place. 'The comrade in the RTO (1) tells me that they are looking out for you at the barriers.'
`It's my handsome mug,' Schulze answered, taking a swig at the beer and pulling a face. 'Once seen, forgotten for ever.'
`But you must be serious,' the boy said. 'Your life is at stake. They take our comrades to Neuengamme Concentration Camp for less than what you have done this day.'
`You and your shitty comrades,' Schulze growled. 'Can't you call them mates or something?'
In his heart, he knew the boy was right. He had struck a chain-dog and floored a Gestapo man; and if that weren't bad enough, he had helped a Bolshevik to escape. They would have the bollocks off him for that.
`But all I wanted to do was to get the dirty water off my chest and then go and see my old man out in Barmbek.'
`There is no question of doing that now,' the pale-faced boy said with the assurance of a man twice his age. 'They have your description and the fact you belong to the SS. You must get out of the Reich and back to your unit at the front as soon as possible. There you'll be safe.'
Schulze looked incredulously at him through the smoky haze. `Safe at the front - that I don't laugh! They're killing people out there, you know.'
`I know,' the boy answered gravely. 'But believe me, far worse things than death are happening back here in the Reich. Out at Neuengamme, they are torturing people to death slowly, very slowly, by means which you cannot even imagine. That's why we must strike at the fascist beasts soon before they have killed the best of the comrades. We must get rid of them.'
Schulze thought of the many millions of Germans, who blindly served the National Socialist cause and told himself the boy was living in a dream world; he and his 'comrades', whoever they might be, would never make the man in the street turn against Hitler until it was too late.
`You might be right, but at this particular moment, sonny, I'm worried about Mrs Schulze's boy. You got me into this mess, how about getting me out of it?'
The young communist's grave face brightened.
`Don't worry, comrade, we'll get you out of Hamburg and back to your unit all right. Tell me first, where you have to return to?'
Schulze quickly filled in the details, while around him the dark-eyed whores screamed hysterically on the soldiers' knees and the black marketeers exchanged their wares surreptitiously under the beer-stained tables.
`Good,' the boy said finally, 'we shall see that you meet your officer at the Lehrter Bahnhof by four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I think we'd better go and see Fat Erna. It looks as if she could pull off the wounded soldier routine with you.'
`And who's Fat Erna when she's at home?' Schulze asked, finishing off his beer.
For the first time since Schulze had met him in the Herbertstrasse, the boy's face broke into a smile.
`You'll see, comrade. All I can say at the moment is that she's a helluva lot of woman.'
Fat Erna was washing her enormous bulk in a chipped enamel bowl in front of the green-tiled stove when they opened the door of her room. Schulze's mouth dropped open at once. Fat Erna, who must have weighed well over a hundred kilos, was completely naked save for a tiny white washcloth with which she was rubbing her left breast, as if she were kneading dough for the oven.
`Christ on a crutch!' he breathed, 'I haven't seen so much fresh meat since the days before rationing!'
`Shut the shitty door,' the big blonde woman growled, `there's a draught. Or have you got sacks out there!'
Hastily Schulze did as she ordered. Fat Erna dropped the cloth into the grey water with a splash and began to pummel herself with a towel, sizing the SS man up as she did so.
`Well, don't stand there like a spare dildo in a convent!' she snapped finally. 'You'd think you'd never seen a naked woman before. Give me that robe on the chair there!'
Schulze handed the flowered silken kimono to her and while she slipped it on, glanced round her room. Despite the
`It's my handsome mug,' Schulze answered, taking a swig at the beer and pulling a face. 'Once seen, forgotten for ever.'
`But you must be serious,' the boy said. 'Your life is at stake. They take our comrades to Neuengamme Concentration Camp for less than what you have done this day.'
`You and your shitty comrades,' Schulze growled. 'Can't you call them mates or something?'
In his heart, he knew the boy was right. He had struck a chain-dog and floored a Gestapo man; and if that weren't bad enough, he had helped a Bolshevik to escape. They would have the bollocks off him for that.
`But all I wanted to do was to get the dirty water off my chest and then go and see my old man out in Barmbek.'
`There is no question of doing that now,' the pale-faced boy said with the assurance of a man twice his age. 'They have your description and the fact you belong to the SS. You must get out of the Reich and back to your unit at the front as soon as possible. There you'll be safe.'
Schulze looked incredulously at him through the smoky haze. `Safe at the front - that I don't laugh! They're killing people out there, you know.'
`I know,' the boy answered gravely. 'But believe me, far worse things than death are happening back here in the Reich. Out at Neuengamme, they are torturing people to death slowly, very slowly, by means which you cannot even imagine. That's why we must strike at the fascist beasts soon before they have killed the best of the comrades. We must get rid of them.'
Schulze thought of the many millions of Germans, who blindly served the National Socialist cause and told himself the boy was living in a dream world; he and his 'comrades', whoever they might be, would never make the man in the street turn against Hitler until it was too late.
`You might be right, but at this particular moment, sonny, I'm worried about Mrs Schulze's boy. You got me into this mess, how about getting me out of it?'
The young communist's grave face brightened.
`Don't worry, comrade, we'll get you out of Hamburg and back to your unit all right. Tell me first, where you have to return to?'
Schulze quickly filled in the details, while around him the dark-eyed whores screamed hysterically on the soldiers' knees and the black marketeers exchanged their wares surreptitiously under the beer-stained tables.
`Good,' the boy said finally, 'we shall see that you meet your officer at the Lehrter Bahnhof by four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I think we'd better go and see Fat Erna. It looks as if she could pull off the wounded soldier routine with you.'
`And who's Fat Erna when she's at home?' Schulze asked, finishing off his beer.
For the first time since Schulze had met him in the Herbertstrasse, the boy's face broke into a smile.
`You'll see, comrade. All I can say at the moment is that she's a helluva lot of woman.'
Fat Erna was washing her enormous bulk in a chipped enamel bowl in front of the green-tiled stove when they opened the door of her room. Schulze's mouth dropped open at once. Fat Erna, who must have weighed well over a hundred kilos, was completely naked save for a tiny white washcloth with which she was rubbing her left breast, as if she were kneading dough for the oven.
`Christ on a crutch!' he breathed, 'I haven't seen so much fresh meat since the days before rationing!'
`Shut the shitty door,' the big blonde woman growled, `there's a draught. Or have you got sacks out there!'
Hastily Schulze did as she ordered. Fat Erna dropped the cloth into the grey water with a splash and began to pummel herself with a towel, sizing the SS man up as she did so.
`Well, don't stand there like a spare dildo in a convent!' she snapped finally. 'You'd think you'd never seen a naked woman before. Give me that robe on the chair there!'
Schulze handed the flowered silken kimono to her and while she slipped it on, glanced round her room. Despite the
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