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can’t tell,” the SS man pronounced to his men in mock confusion. He laughed at his own joke and his men laughed along. Then he jammed his hand down Elisabeth’s slacks and grabbed her crotch so hard that she yelped in pain and shock. “Female!” the officer proclaimed triumphantly. “But so wasted she isn’t worth fucking.” He waved to the one-legged man who was glaring at him. “Cripple, get these people out of here. Heil Hitler!”
    Elisabeth stood transfixed by the brutal actions of the SS officer until the one-legged man limped up to her. Steadying himself with his crutch, he patted her cheek with his hand. She was almost in shock from the incident.
    “It’s all right, little girl. It is all a bad dream that will soon be ending.” He looked at her sunken cheeks and pale skin. “When did you last eat?” he asked.
    “She feeds me,” Pauli chirped with the innocence of his six years.
    “Ah,” the man said, understanding. The girl had been giving her scant supply of food to the boy. “What is your name?” he commanded her, and Elisabeth told him.
    “Good,” he said. “I am Wolfgang von Schumann. Once I commanded a brigade of tanks. Now I shepherd this little flock. Do you understand me?” Elisabeth nodded dreamily. She was almost out of energy and the world was starting to revolve. Von Schumann continued. “In a few minutes, I am going to call a halt for the night. We will distribute what food we have. I will see that the boy has his share and you will eat yours and not give it away. Do you understand? If you love this boy, you will help yourself stay alive for him.”
    Elisabeth blinked and started to cry. “Yes,” she whimpered. She saw that von Schumann was about the same age as her late father, maybe fifty. He had a stern face, but his eyes were sad, not cruel.
    Von Schumann gestured for a couple of women to help Elisabeth, who was about to collapse. “Perhaps we can even find some extra food to help you regain your strength.”
    As the women led Elisabeth and Pauli away, motion in the distance caught von Schumann’s eye. A line of military vehicles, including tanks, was driving on the autobahn a couple of miles away. His military experience and his excellent eyesight told him the tanks were not Panzers and the silhouette was not that of a Russian T34. It was too high. He sucked in his breath. Was it possible they were American Shermans? From this distance, he couldn’t be certain. But what if they were? God in heaven, what would happen now? The Russian army was on both sides and behind his group. In front of him was the once lovely city of Potsdam. When the two forces did link up, he wanted to be on the American side.
    He felt a tug at his sleeve. “Sir, what’s wrong with Aunt Lis?”
    Von Schumann sighed. The girl had fainted and was being half carried, half dragged into a building by the women who had been holding her up. She was young and presumably healthy. Some food, rest, and water would help immeasurably. He remembered that the boy’s name was Pauli.
    “Pauli, I’m sure all she needs is a little rest and some food.”
    “Was I bad for eating her food?” the boy asked.
    Von Schumann laughed at the innocence of children. It felt good to laugh. “No, Pauli, your Aunt Lis was very good for sharing it with you.”

CHAPTER 4
    H arry Truman finished reading his briefing papers and put his wire-rimmed glasses on the desk. He was exhausted, but no more so than the man in front of him.
    “General Marshall, what about our boys and Berlin?”
    “Mr. President, they are still making progress, although it is much slower than we had hoped.”
    “They’re not taking heavy casualties, are they? I don’t want that. Certainly not at this stage.” Truman had been having second thoughts about the decision to send soldiers toward Berlin. The realization that he was solely responsible for whatever befell those men was a heavy one.
    “Actually no, sir. While there have been some