Winter of the World

She tried not to think about the process of being shot. Erik had explained to her how the Nazis executed people twelve at a time in Russia. She supposed they would have an efficient system here too. It was hard to imagine. Perhaps that was just as well.

She could probably escape shooting if she left the camp right now, or first thing in the morning. She was not an inmate, nor a Jew, and her papers were perfectly in order. She could go out the way she came in, dressed in her nurse’s uniform. But that would mean abandoning both Hannelore and Rebecca. She could not bring herself to do that, no matter how badly she longed to get out of here.

The fighting in the streets outside continued until the small hours, then there was a short pause. It began again at dawn. Now it was close enough for her to hear machine-gun fire as well as artillery.

Early in the morning the guards brought an urn of watery soup and a sack of bread, all discarded parts of stale loaves. Carla drank the soup and ate the bread and then, reluctantly, used the toilet, which was unspeakably dirty.

With Hannelore, Gisela and Hilde she went up to the ground floor to wait for Dobberke. The shelling had resumed, and they were in danger every second, but they wanted to confront him the moment he arrived.

He did not appear at his usual hour. He was normally punctual, Hilde said. Perhaps he had been delayed by the fighting in the streets. He might have been killed, of course. Carla hoped not. His second-in-command, Sergeant Ehrenstein, was too stupid to argue with.

When Dobberke was an hour late, Carla began to lose hope.

After another hour, he arrived.

‘What’s this?’ he said when he saw the four women waiting in the hall. ‘A mothers’ meeting?’

Hannelore replied: ‘All the prisoners have signed a declaration saying you saved their lives. It may save your life, if you accept our terms.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said.

Carla spoke up. ‘According to the BBC, the United Nations has a list of the names of Nazi officers who have taken part in mass murders. In a week’s time you could be on trial. Wouldn’t you like to have a signed declaration that you spared people?’

‘Listening to the BBC is a crime,’ he said.

‘Though not as serious as murder.’

Hilde had a file folder in her hand. She said: ‘I have typed release orders for all the prisoners here. If you sign them, you can have the declaration.’

‘I could just take it from you.’

‘No one will believe in your innocence if we’re all dead.’

Dobberke was angered by the situation he found himself in, but not confident enough just to walk away. ‘I could shoot the four of you for insolence,’ he said.

Carla spoke impatiently. ‘This is what defeat is like,’ she said. ‘Get used to it.’

His face darkened with anger, and she realized she had gone too far. She wished she could take back her words. She stared at Dobberke’s furious expression, trying not to let her fear show.

At that moment a shell landed outside the building. The doors rattled and a window smashed. They all ducked instinctively, but no one was hurt.

When they straightened up, Dobberke’s face had changed. Rage was replaced by something like disgusted resignation. Carla’s heartbeat quickened. Had he given up?

Sergeant Ehrenstein ran in. ‘No one hurt, sir,’ he reported.

‘Very good, Sergeant.’

Ehrenstein was about to go out again when Dobberke called him back. ‘This camp is now closed,’ Dobberke said.

Carla held her breath.

‘Closed, sir?’ There was aggression as well as surprise in the sergeant’s voice.

‘New orders. Tell the men to go . . .’ Dobberke hesitated. ‘Tell them to report to the railway bunker at Freidrich Strasse Station.’

Carla knew Dobberke was making this up, and Ehrenstein seemed to suspect it too. ‘When, sir?’

‘Immediately.’

‘Immediately.’ Ehrenstein paused, as if the word ‘immediately’ required further elucidation.

Dobberke stared him out.

‘Very good, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ll tell the men.’ He went out.

Carla felt a surge of triumph, but told herself she was not yet free.

Dobberke said to Hilde: ‘Show me the declaration.’

Hilde opened her folder. There were a dozen sheets, all with the same wording typed at the top, the rest of the space covered with signatures. She handed them over.

Dobberke folded the papers and stuffed them in his pocket.

Hilde placed the release orders in front of him. ‘Sign these, please.’

‘You don’t need release orders,’ Dobberke said. ‘And I don’t have time to sign my name hundreds of times.’ He stood up.

Carla said: ‘The police are on the streets. They’re hanging people from the lamp posts. We need papers.’

He patted his pocket. ‘They’ll hang me if they find this declaration.’ He went to the door.

Gisela cried: ‘Take me with you, Walter!’

He turned to her. ‘Take you?’ he said. ‘What would my wife say?’ He went out and slammed the door.

Gisela burst into tears.

Carla went to the door, opened it, and watched Dobberke stride away. There were no other Gestapo men in sight: they had already obeyed his orders and abandoned the camp.