Chapter Ten: Ich Bin Ein Berliner
Vulkov looked serenely out the window of his room at the Hotel Kaiserhof. He had arrived in Berlin with Hadzipetkov and the rest of the army a few days before, where they had received a warm welcome from Berlin’s citizens and Axis High Command. In addition to a military parade and celebration, the Bulgarian officers had also each been given a suite at the hotel during their stay. The hotel was a favorite of Nazi government officials and officers due to its location next to the Reich Chancellery, and so it only seemed natural that the Bulgarians would be given the same treatment. But Vulkov wasn’t so sure.
It was nice, he had to admit. They had been praised as the saviors of the Axis ever since their victory in France, but something just felt…off about the Germans’ gestures of friendship. He had tried, after the first day, to warn Hadzipetkov of his suspicions, but the Colonel had waved him off, saying:
“Relax, enjoy the sites, my friend. The sooner we figure out what the situation is with America, the sooner we can go home. You’re not the only one who’s homesick, you know?”
Vulkov had, in fact, been looking forward to arriving in Sofia before their change in orders. Because, though he knew the orders from the Tsar were urgent, he did really miss home. To see the slopes of the Vitosha. To dream of soaring over its peaks and through the clouds. To get away from it all: the army, the war, his suspicions about the war, the list went on.
He was interrupted in his musing by a knock at the door. Vulkov paused, but made no move to open the door. The knocker waited a few moments then, when they were met with silence, opened the door anyway. It was Hadzipetkov.
“The meeting starts soon. Hitler wants every officer to attend. Says its important.”
Vulkov continued to stare out the window. His eyes moved from the cars on the street below, to the throngs of people, to the bright blue sky high above. Still, he said nothing.
Hadzipetkov sighed, “Look, if you’re mad at me for ignoring you the other day, I’m sorry.”
Hadzipetkov looked for a sign of acknowledgement from his comrade, Vulkov continued to stare out the window.
He raised his voice slightly, “Why’d you even come on this campaign if you were just going to sit there most of the time?”
Vulkov, his back still turned and his eyes still glued to the window, responded, “To help you.”
“He speaks.” Hadzipetkov grumbled, “‘To help me?’ I don’t need any help. That thing in the Ardennes, that was just…just nerves, that’s all.”
Vulkov cocked his head and gave his companion a sidelong glance, “Nerves?”
“Nerves. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?”
“Will you stop repeating everything I say?! Now are you coming? We can’t keep everyone waiting.”
“Why?” Vulkov said.
“‘Why’ what?”
“Why are you so eager to please the Germans? Do you
agree with them?”
“They’re our allies, Vulkov. We’re linked together whether we like it or not. Personal opinions don’t matter in wartime.”
Vulkov turned his eyes back to the window, “If you say so.”
Hadzipetkov sighed again and then left the room, slamming the door loudly on his way out. Vulkov didn’t flinch (or maybe didn’t notice), his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
The Sun still shone brightly in the sky, but Vulkov could see rain-filled clouds moving in quickly.
. . .
It had just started to sprinkle as Hadzipetkov entered the Reich Chancellery. He received directions from a secretary and swiftly made his way to the meeting room. When he entered, the heavy double-doors banging loudly behind him, everyone else looked up. He was the last to arrive, and also late.
A Nazi officer spoke up, “Ah, finally come to join us, have you?”
The rest of the room laughed and Hadzipetkov gave a nervous chuckle.
“Don’t worry.” The officer beamed, “We hadn’t begun discussing anything yet. The Fuhrer has received an important call in the other room and we’re waiting for him to finish. Coffee?”
Hadzipetkov nodded and accepted a cup. Another officer spoke:
“Where is your associate, Herr Vulkov?” he asked.
“I’m afraid the weather has affected his health this morning,” Hadzipetkov said. “We’ll have to make do without him.”
“Ah well,” the second officer replied. “It’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting him.”
“Hmm?” Hadzipetkov queried.
“Just so I can thank our two Bulgarian heroes in person. I hear his air support was crucial in the breakthrough into France.”
“Yes…” Hadzipetkov said quietly. “Yes, it—he was.”
A backroom door opened and out of it stepped the Fuhrer himself. Everyone present stiffened to attention. He barked an order in German at one of the officers next to him who said:
“Time to start the meeting. The Fuhrer wishes to discuss the Bulgarian role first. Let’s begin.”
. . .
Hadzipetkov was one of the first to leave the meeting once it had concluded. He stepped outside into the rain. What had before been a sprinkle was now in a full downpour. He entered the hotel lobby soaking wet, but he didn’t care. His mind was somewhere else entirely. As the elevator took him up to his floor, Hadzipetkov tried to get his thoughts together:
It’s suicide, invading Russia at a time like this. They’ll be crushed. The Bulgarians along with them. It’s just as he predicted when he sent me on this assignment. But what about Bulgaria? No…Something must be done. I’ll have to ask permission from—”
The ding of the elevator signaling his arrival on the floor broke his attention. But still his mind was made up. He knew what he had to do. But first he would just have to get word his superiors. Though Vulkov would probably be expecting a look in.
“I’ll do that first,” he mumbled.
Hadzipetkov entered Vulkov’s room, without knocking this time. It had been a few hours, but Vulkov was still planted in front of the window, albeit he was at a different angle to it.
“Still here, are you?” Hadzipetkov said. “What’s so interesting out there?”
Vulkov remained silent.
“You’d better get packed. We’re heading back to Bulgaria in a few days.”
Vulkov turned around fully to face his comrade.
“We’re preparing to invade Russia, aren’t we?” Vulkov asked.
Hadzipetkov raised his eyebrows, “How’d you know that?”
“Been thinking. About why we’re here. Assumed something was going on.”
“Well, you’re right. It is about Russia. We’ll need to gather new equipment back home before moving North to help the Bulgarians.”
“Sounds good,” Vulkov turned back towards the window.
“That’s it? You don’t have any more questions?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what then, come on?”
Vulkov turned back to Hadzipetkov, “You tell the Tsar yet?”
“I’ll do that right after this. Anything else?”
“One more. You tell anyone else?”
“‘Anyone else?’” what do you mean? Of course not!”
Vulkov looked Hadzipetkov straight in his eyes, “You going to?”
“What are you implying?” Hadzipetkov said warily.
“Nothing,” Vulkov said.
“Are you saying I’m a spy?” He paused, “are you?” then, with more force, “Are you?!”
Vulkov searched deeply into Hadzipetkov’s eyes, before turning around again. The storm outside was thundering heavily and rain lashed at the window.
Hadzipetkov reached out his hand as if to force Vulkov to turn around, but then hesitated, thought better of it, then simply said:
“Never mind, just get packed.”
He sighed as he left the room and slammed the door.
. . .
Once back in his room, Hadzipetkov dialed his Ministry office in Sofia and relayed information to be sent to the Tsar. They would be coming home soon. Then, as he hung up the phone, he walked over to his own window, opened it, and slipped outside into the rain.
He quickly found a telephone booth and dialed a number he had memorized by heart. A man on the other end picked up:
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Hadzipetkov said. “I need authorization for a Code 48.”
“Granted. You will have whatever you require to succeed in your mission.”
“I’ll need full control over our sector in Bulgaria for this to work.”
“That will be arranged. I’ll notify the others. Anything else?”
“We have a Code Tannenberg. Prepare as much as you can, it will be soon.”
“Understood. Good luck, Comrade.”
The stranger hung up.
