She expected a storm of uniforms, but instead there was a woman, her gray dress merging with her hair, wispy locks running along the creased valleys of her temples. Frau Werner. A neighbor from a few doors down. They’d met a handful of times.
“Guten Tag,” Trude said, trying to fight down the lump that filled her throat and threatened to suffocate her.
“Hello,” Frau Werner replied.
Trude scanned past her, expecting a trick. Waiting for the black leather trench coats, the torture and death. The street was empty. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m so sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to check in and make sure you were okay. There was a terrible banging at your door last night. I looked out my window and saw an SS man force his way in. I feared the worst.”
“He was a . . . a guest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Some guest for you to have.”
“What do you mean?”
“The neighborhood has many ears and even more mouths, my dear. I know where you came from and why.” She looked out toward the neighboring row houses in disgust. “You caused quite a scandal when you moved in. As if they’d never seen a Jewish family before.”
“We don’t practice the faith.”
“That hardly matters. Your husband’s father was a well-known German and a well-known Jew. Now that those are two distinct things, you must know many petty people are more than happy to see you fall.”
“I’m learning.”
“And you still insist that monster last night was a friend.”
“I . . . I won’t say friend. But he’s promised to help us.”
“Don’t trust him. They are a pack of thieves, the lot of them. Don’t rely on him, and be careful with our neighbors, too. There are wolves all around you.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Frau Werner smiled with sympathy. “Of course. We haven’t all lost our way. I’ll check in on you again.”
“We will be gone tonight.”
Her eyes paled in sadness. “By the way, in case you haven’t heard, the war’s started. We invaded poor Poland this morning. What has been bad will grow worse.”
She turned slowly and with great effort moved her legs down the stairs and back toward the street. Trude watched her leave but then, remembering her words, looked up and down the row of town houses. There are wolves all around you.
Trude returned to the sitting area, to her husband and daughter. Johannes didn’t look up, didn’t even ask who was at the door. She felt terribly alone. She sat back down and resumed her vigil. We will be gone tonight.
The hours crawled by, but Gunther didn’t return. The thunder continued. The daylight faded into darkness. She stumbled wearily into the kitchen and cut them up some sandwiches, the last of their fresh food. They ate in silence and then resumed their endless waiting. Evening turned to night, and the time trickled by. Midnight came and went. In the early morning, she finally gave in and closed her eyes. He wasn’t coming. War was here, and they’d been betrayed. They had waited too long; now the darkness would consume them. Today or tomorrow the Gestapo would come, perhaps led by Gunther. She would be arrested with her family, and they would likely never return. Another little light devoured by the storm.
CHAPTER FIVE
Neidenberg, East Prussia/Polish Border
September 1939
Concussive waves mowed the grass, and the zip and zing of bullets rained overhead. Erik held tight to the earth, his eyes fastened closed. His face sprayed with dirt from a nearby round. Time stood still.
This was combat. Burning bodies and dead friends. He didn’t want to move. He would lie here until the inevitable shell tore his body apart. He would be at peace at last.
No! Another part of him screamed out in righteous protest. You will do your duty. Or was it: I want to live? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t just lie here and wait for the end. He opened his eyes and rubbed the earth away from his face. He was surrounded by grass. He couldn’t see anything. He could only hear the explosions and the high-pitched whistling of the rifle rounds.
Erik drew himself to his knees. His head was still below the grass line. Now he could make out billowing smoke in front of him. Likely from the panzer. He craned his neck slowly to see the forest again. The trees and the flashes of rifle fire. After a deep breath, he rotated his line of vision to behind him. Several more pillars of smoke kissed the sky in that direction. Two more tanks were out of action, but three in his immediate view were advancing and returning the fire to the trees. He couldn’t see any of his group.
“Can you hear me?” he screamed, calling to his men. He heard nothing at first, and then, one by one, the muffled responses. There were many. He’d feared they were all dead, but miraculously most had survived. He crawled back toward the sounds and soon came upon a cluster of his men, hiding inside the smoldering indent of an artillery crater. He dropped down among them.
“Sergeant, you’re alive,” said Private Messer. “We thought you were killed by the first fire.”
“Nein. Does anyone know what’s going on out there?”
“There’s artillery somewhere, and a bunch of Poles. They must have been waiting for us,” said Messer. He fingered a cross around his neck, and Erik could see a silent prayer pass his lips.
“Where’s the lieutenant?” someone asked.
“I don’t know,” said Erik. “I don’t think we can wait for him.” Finding his men gave him new courage. He felt the strange power of command again that seemed to spirit away his fear. He had to be strong for the men.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Messer.
Erik thought for a second. “Let’s sneak through the grass up to the panzer. Once we get there, we will spread out on both sides right behind the tank. On my command, we’ll all rise as one just above the grass level and start pouring fire into the trees. Pop up, pop down. Reload and repeat. I’ll be to the right, nearest the tank. I’ll keep up as steady fire as I can.”
The men nodded. Erik pulled himself out of the crater and crawled forward in the grass. He looked back to make sure the other men were following.
Moment by agonizing moment he advanced through the grass toward the smoke. He expected a bullet to kill him any moment, but he kept moving forward. After what seemed an eternity, he made it to the tank. The vehicle still burned so hot that the heat seared his skin. Still, he remained as close as he could, knowing the panzer provided at least marginal cover. In short order the rest of the group was up, six men out of the original ten. He didn’t know if the rest were dead, wounded, or in other parts of the field. Except Hensel, he reminded himself. He knew where he was.
He couldn’t think about that right now. He split up the group. Three men moved to the left of the tank. Private Messer and another joined him on the right. The group watched him closely. Erik took a deep breath. He wanted desperately to stay here in relative safety behind the tank, but he knew he couldn’t. He uttered a quick prayer and reached down to cock the bolt on his machine pistol. The metal slid neatly in and out. Another moment passed before he pulled himself to his feet, aimed the MP 40, and sprayed short bursts into the forest.
Very soon, he could see Messer next to him to his right. He couldn’t see what he was aiming at, but it felt wonderful to fire back, to do something. His men popped up and down like jack-in-the-boxes, firing, reloading, and firing again. He remained above the grass, firing a few rounds at a time. Bullets ricocheted off the panzer, and he wanted to duck back down and hide, but he kept himself in position, firing over and over. When the clip ran empty, he extracted the long, rectangular piece of steel, throwing it behind him and reaching into his satchel for another. He slammed it into place and began the process over. He expected to be hit at any moment, but somehow the whizzing bullets continued to miss him.
Over his head he heard the deep roaring of aircraft. He looked up and saw a trio of friendly Stuka bombers, dots in the blue expanse. As he watched, they seemed to fall out of the sky, poin
ting their noses earthward and blazing toward the ground like eagles seeking their prey. A terrible screaming erupted. The Stukas emitted a high-pitched shriek that threatened to tear his eardrums apart. He dropped his weapon and pressed his hands over his ears.
The Stukas plunged angrily onward. They were headed straight toward them. The firing around them stopped. Or so it seemed to Erik. The screaming of the dive bombers was so intense he couldn’t tell. The planes were close now; he could see the determined looks of the pilots in the cockpits. They seemed to be aimed right at Erik, and he would have fled if his body wasn’t frozen with fear.
At the last moment, the bombers jerked out of their dive. Erik could see dark cylinders detach from the bombers and plunge toward the earth like black angels. The bombs sailed over him and struck the trees immediately ahead. A thunderous explosion blew him off his feet. He lay in the grass, stunned by the detonation. His ears rang and his jaw ached. He blinked a few times and forced himself back up, above the grass line. The forest was a fiery hell. Trees broken and bent in every direction. Flames licked the branches and chewed at the trunks. He could see bodies now, writhing in fire, arms waving, screams tearing the air.
He looked toward his men. Their faces bore the same dazed expression. His ears rang. His head throbbed. Private Messer’s mouth moved as he tried to say something to Erik. He shook his head in return, and Messer seemed to understand.
They stood there for some time, watching the inferno while more men gradually advanced in support. The fire was too hot to advance for now, so the men and surviving Panzer I’s clustered at the edge of the trees and waited.
“Sergeant, I see you made it,” said Lieutenant Sauer. His voice sounded muffled, as if strained through cotton. The lanky blond arrived among a herd of moving gray. The whole company was coming up, and Erik saw it was largely intact. He nodded without speaking.
The lieutenant shot his arm out in a triumphant salute. “Well done, Mueller. I wasn’t sure if you had it in you, but you led these men capably. Heil Hitler.” Mueller saw Captain Vogel a few meters behind. He was pointing out directions to a man on a map. He finished and looked over. He grinned approvingly at Erik with a nod.
Erik turned back around and stood silently with his men. He watched the slow-burning fire without seeing. He closed his eyes. He wasn’t dead. The relief washed over him. He’d made it. He’d led his men in combat. He’d survived, at least for today. He thought of Hensel and the others. He’d lost men today, but he’d kept his group together to push the Poles back—with the help of the Stukas, of course. He felt a glorious thrill. The sky covered him and the sun warmly embraced his face.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Private Messer had come over. He looked at Erik with thankfulness and respect. Erik smiled back. He closed his eyes again and breathed the summer air, thinking it was a fine thing to be alive.
Over the passing weeks, Erik’s unit pushed farther into Poland. The Poles fought valiantly, he thought, but they were outnumbered and virtually without air cover. Panzer Group Kempf captured Mlava, then Różan, Łomża, and Klicym. Erik’s group dwindled down to four men from the original ten, the platoon a bare fifteen, and the company seventy.
Lieutenant Sauer led the platoon bravely, Erik had to admit. Sauer might have been too zealous of a believer in the Nazi cause, but he was courageous and smart, and he was concerned about the men’s safety, equipment, and well-being.
Captain Vogel had survived a brush with death when his command vehicle was hit by a mortar. His face sustained flash burns and part of his right ear had been blown off, but he refused to leave his men. He was patched up at a field hospital to return immediately to the front.
Now it was late September, and the division was nearing Modlin. Resistance had tapered off for the past few days; rumor was the Poles were calling it quits. Erik had heard still better news: although the French and English had declared war, they were sitting in their positions in France and Belgium and making no move to honor their treaty commitments to the Poles nor launching any attack. Best of all, the Russians joined the fight on September 17 and streamed over Poland’s eastern borders.
Of course, this only mattered to the living. Erik focused on the here and now. On his little group. This morning they were moving down a heavily forested road, inching ever closer to Modlin fortress, seventy-five kilometers from Warsaw. The company was escorting two Panzer II tanks, with Sauer’s platoon in the lead. Erik walked just in front of the lead tank, with Messer alongside him.
“Do you see anything out there, Corporal?” Erik asked.
Messer looked up surprised, then grinned. “I’m still getting used to the promotion.” He strained to see down the road. “Not a thing. It’s strange. They fought like lions, and now they’ve just melted away. Do you think they’re done?”
“I don’t know. Captain told me we’re in Warsaw. The Russians met up with some of the boys as well somewhere down south and east. They won’t last long.”
“Still nothing from the French or British?”
“I guess not. I don’t understand that, either. They went to battle on day one in the last war. Why would they wait until we kill off the second front?”
“Gott’s will.”
“You might be right about willpower, but I don’t know about Gott. I think they don’t have any spirit for another war.”
“Do we?” Messer questioned earnestly.
“To make Germany great again? I think so. They took too much from us. My dad lost everything. His store, his savings, his world.”
Corporal Messer nodded. “My father lost his job when the economy collapsed. He came home and drank himself to death. Hardly said a word to any of us for two years.”
“We’ve all paid the price for that war. If they’d only left us alone when it was over, we wouldn’t be in this mess today.”
Messer looked around. “What about this other stuff? The Nazi talk. Do you believe all of it? About the Jews, and the Slavs, and our race should be on top?”
Erik was surprised. The corporal was taking a terrible chance voicing such concerns out loud. He realized the man was reaching out to him. After weeks of combat, Messer was trusting his life to him in yet another way.
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. I just want Germany back. I want my father to smile again, for us to be able to walk with our heads high in the world.” Erik grinned and clamped his friend on the back. “Besides, we’re in the SS; we better believe it all.”
Messer laughed and threw his arm around Erik as well. “I guess you’re right. We joined the wrong group if we still have questions.”
“Plenty of us do. But be careful talking that way. You could be reported. Not by me, of course. Remember, though, there are ears everywhere.”
The corporal nodded. “I understand, sir. Thank you for listening.”
They came out of the forest and into an area of cultivated fields. Wooden fences zigzagged lazily across fields dotted with grazing sheep, apparently oblivious to the war around them. A shepherd stood leaning against a tree a few hundred meters away, watching the oncoming column with interest.
The lead panzer ground to a halt. Lieutenant Sauer strutted to the front, shadowed by two guards with machine pistols.
“What’s the situation out front, Sergeant?” he asked, wiping his pale forehead with a white handkerchief.
“Not much to report. Village up ahead. No activity. Farmers are out in the fields. They don’t seem to be expecting a fight.”
Sauer nodded. He extended a narrow finger down the road. “Move out. We’ll take lunch once we’ve secured that village. Keep a sharp eye out.”
Sauer flipped backward and hit the ground hard. Erik stared down at him for a moment in surprise and then heard the echoing report of a rifle. He knelt over the lieutenant and saw he was hit in the upper shoulder, but only grazed. “Get the men into position for an attack and get me into that ditch,” Sauer ordered with gritted teeth.
Erik and Messer grabbed the lie
utenant and dragged him toward the side of the road. Bullets kicked up the dirt near them, and a roaring cascade of clamoring thuds rolled over them. An artillery shell bounced off the lead panzer. The tank’s turret rotated and raised slightly, then fired a return round toward the village. Erik, head low, pulled out a handkerchief and applied it to Sauer’s wound.
“Don’t worry about me, Sergeant,” the lieutenant grunted. “Get the men moving forward!”
Erik nodded and motioned for the platoon to spread out on both sides of the road. Bullets landed around them. So far they seemed to be from single-shot rifles rather than machine guns.
A medic started treating the lieutenant. Erik stayed a moment longer before he turned his attention to the fighting. He was amazed at what he saw: a sight from another age. Lining the village and for a quarter kilometer or so in each direction were hundreds of Polish cavalry, a long row of horsemen. Some of them actually had lances, with pennants flapping in the wind. As Erik stared they began moving forward slowly, and then broke into a galloping charge.
“Fire!” screamed Erik. “Fire, fire, fire!”
The platoon commenced shooting along with the lead panzer. Small gaps appeared in the lines, but the charge streamed forward. A second tank moved into place and laid down machine gun fire. More SS scrambled into position as the company came up. The horsemen took casualties now, but they still came on, closing the distance: first a kilometer, then a half kilometer.
The full force of the company and two tanks was now unleashed on the charging Poles. Shells chewed holes in the line, and machine guns mowed down vast arcs like a hungry scythe.
Still they came on. Erik felt the panic rising. In his weeks of fighting he’d never seen anything like this. He finished a clip from his machine pistol and hastily shoved in another, continuing to pour fire at the attackers, who were less than a quarter kilometer away now. He knew his weapon was largely ineffective at this distance, but there was little else he could do. He was struck by the strange and terrible beauty of the charge and the bravery of the Poles galloping through a wall of metal.
A Bitter Rain Page 7