Angels Fallen

by Francis Smith

  Releasing her leggy grip, Inga slid back onto her bed.

  “Inga, there is one thing I must know before we part ways,” he said, taking a step back, gazing lustfully upon her body’s fullness. “Has anyone come looking for me in the past couple of weeks? Anyone at all?” He searched her face for any sign of betrayal, never truly knowing whom he could trust anymore.

  She moved closer to him, tilting her head to one side. “No, not that I’m aware of. Who would want to look for you here?”

  “It’s a long story, one that I can’t explain right now due to our particular circumstances. Another day, another time, I promise.”

  Dieter turned to face Lisa and the boys who now gathered in the hallway. “Lisa, please go and fetch our friend Goot before the Americans find him and decide to shoot the poor old bastard.”

  Dieter broke into a mischievous grin, truly realizing for the first time that he was about to become a very rich man.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rush of heavy leather boots clumsily running up wooden steps signaled the American soldiers were fast approaching.

  Dieter ordered the boys to take up a defensive position in order to repel any advance for the moment.

  Goot was puzzled at Dieter’s response to the Americans. “I thought you wanted to be captured by the Americans,” he exclaimed.

  Dieter extracted his Lugar sidearm to check its ammunition. “I do, but on my own terms and conditions.” He turned to face Inga. “Is there an attic where the boys can hide?”

  She pointed down the darkened hall. “Yes, of course. It is where we hide our black market alcohol from the police.” Inga took Dieter by the hand, walking the short distance to where she pushed aside a large, gaudy oil painting of an alpine mountain scene that revealed a secret door.

  Dieter pulled Inga out of earshot of the boys and Goot. “Is there enough room for all of the boys to hide for an hour or two while we surrender and distract the Americans from this place?”

  “But of course. It runs the whole length of the club—it’s at least twenty meters long.”

  He turned back to face the boys, marveling at their age and determination. They are a bright group of kids who deserve better. He had rescued them from the perils of Berlin and the Russian Army. Now it was time for the next stage of their lives to begin.

  Dieter turned to Schmitz. “Private Schmitz, I require you to take the boys into the attic.”

  “You heard the Captain. Move out,” Schmitz ordered in turn, thinking they were going to surprise the Americans in an ambush.

  “Damn it, quietly!” Dieter said. “Do you want the Americans to hear you?”

  IT WAS ALREADY TOO LATE. The American soldiers couldn’t help but hear the commotion on the wood floor above them.

  The Sergeant in command responded by pulling a grenade from his web belt, carefully moving closer to the bottom of the stairwell.

  “Drop your weapons and come down peaceably,” the Sergeant yelled up the steps in his best schoolboy German—albeit with a Texas drawl. “I’ll give you one minute to reply and then we come up shooting.”

  Dieter needed additional time. He had to stall the Americans until the boys could safely hide themselves in the attic. “American soldiers, we mean you no harm. We just want to talk before surrendering,” he replied in near perfect English, a product of several years’ schooling in England prior to the war.

  “No problem, buddy. You can do all of your talking down here,” the Sergeant replied. “Now, I order you to drop your weapons and come down with your hands up.”

  Dieter realized the Americans were an impatient lot judging from the cowboy movies he had watched before the war. A minute was too long for them, more likely counting to ten before choosing to fire.

  He turned to Inga, taking her hand in his, his expression betraying his feelings. “The Americans have no idea that the boys are up here,” he said, pausing as he looked into her violet eyes knowing why he fell in love with her so many years before. “We will sacrifice ourselves and surrender to the Americans to distract them from the boys. After this is over, I want you to take the boys to my parents’ farm and set them up with some money. I will pay you back double as soon as possible. Can you do this for me? Please…..for their sake?”

  Inga was taken back by his request. “How am I supposed to settle down on a farm?” she replied curtly. “Do you just snap your fingers, and I change to a normal house frau and take in all of these boys? Am I also supposed to turn over my life savings to you?”

  Dieter realized the position he was placing her in, but due to the circumstance had no other choice. “The Americans won’t hold us for long,” he cooed.”

  Inga averted his eyes.

  He gently placed his hands on her shoulder. “They will set us free in several months and then you can resume your wonderful life if you like. The boys need you, Inga. Do this for all of the little boys and girls who didn’t make it through the war.”

  Inga still chose to look away but Dieter could hear the soft sobs as tears began to run down her cheek.

  Dieter took her in his arms holding her tight. “For once in your life please don’t be a selfish bitch.”

  “Selfish? Me,….Selfish?” she repeated, feeling the sting of his words, pushing him away. “Am I the one who is selfish? You bastard! You have room to talk. You don’t show up for months on end and expect me to drop everything for you?”

  Dieter dabbed at the black mascara now running down her cheeks with his uniforms sleeve.

  “Inga, I’m sorry. I only have about thirty seconds before this place becomes a battle zone. I am only doing this for the children’s sake and looking out for their well-being. I gave them my word. Please, can you help me? It will only be for a short time.”

  Inga studied his face, brushing his cheek with her hand. “Only a couple of months? You promise me?”

  “Yes, I promise,” he said, turning to check the boys’ progress down the hall. “A couple of months tops, no more.” Dieter placed his left hand over his heart.

  “If it were anyone else but you, Hans Dieter, I would spit in his face,” she said, pausing dramatically as if ready to change her mind at any moment. “Okay, I’ll do it. For the children’s sake only,” extracting some satisfaction at his omission. “I will see that they get to the farm and I can even kick in some money to get them started. But I promise you, if you don’t return in a few months I’ll hunt you down myself,” jokingly grabbing his weapon, pointing it at his head before dropping it on the floor. She suddenly reached up and engaged him in a deep passionate kiss.

  Goot looked away in embarrassment.

  “That’s the Inga I have grown to love,” Dieter said, taking her into his arms and spinning her lithe body around in a tight circle.

  Inga gazed longingly into his eyes. “Please take care and come back as soon as possible.”

  “Now that I have somebody to come home to, you know I will,” Dieter said, slowly releasing her.

  The prospects of leaving Inga being bad enough Dieter walked to where Schmitz and the boys were positioned in the doorway of the attic, heads poking out, faces covered in soot and dirt, resembling the youngsters who worked in the coal mines a hundred years before. He nodded to each before informing them in a low voice that they were to wait out the war and go with Inga after he left. She was now in charge until he returned.

  Schmitz protested. “No, sir, we go with you as soldiers. We can fight our way out of here. There is no need for you to surrender for our sake.”

  Each boy noddedin unison—loyal to the end.

  “I gave you an order gentlemen and I expect you, as soldiers, to carry it out. Is that understood?” Dieter declared harshly but lacking any true meaning.

  “Yes, sir, captain,” Schmitz replied, all the boys snapping to attention in response.

  Dieter admired their devotion to him. “Stay in the attic and close the door. We will meet again when the war is over.”

  Dieter turned his atte
ntion to the pressing issue of the American soldiers’ stationed one floor below. Seeking encouragement from Goot and Inga, both were only able to provide a meager smile in response. He straightened his uniform. “It’s show time.”

  Dieter approached the top of the steps. “Attention, Americans. We would like to surrender. We mean you no harm. There are only three of us up here, one of whom is a woman, so don’t shoot.”

  Dieter turned to see tears running down Schmitz cheeks as he executed a near perfect salute from his position at the attic’s door.

  Dieter nodded to the young man, returning the boys salute before proceeding down the wooden steps, and into captivity.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SEPTEMBER 1945 - DIETER FARM, WEIMAR GERMANY

  Schmitz busied himself in the hayloft preparing the barn for what was expected to be a harsh winter when he noticed two familiar figures approaching from the farm’s dirt road.

  “It can’t be,” he said, mopping the sweat from his brow with a well-worn handkerchief. “Look, look,” Schmitz shouted below. “The Captain and Goot have returned,” pointing at the fast approaching figures. “Go and round up the rest of the boys and tell them the Captain and Goot have returned. Hurry now!”

  Schmitz jumped down from the loft plopping safely into the hay cart positioned below. “Captain, you have come back,” Schmitz yelled excitedly, jumping into the arms of Dieter, him staggering back a few steps under the boy’s weight—undoubtedly a product of Inga’s delicious cooking.

  “Schmitz it’s good to be home,” he said, wrapping his arms around him in a bear hug. “You can’t believe how much I’ve missed this place. It’s been a long time without home-cooked food and pleasant surroundings.”

  “Captain you must see what we have done with the farm,” Schmitz said, yanking on Dieter’s sleeve. “We have cleaned the fields and the surrounding area of the overgrowth and even planted beets and turnips in their place. We even painted the farmhouse and put on a new roof with material we stole.”

  “Borrowed,” Inga corrected him, having walked down to where the boys now stood and wiping her hands on a stained apron. A smile graced her face that she only reserved for Dieter.

  “Yes, excuse me, borrowed from the American soldiers in town,” he said. We even bought chickens and a milk cow with some money Inga had saved.”

  Surveying the house, Dieter took note of the new roof and the surrounding fields and nodded approvingly. “You have transformed what was a rundown farm into a home,” returning Inga’s loving gaze, knowing it was her motherly spirit that had transformed the farm into a real home.

  The remaining boys made their way in from the fields gathering around Dieter and Goot, all offering their congratulations on a safe return home.

  “Now to more pressing matters,” Dieter said. “Herr Goot and I haven’t had a decent meal in months and could quite possibly eat a bear,” rubbing Goot’s stomach for effect. The boys laughed heartily in response. “So if there’s enough food for Goot and myself, let us proceed to the table and eat our full share. There is additional work to be done.”

  Only Goot realized what Dieter was secretly referring to.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PRESENT DAY - CHEATEK, NEW YORK

  Hans refilled his glass with a jigger of Irish, returning the half-empty bottle to its bedside perch. He felt like standing by the window one last time but exhaustion had settled in.

  Father Dan and Jim sat on the edge of their chairs, awe struck by Hans’ revelation. A defiant Father Dan helped himself to the bottle, refilling Jim’s glass after his own.

  “It can’t end there Hans. Tell us more you old coot,” Father Dan demanded. “You have to tell us what happened to everyone who was involved—Schmitz, Goot, Inga, the rest of the boys.”

  Hans shook his head at Father Dan’s simple request, having unburdened himself of a story he had not entrusted to anyone but his dear departed wife. “I told you before we started that my story would shock you and by the look on your faces it worked.

  Hans quickly downed the remainder of his glass before continuing. “Don’t worry, in due time you will be privy to the information which you seek. You will become detectives and find additional pieces of the puzzle on your own.”

  Wishing he were ten years younger and able to go along himself, Hans relished the journey they were about to undertake. He looked down at his pale hands holding an empty glass, purple and green veins clearly visible; he could see his body was slowly withering away. The meat was leaving the bones his grandmother would say. After all these years, he finally understood the expressions meaning.

  Father Dan and Jim sat discussing the story Hans had just relayed to them.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” Hans said, halting their conversation in mid-sentence, “I did withhold one small but very important detail of information from my tale.” A mischievous smile creased his face. He toyed with the glass he held in his hand, the pause planned. Reaching for another pain pill he washed it down with water, foregoing the Irish for the moment. He turned to fluff his pillow then laid his head back. Comfortable once more, he began. “Now after my unit ambushed the truck, we moved the gold back to my family’s farm and I buried not one but two piles of gold and documents. The rationale was simple. If by chance one pile was discovered we still had the other as a safety net. Later I retrieved one pile, deciding to keep the remainder of gold and documents hidden in the best possible place I could think of. It was my insurance policy against anyone thinking of taking action against my family.”

  “All right, dad, you know the situation better than any of us,” Jim said. “But I do have a question concerning your story?”

  Hans nodded for him proceed.

  “What ever happened to the older gentleman in your story, Mr. Goot? Did you ever see him again? He sounded like a real interesting character.”

  Hans smiled. “It was because of him the three months I spent interned in the American POW camp were a lot easier to deal with. It was during our imprisonment that I informed Goot about my little insurance policy.”

  Hans gazed up at the ceiling, his mind wandering back to days long past before continuing. “Unfortunately, my friend Goot was to experience none of our riches. A heart attack claimed him less than a month after we left the POW camp. We were in the process of moving the second pile of gold and documents to a safer location when it happened. At the time, I was pretty certain no one from my unit was still alive, but what if one of them had mentioned their share of the pot to a friend or two? Moving it alleviated our fears. No one could steal what they couldn’t find. As we were preparing the second pile of gold for movement Goot suddenly grabbed his chest, falling to the ground in obvious pain. He motioned me to his side, whispering what would become his dying words. It was something that would comfort me all of these years. In his last breath he said, ‘If it weren’t for you and the boys coming along, I would have died a lonely old man on an empty farm. You gave me hope once more. I was lucky enough in life to have had two families. Thank you, my friend.’”

  Father Dan was the first to speak: “He sounded like a hell of a man.”

  “That he was,” Hans was quick to reply. “I acquired the best possible tombstone and coffin so he could rest comfortably in his eternity. This, gentlemen, is one of the main reasons why you two must return to the land of my birth to gather the gold and documents, if it’s just to honor Goot.”

  Jim and Father Dan concurred with a simple nod.

  “Now,the gold will be easy enough to find. It’s located on acreage that has been in our family for over six generations. That farm means a lot to me—more than all the money I have in my possession.”

  Hans reaches for Jim’s hand, looking into his son’s eyes. For a moment he views a bit of his wife staring back at him. He obviously had his mother’s eyes and smile.

  “Funny, isn’t it? You learn many things about a person when they die. You get to rummage through their personal things, possessions they have guarded clo
sely in life, things only they would find value in. You’ll be in a room full of junk and wonder why or what story is behind a certain picture or item. Me, I’m beating you to the punch. I have provided you the story, now you need to live the ending.”

  Hans sat back, content with his story being in the open. After several awkward minutes he turned to face his son. “Jim, I need a minute or two of privacy with Father Dan. There are several issues I would prefer to say to this old Mick in private.”

  Jim nodded. “No problem, Dad. I can just wait outside.” Jim turned to Father Dan, silently mouthing the words, “You’re in trouble,” before leaving the room to take a seat in the anteroom.

  The bedroom door now closed, Hans slowly focused on Father Dan. Picking up the bottle of Irish, he carefully refilled the contents of both glasses before proceeding. “And now we can turn our attention to the infamous Father Dan Flaherty, or should I just call you Dan?”

  Father Dan was about to speak in protest.

  Hans cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Hold your tongue until I’m through. And may I remind you that this has been a long time in coming. Ever since you first set foot in my humble house some twenty plus years ago, one big lie has been hanging over your head.”

  Father Dan tried to protest but Hans once more cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Please allow me to finish before you consider rebuffing me.”

  Dan nodded silently in agreement, wondering why the sudden change in demeanor.

  Hans smiled. “The main reason you came to this country was to escape the British and Ulster factions in Northern Ireland. For they don’t take too kindly to a man like yourself being involved in the IRA’s militant activities, do they?”