arrested in a military hospital as he recovered from serious wounds he had received on the Russian front. When all nine defendants were found guilty, Manfred Roeder again demanded the death penalty, on the grounds that they had offered aid and comfort to the enemy. Although at first the Reich Court-Martial sentenced all nine to die, they must have had misgivings, for soon thereafter they recommended that Cato and Liane be pardoned.
“I want to live, but I expect to die,” Cato murmured to Greta as they walked together in the exercise yard. “Hitler will never show mercy, not even to poor Liane, although I pray they’ll at least wait until she delivers her child.”
They both looked across the yard to Liane, who placed her feet carefully as she walked, peering forlornly out at the dusty yard through thick, dark, unruly curls, her hands on her abdomen. Even for her age, she was too thin for so late in her second trimester. Her friends shared their rations with her, but it was never enough.
“You mustn’t lose hope,” Greta urged. “Mildred and Erika were shown some clemency. You and Liane may be too.”
Cato shot her a sharp sidelong look, not enough to draw the attention of the guards. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Mildred and Erika were sentenced to die.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Greta shook her head. “I know you’re wrong. It was Elizabeth—” Dear Elizabeth, a true friend in the darkest days of her life. “You’re thinking of Elizabeth Schumacher and Libertas. They received death sentences in that trial.” And where were they now? Charlottenburg? The Hausgefängnis at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8? All Greta knew for certain was that they were not at Alexanderplatz. She wished she could get a message to them, a few words of love and comfort, some reassurance that they had not been forgotten.
“I’m so sorry, Greta,” said Cato, stricken. “I thought you knew. Hitler rejected those sentences. They were given a new trial, with new charges and contrived evidence, and allegations that Mildred had committed adultery thrown in to turn the judges against her. Mildred and Erika were found guilty of espionage and treason. They were given the death sentence.”
Greta felt as if all the air was being forced from her lungs. Her knees buckled; she stumbled and might have collapsed except Cato reached out and steadied her. “Are you sure?” she managed to say. “How do you know?”
“I heard it from one of the guards, the chatty one with the short blond braids. I suppose she could have been lying to torment me.”
“Perhaps,” said Greta, sick at heart. “But for now, they’re still alive?”
“I have no idea.” Cato inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders as a whistle shrilled to signal the end of their exercise period. “But now you see why I have little hope that any mercy will be shown to me, or to any of us.”
Thanks to Cato, Greta knew what to expect when her own trial came, but on the first day of February when she was led from her cell outside to the police van, her heart plummeted and her legs shook so badly that she had difficulty walking. It took all her willpower to maintain a stoic expression rather than give her captors any pleasure in her suffering, but the mask slipped when she arrived at the Reichskriegsgericht building and a guard told her she would be allowed a few minutes with Adam before the trial.
Inside, the guard escorted her to a waiting room and gestured for her to enter. She quickly obeyed, her gaze taking in seven men in prison attire, passing over Adolf Grimme with a flicker of acknowledgment and at last finding her husband. When Adam’s eyes met hers, she instinctively pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a cry—of joy to see him again, and of shock at his haggard appearance.
As she stood frozen, he hurried to meet her by the door, and soon they were in each other’s arms, holding on so tightly that Greta almost couldn’t breathe. He had aged years in the nearly five months since she had last seen him. She could only imagine how her own altered appearance shocked and dismayed him.
They spoke rapidly, knowing time was of the essence. Adam was almost never allowed to receive mail, so she quickly shared the most important details from the letters their mothers had sent her, focusing on Ule, the family, herself—but before she could ask what he knew of Mildred or their other friends, he