Anna sat bent low over sheets of paper at a table in the Mess Hall. Walking about fitfully, dictating out loud, but barely audible at times over the artillery barrage, was Eddie.
“Get OUT!” he yelled at Gus, who did.
“My Last Will and Testament,” he said for the third time.
“I have that,” said Anna.
“Yes, right. What’s next?”
“I think we should put in the names, date and place,” said Anna, and she did. “Other than that I don’t see why you can’t put absolutely anything you want in there. After all—”
“Yes, after all — look, you aren’t going to bawl on me, are you?”
Eddie was pacing.
“Of course not.”
“To my Father, when he returns, I leave my home-made crystal radio. To my Mom I leave my Karl May books. I want my little brother Okie to have my train set. Can you put in, ‘but only when he is six’?”
“Sure, like ‘on his sixth birthday’?”
“Right. My record player and record collection I leave to my friend Hedy. Do I have to put her last name in? I can’t spell it.”
“No need, probably. Your Mom knows who you mean?”
“Yes, alright. This next thing I want you to underline, or write in a separate paragraph or something.
YOU ALL KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT MY FAMILY. I JUST WISH I COULD HAVE DONE MORE.
Wait, take that out. No, leave it in.”
Eddie paused.
“That’s it. I know you can do this better than old Eddie.”
“I’ll copy it neat. Then you sign it with a witness. I think you need a witness.”
“Right. And then you mail it. Promise?”
“Promise.”
And Eddie printed his address in downtown Berlin on an envelope from the office.
“I can’t spell, you know. My spelling isn’t, isn’t dignified.”
“Hm. I see. No trouble.” Anna was busying herself, bent over the papers. Eddie left with a stage bow at the door.
The scene in the office is chaotic. With the artillery barrage, now constant, it is hard to hear voices over the phone. Cot and chairs are covered with medical supplies of all stripe. Packages with bandages, tubes with antiseptic salves, bottles of iodine, Leukoplast in all sizes, tweezers, clamps, shears, rubbing alcohol. The crate is almost empty, but Cpl. Albers is looking for something and finds it just as Monika and Walla come into view.
“I want you girls to divide all the supplies into two lots and pack these white canvas bags. There’s an instruction sheet in the box.”
The Corporals smoke in the Mess Hall. No one is allowed outside for now. Low flying reconnaissance planes are constantly overhead. At the first sound of FLAK, the kids are to run to the shelter, but no FLAK for now.
The flag was hauled down after dark yesterday, unceremoniously, and no one paid attention.
Monika crosses the Mess Hall with a pack of syringes.
“We’re missing all the morphine,” she says.
“I know. It’s locked up in the desk. I’ll put it in later,” says Cpl. Albers, “I’ll put it in later.”
“Then you’ll have to unpack half the bags again. According to the schema, the morphine goes halfway down,” says Monika sweetly. “Could you come with me now?” And she starts back, but before they can unlock the drawer, the phone rings off the hook again, and Cpl. Peters asks the girls to leave.
Lilly, Anna, Emma and Lotte are emptying the closets in their room and stuffing their things into their backpacks. Joined by Monika and Walla, they all overhear the screaming match in the office, the words ‘scandal’ and ‘ammunition’ yelled repeatedly into the receiver. The words ‘dog tags’ and ‘proper military I.D.’, never received, are no longer an issue.
Walla loosens the thumb tacks and takes down the twins.
FLAK has suddenly joined the heavy artillery fire, aiming, it seems, at the Soviet planes. When they turn on the radio, it splutters a little, then gives up the ghost.
“What’s that about Bernau and Weissensee?” says Lotte. “We couldn’t help overhearing. What’s up?”
“Alright — the Soviets are approaching from East/North-East, as well as from North of us, but they won’t get across the bridges. The SS is solid around there.”
“Right,” says Lotte, “and how about our boys then? Who—”
“The defense line is well north of here, around Birkenwerder. Heavy SS units of the Totenkopf Division and Wehrmacht. Ivan won’t get through there. Our task is to secure these woods, in case the odd tank gets away from them.”
“Ah.”
“Cpl. Peters?” It’s Anna.
“Do the boys know this? Exactly?”
“Anna, you have to realize that nobody knows anything for certain.”
They all look at each other. Lt. Schmitt was where now? Brimming with his unshakable faith in the German leadership, no doubt.
“Cpl. Peters and I have decided to move dinner up by an hour. Lilly—” says the Medic. The girls nod, firmly placed back in their field of duty and daily chores.
Meanwhile, the boys have been confined to their barracks, only to dash out for short forays during a lull in the shelling. The Corporals announce that bazookas will be moved under the cover of darkness only.
Soup is served early and the Mess Hall is silent today. No one seems to have anything to say or ask during this last shared meal. Except Henning wonders how Hansi might be doing, and the girls nod in his direction. Perhaps it is just a case of not bothering to shout to be heard above the din outside.
Then everything is cleared away, and the galley made ready to hand out the last rations.