Heroes by David Hagberg (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

a few of Dannsiger’s people had elected to remain behind to cover the others’ escape. It was a safe bet that no one still in the building would come out of this alive.

The tank fired its huge gun again, and Deland ducked as the explosion shook every building in the block, dirt and plaster raining down into the stairwell.

Marti was in there. Poor, confused Marti. She should have been the wife of a schoolteacher, or perhaps a college professor at a small university, living her life amid teas and weekend trips to the forests, not in this hell.

The German 88 fired a third time, a piece of the cornice above Deland breaking free and crashing down on the head of the stairs, a large piece of the concrete just missing him. He scrambled the rest of the way down the stairs and through the cellar door.

He could not remain here. It was all over for the underground.

At least for the moment. Sooner or later the SS and the Gestapo would begin searching the buildings in this block, probably for several blocks on this side of the river.

He could not stay. He could not find out from here what happened to Dannsiger and Marti and the others.

He crossed through the basement, went up into the shell of the building, and cautiously emerged behind the black market corner.

Several more 88 rounds were fired in rapid succession as Deland hurried away in the opposite direction, his head down, but all his senses alert for danger. It would be difficult getting out of the city, but once free it would not be impossible to make it south. In his mind he could see a picture of Germany. Berlin was in the northeast, while Bern was directly south of Basel, across the Swiss border, in the extreme southwest. He would have to avoid the bigger cities—Leipzig, Frankfurt am Main, Stuttgart.

But most of the military traffic he would have to fear traveled on the Autobahn system. He would not be on those roads in any event.

He had his work card and identification. But he had no travel permits with him. They were all back at the school, being re-done for the new month—which meant he would not be able to take a train.

He stopped and looked back the way he had come. It was possible that he could gain access to the basement by the river entrance. For a moment he considered it, but realized just how foolish that was. The Gestapo had had the building spotted for some time now. They certainly knew about the sewer outfall. And very soon they’d be inside anyway.

He did have some money, a couple hundred marks. It wasn’t much really, but then he wasn’t going to be able to take a train, nor was he going to be eating in fancy restaurants, even if there were any.

He continued walking south until he crossed the Berliner Strasse bridge over the Spree to the west, and then he turned south again toward Charlottenberg. A truck rumbled by, and a second later another truck ground its way up through the gears, and Deland shrank back. Suppliers and workmen were beginning to move about. The bakers would be at work now, with what little flour was available. The farmers would be straggling in for a pitifully meager market day. The morning railway people and trolley conductors would be showing up for work soon. Slowly the city was coming alive.

It was amazing, Deland thought, that despite the way the war was going—the Allies had invaded France—and despite the bombing raids, despite the shortages, life essentially went on as normal.

Or at least it had a semblance of normalcy, although there wasn’t enough food in the city and water and telephone service were often interrupted. The joke went that the only thing more unreliable than the electricity was a husband with four children who had two mistresses.

He crossed Kurfurstendamm, and an hour and a half later he was within the park at the edge of the Grosser Wansee in Zehlendorf.

There were many fashionable homes on the western shores of the lake, many of them belonging to high party officials. Security over there would be tight, so Deland stayed well away.

To the south and east of the lake were lesser residential areas, as well as the park and the railway line. It would be so convenient to merely board a train. But without travel permits—and money—it was impossible.

He stopped just at the edge of the park and peered out across the still well-tended lawns of the big houses. The railroad depot was not lit up, of course, but he could make out its bulk. The tracks ran out of the city to the southwest, across Dreilinden Strasse. Within a mile from the lake the city gradually gave way to farmlands, where there wouldn’t be so many prying eyes.

How long would it take for a train coming out of the Grosser Wansee depot to accelerate to the point where it would be impossible to jump aboard? Within the city they would have to keep speeds low for fear the tracks would be blocked with bomb debris. They would not actually come to speed until they were well away from the danger.

He looked back across the park. Within the city there were plenty of places for him to hide. Out in the country he would be exposed. It would be more difficult. He shook his head. Berlin was impossible for him now. At least his mission to help downed Allied airmen out of the city was impossible for him.

Deland stepped out of the park, crossed the Wanseebad West, and went down to the lakeshore walkway. The air was much cooler near the water, and it smelled wonderful. Very soon the sun would be coming up, ruining his chances of escape for this night. Before it was light, he would have to be out of the city and aboard a train. Short of that, he would have to find a