the United States Air Force. I’m flying a captured German Siebel Si 204D Light Transport Monoplane west of Berlin. I am unarmed. Will the American Mustang fighter approaching me from the south please acknowledge.” There was only silence. Ivan watched the fighter plane with increasing fear. “He’s getting closer. You had better run,” Karl yelled. “I can’t outrun a Mustang.” He repeated his message. Again silence greeted him. Ivan watched the Mustang overtaking them. We almost did the impossible. We rescued Valentina, but now she’s going to die. We are all going to die. He listened to John’s voice. “This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sloan. I’m an American Air Force pilot in a stolen German Siebel Si 204D. The Mustang approaching must not fire. We are on your side.” He turned to the back of the plane. “You should get on those parachutes.” Ivan wanted to scream that there was no way Valentina could use a parachute. He would stay in the plane with her. Suddenly a mid-Western voice replaced the static on the radio. “This is Lieutenant William Chapman of the U.S. Air Force. I read you Colonel Sloan. Flap your ailerons to acknowledge.” John did as directed.

“Turn south, and I will follow.” “I’m turning south, Lieutenant Chapman.” He began a slow, deliberate turn. The radio answered. “Colonel Sloan, I believe you are who you say, but you’re my prisoner until we are on the ground and you can prove your identity. Do everything I say when I say it, or I will have to shoot you down.” “I understand, and one other thing. We have a woman on board who is very ill.” “I will radio ahead. Ivan relaxed for the first time in days. Valentina had fallen asleep in his lap. He stroked her hair and realized how blessed he was. After three decades, his family was united at last. The war was over for them. They had survived and could restart their lives together.