A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  He pulled out a set of binoculars and followed their exhaust trails as the planes disappeared in a cluster of trees over the horizon. Erik scanned this forest, which must lay across the border in Poland. He couldn’t see anything. Either the area in front of him was bereft of Poles, or they were too well concealed to spot. Well, they would know soon enough.

  Erik assumed the attack would begin immediately, but the morning labored by without any orders to advance. He checked in with the lieutenant, who knew nothing more than he did. The tension grew minute by minute. He wanted to push forward, to face whatever was in those trees and get it over with. Orders came down, but not what he’d expected. Erik watched the cooks break out their pots and begin to prepare a hot breakfast. So there was no command to go forward—not yet.

  They broke their fast amid the booming clatter of invisible giants in the distance. An occasional airplane streaked across the sky, too far away to identify. Otherwise they sat there milling around, a boiling cauldron of stress and anticipation.

  A new noise erupted as morning faded and the sun began its slow descent in the sky. First one tank rumbled to life, then another. Soon the village was awash in roaring engines, the diesels purring in unison and coughing up a sickening cloud of exhaust. Still there were no orders. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

  “Sergeant!” He heard Sauer’s sharp bark over the clamor.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Come here.”

  Erik moved over to the lieutenant, who stood with the other group leaders. Sauer towered over them, his icy glare freezing each of them in turn. “We’ve got our orders. We are moving out with the tanks.” He turned to Erik, his thin lips twitching. “Mueller. You are in the lead. You will follow the first tank, directly behind. We’re crossing that field into Poland. Keep right behind the panzer. If you see any flashes from the trees, then spread out and return fire. I want the other groups in reserve, coming in behind the second set of tanks. I have mortars set up and zeroed in on the trees as well. We need to cross that field as quickly as possible. Verstehen Sie?”

  Erik nodded. He felt his heart racing. He understood all too well. They were going into combat, and he would be in the lead. Whatever was in those trees, he would face it alongside a single tank. They were bait to ferret out the enemy, and he knew it. Had the lieutenant picked him on purpose?

  Erik gathered his group and told them their orders. When he asked if there were any questions, nobody responded. He looked from face to ashen face. This was his group. They’d trained together, and now they would fight together—perhaps die together.

  He led the men through the village and toward the fields on the outskirts of the cluster of houses. He identified the lead panzer and waved at the black-uniformed commander. They didn’t speak over the hum of the engine, but they understood each other. This tank would be going in first, and Erik and his men were in support.

  Erik scanned the trees again, looming five hundred meters away. He still couldn’t see anything. He prayed the forest was empty and that they would make it to the other side without incident. He looked back up at the tank commander, who was on the radio. The man set the receiver down and saluted Erik. It was time.

  The Panzer I’s engine spit out a plume of grayish smoke and surged forward, rumbling over a gravel road and down a slight incline into the field below the village. Erik raised his hand and began walking, motioning for the group to spread out directly behind him. He soon had to jog to keep up with the tank, the exhaust nauseating him, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

  The tank advanced, crushing the chest-high grass in front of them. The forest was still. Erik could only hear the engine and feel the bouncing clatter of his equipment. He gripped his machine pistol so tightly that his hands became ghostly pale.

  The panzer lurched sharply in front of him and slammed to a stop. Angry smoke and flame belched out of the turret. Erik stared in horror as he realized the commander’s body was still in place in the top of the turret, but his head was missing. A blaze licked out of the top of the tank, consuming the body in fire. Erik motioned to his group to hit the ground. Several had rifles raised and were firing at the forest. Hensel shouted at him, pointing back at the village. A string of holes appeared across the corporal’s chest, and scarlet liquid plastered the grass around him. Hensel stared down in surprise, and then the field swallowed him. Erik dropped into the grass, closing his eyes, his hands gripping the earth. Explosions and thudding claps screamed around him. He waited for the bullets to come.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Königsberg, East Prussia, Nazi Germany

  August 1939

  The pounding at the Bensheims’ door increased. Trude and Britta clung to Johannes. He stood frozen. She could feel his trembling flesh. Her rock.

  “What should we do?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer. The hammering continued.

  “Johannes. We have to do something.”

  He squared himself, hands reaching up to disengage from his wife and child. He smoothed his clothing and ran fingers through his onyx mop of curls. “Don’t move,” he whispered. He took a tentative step forward and then another. He marched leaning forward as if against a violent wind.

  Trude pulled Britta to her. She looked around at what was left of their things. So strange that violence and danger were coming to this home where they had lived in relative tranquility. She’d heard terrible rumors of the Gestapo jails. Starvation. Torture. Rape. So few who went there ever returned. Especially the Jews. She would fight them to keep Britta with her. Whatever else, she would die before she would let go of her little girl.

  Johannes took another step. The pounding continued. He raised a shaking fist and placed his fingers tentatively on the handle. He turned the knob slowly and opened the door. A figure in a black uniform flung the door open and stormed in, pushing Johannes roughly out of the way.

  “Are you mad?” demanded the figure. “Leaving me out there like that for all to see.”

  Trude was flooded with relief. The SS officer was Gunther. He was huffing and puffing, his uniform wrinkled and disheveled.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Johannes. “You betrayed us.”

  “Shut your mouth!” ordered Gunther. “I did nothing of the kind.”

  “What happened then?”

  “It was Helmut. I heard about it at headquarters. He turned your organization in to save himself. It seems he finally realized the risks he was taking and decided to preserve his own skin.”

  “That can’t be true. Helmut would never betray me.”

  “Really? You’re so sure?”

  “I’ve known him my whole life.”

  “I saw the paperwork myself. It was him.”

  Trude felt overwhelming shock. For Helmut to refuse to assist anymore was understandable. To turn Johannes in was another thing. She watched her husband. He seemed to shrink. His back curved and his shoulders bent forward. He shook his head slowly back and forth.

  “It can’t be true.”

  Gunther slapped him across the face. The sudden violence stunned Trude. Britta screamed and ran up the stairs.

  “Listen, you little Jew. Who the hell do you think you are? You think your father will save you now?”

  “I know times have changed,” Johannes muttered.

  “More than you know. Your father’s war service and his money won’t save you anymore. The Jews are finished in this country. Do you think things will get better with this war? They will get worse. More terrible than you can imagine.”

  “What are we to do?” The words dribbled out in a slur.

  “I’m good for my word. I told you I would get you the visas, and I will. I still have a connection that can produce them for me, but it will take all of tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow we will be in jail, or worse.”

  “I don’t think so. I looked at the address that Helmut provided. He still had your old address in Mittelhufen.” Gunther looked at him with an apprais
ing stare. “Funny you never updated this great friend of yours with your new address. Perhaps you didn’t trust him as much as you pretend you did.”

  “We had to register at this new address.”

  “Eventually they will find you. You better pray to that Gott of yours that I get back here before they find you.”

  “We’re not religious.”

  He shrugged. “A Jew’s a Jew. That won’t save you, either.” He looked up at Trude. “Make me something to eat. I’m starving.”

  Had she heard him right? This SS pig wanted her to make him food? She looked at Johannes, waiting for him to order the man out of their house, but he just nodded and stared at her blankly. She stood for a moment then stumbled into the kitchen, her mind in a fog.

  She prepared the food in silence. Johannes and Gunther sat at the kitchen table. The SS officer had taken his boots off and was rubbing his feet while he sipped some tea. Britta returned downstairs, and he called her over to him. She was hesitant at first, but Johannes encouraged her, and soon she was sitting on Gunther’s lap, her hands toying with her black-and-white top while Gunther told her fairy tales.

  Trude cooked bacon and eggs in her sole remaining pan while her mind receded under what felt like layers of cotton. At any moment the Gestapo could arrive and they would be taken, perhaps forever. Yet here she was feeding a Nazi who had taken all their possessions and struck her husband just minutes ago. During all of this he had no fear and sat smugly enjoying himself.

  She finished cooking and served Gunther. The SS officer set Britta down and gripped his fork with a balled fist. He stared down at the food for a moment and laughed to himself. “Bacon? What kind of Jews are you?”

  “We told you we aren’t religious,” said Trude.

  “You might want to reconsider. You’ll need Gott before long.” He began shoveling the eggs into his mouth. He grunted and groaned, chewing quickly and reaching down for the next bite. He finished his plate in a flicker of minutes and demanded a second helping. Trude had saved the rest of the meal for the family, but with a nod from Johannes she served Gunther the remaining portion, and he consumed it as quickly as the first. Finally, he was finished, and he reached down to the tablecloth and drew a corner up, wiping the linen across his greasy chin.

  “Good spread, my dear. Good indeed.” As she approached to clear the table, he slapped her on the behind. Johannes pushed his chair back and flew to his feet, his face a mottled splotch. Gunther looked up passively. “Was there something else, mein Freund?”

  Moments passed, and Trude could see the warring emotions in Johannes. She willed him to strike this Nazi bastard. To choke the arrogance out of him. She wanted him dead right here, right now. In this moment of fury and humiliation, she didn’t care what the consequences might be.

  “Please,” she whispered. Her eyes begging.

  Johannes placed a hand on the table and gripped harder. Gunther smiled. He reached his hand up and grasped Trude’s bottom again, giving her a hard squeeze. His eyes never left her husband.

  Johannes glared at Gunther a moment longer and then hung his head. Trude’s heart was crushed. The shame burned through her. Gunther patted her a couple more times then chuckled and returned to his tea. “Good. Good,” he said. “We are starting to understand each other better. You might live through this yet. If the police don’t beat me back here.” Gunther reached out and tousled Britta’s hair. Their daughter had watched the scene indifferently, and Trude was so thankful she was too young to understand what had just happened.

  After a few more minutes, Gunther rose. He flicked some crumbs off his uniform and stretched his body, wiping his greasy fingers on his wrinkled shirttails before tucking them back into his trousers. He stared at Trude a moment longer with a look of hunger, then he gave her a wink.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be gone all day arranging things,” he announced. “Make sure you have everything ready to go.” He looked around and chuckled again. “Well, whatever is left. You must travel light. They won’t let you take more than a suitcase apiece.” He shook a finger at Johannes. “And no valuables! You Jews always try to hide your diamonds and gold. You will be thoroughly searched. If they find anything, you’ll be arrested, and all my work will be ruined. Do you understand me?”

  “Jawohl,” answered Johannes.

  “Ganz gut.” He turned to Trude. “Thank you for a delightful meal—and for your entertainment.”

  She didn’t respond. She wanted to spit in his face, but she couldn’t gather the courage. Her husband’s failure to act had shaken her core. How had they come to this?

  Gunther nodded again and strolled down the hallway, whistling as he passed. A moment later the door opened and closed, and he was gone.

  They stood there in the kitchen for a few moments, neither of them talking. Finally, Trude broke the silence. “How could you let him do that to me?”

  Johannes didn’t look up. His hands flexed and unflexed. He gripped the edge of the table again, and his knuckles grew white as if he sought to break the wood in half. He shook his head slowly over and over.

  She was too harsh with him. She knew that. His calm had saved their lives. Gunther was their salvation. Their only chance at freedom. She stepped forward and put her arms around Johannes. He flinched at her touch, but she pulled him close. He fought a moment more and then fell into her embrace. He buried his head in her chest and sobbed. She held him there under the garish glare of a bare bulb, clinging together tightly for dear life.

  Hours passed. Darkness gave way to morning and then to the day. The Bensheims sat huddled together in the living room where they had pulled in a couple of their kitchen chairs. Trude strained her ears to hear any sound at the door, but as the time ticked by it was silent. In the distance, they could hear what sounded like thunder, a strange noise, as the sun shone and the sky outside was blue. She didn’t expect Gunther until evening, but the endless hours still pressed in on her.

  They still hadn’t talked about what had happened with Gunther. The first awkward moments had given way to the work of repacking their belongings. They had started with two suitcases each, along with a large trunk. After this morning, they had whittled down to one suitcase each for Johannes and Trude and none for Britta. Item by agonizing item they had been forced to choose what to take and what to leave behind.

  Then there was the matter of the jewels and gold. If they were caught trying to take these, then they would be arrested. But they had to have them. Who knew what trouble might lie ahead? Without any valuables, how could they pay for food or the expenses of their travel? Worse, what if they had to bribe someone else? They weren’t out of East Prussia yet. They could be stopped anywhere along the way. They would need their valuables to assure safe passage.

  Trude experimented with hiding the items in various places in the luggage. No matter what she tried, it was simply too easy to find them. Finally, she drew out a needle and thread, and laboriously sewed the items into their clothing where they could not be found except by tearing the cloth itself. In a way, she was glad of the time-consuming work. At least she couldn’t think about what had happened in their very kitchen. The humiliation of letting a low-class middle-aged wretch fondle her in front of her husband and child. She realized there were worse things that had happened, that could still perhaps happen, but she felt violated at the deepest level.

  And she was angry. Furious with her husband. She knew intellectually that there was nothing he could have done. If he had reacted, had struck the German or even worse, then surely they would have been arrested if not outright shot. Johannes had done nothing, his only course of action. Despite this, she felt betrayed. Not just because of last night, but because she had believed in Johannes. He was the God of her life. He had led her, pushed her, forced her to stay here far longer than she wished. He had promised that no matter what he would be able to get them out of Germany. She had believed in him implicitly. Now their future hung in the balance, and he just sat there and said nothing. W
as her life a lie?

  She realized he might be just another man after all. If he was wrong about this, he might be incorrect about everything. She had long ago laid her soul at his altar. She didn’t want to let go. He hadn’t let her down yet. Gunther had promised to get them out. He was a pig, but he was their savior now. By midnight tonight they could be on a ship heading out toward England. Johannes had arranged it. They would be safe after all.

  The monster put his hands all over me—and my husband let him.

  The thunder crackled in the distance.

  “There must be a storm coming in,” she said, breaking the silence they’d endured for hours.

  “Yes, a storm,” he answered, woodenly, mechanically.

  She watched him. His eyes strayed back to the carpet. His hands absentmindedly traced designs in Britta’s hair. She sat at his feet, a pile of lace and ribbons. Did she even know the danger they were in?

  Trude wished they still had their radio. Gunther had taken it with everything else. Had the news reported the arrests last night? Was it mentioning Johannes and his organization? Even if the news contained nothing relevant, at least there would be music to fill the minutes while they waited for their rescue or their doom.

  A light knock skipped against the door. Her blood froze. She recognized immediately that the sound was very different from what they had heard last night. A gentle scratching. Would Gunther have changed his knock? It was possible. He’d been a little frantic the night before. She might be grasping at a desperate hope. Still, would the Gestapo announce itself so meekly? Would they even knock, or might they just break down the door? “Johannes, someone is there.”

  “I know that.”

  “Aren’t you going to answer?”

  “I can’t. You do it.”

  She looked over sharply. He was going to let her face the police by herself? She started to argue with him, but then she stopped. He just sat there staring at the carpet, still holding on to Britta. She didn’t know what to do. The delicate knocking came again. She had to do something. Trude reached down deep and drew a breath. Whoever was there, they would not go away. She couldn’t hide from the future by sitting silently. She took another breath, the air seeming to burn her lungs and throat. She coughed and tasted bitter bile in her mouth. Hesitating a moment more, she pulled herself to her feet with an effort and walked to the door. The scratch came again. She reached down and drew the door open.