A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  He left a few minutes later, a little unsteady on his feet. She collapsed into the chair after the door closed. Britta crawled into her lap and nuzzled her, falling asleep. Her girl was almost too big now to sit this way, but Trude clung to her, trying to keep her emotions in control. They sat that way for some time, Trude feeling the first relief she’d experienced since the terrible night of those first arrests. Her husband was returning to her. He was exhausted and weak, but she had seen a little ember of the old spirit. If she could rekindle his will, she was sure everything would turn out all right. He was the most courageous and resourceful man she’d ever known.

  Now there was a chance. Perhaps they could even forget Gunther. If there were other ways out of Germany, surely Johannes—the old Johannes—could find them. She would wait in hiding a few more days while he arranged everything, then they would make their escape. She closed her eyes, imagining the three of them standing on the deck of a small ship as it drew away from Königsberg, headed to Stockholm or Copenhagen or anywhere but here. They would sell a piece or two of jewelry, check into a hotel, get ahold of their family by telegram, and wait for their rescue. They might even make a little vacation of it if there was a delay. No matter what, they would be out of Germany and safe. Together.

  She thought of her parents, waiting at a dock on the Thames when they eventually reached England. She’d only been to London once as a child, but she’d found the city a delight. Johannes would find employment at a university—there were no barriers in England. She could return to her music. She shook her head. Why had they waited so long?

  She flinched at the sound of the keys at the door. She’d fallen asleep. What a pleasant dream, and now dinner was coming, the first fresh food in weeks. She looked over her shoulder, smiling by way of greeting. She froze.

  Johannes was there at the threshold, but his arms were empty. Where was the food? Perhaps he was having everything delivered. Of course, there would be too much . . .

  “I couldn’t get anything,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cards. We don’t have any ration cards.”

  “There aren’t ration cards.”

  He looked at her with pain. “There are now. They came out while we’ve been here. I had a bit of work explaining to the clerk how I didn’t know. He was very suspicious. I left without giving a name or any other information, but I had to get out of there quickly.”

  “Were you followed?”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked at her. “What are we going to do?”

  There it was again. This strange role reversal. He wanted answers from her. At least he was talking. “I don’t know, my dear, but at least you’ve come back to me.”

  A cloud crossed his face. She could see his shoulders slumping, and he started toward his chair.

  “Johannes!”

  He stopped and stood a moment, as if a silent war was going on inside him. Finally, he turned to her. “You’re right. Not that way. Still, we need food. I don’t know what to do. For the first time in my life, I’m lost.”

  He looked at her, and she could see the fear and the shame spelled out on his face. She went to him, embracing him, holding him closely to her. “We’re both lost, dearest. We will find our way together.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Königsberg

  Early October 1939

  Erik knocked. He hadn’t called. He wanted to surprise them. His mother opened the door. A flicker of excitement showed and was gone, as if it had never existed. She extended her sturdy arms in silence, and he stepped into her embrace. She held him there tightly. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears. The darkness and the shadows of the past two months diffused beneath her oaken comfort.

  “My boy has returned,” she stated simply. Behind her a clatter of excitement grew and rattled toward the door. She didn’t move. She looked him slowly over, as if making sure he was still in one piece. She allowed the sliver of a smile before she nodded slightly and then stepped aside, allowing the flood to pass.

  Greta flew into his arms, a white blur of squealing delight. He drew her up, and she kissed his cheek and neck, snuggling in and holding him tightly. “Daddy, Daddy!” she screamed.

  “Ah, my precious angel is here,” he said, wincing at the weight. “Have you been a good girl while I’ve been gone?”

  “She’s been the best,” said Peter, emerging from the dim shadows. “She’s a brave little one.”

  Erik looked around. “Where’s Corina?”

  “She’s upstairs cleaning,” said Peter.

  Erik called up to his wife. She didn’t respond. He called again, and after waiting a moment, he started toward the landing.

  “Let me take her for you,” said Peter, motioning to his daughter.

  Erik handed off Greta and started up the stairs. He could hear a thumping clatter from the bedroom. He knocked gently and the noise stopped.

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door, and there was his Corina. She was midway through changing the sheets on their bed. Her face showed irritation at the interruption, but she brightened when she realized her husband was home. She dropped what she was doing and ran into his arms.

  “You’re safe,” she whispered. She held him tightly and kissed his neck.

  He delighted at her response. Feeling all the old warmth. “Yes, dear wife, I’ve made it home.”

  “Thank God.” She pulled away, and her eyes sharpened. “Why didn’t you call ahead so we could meet you at the station? And where is your uniform?”

  “I changed on the train. I didn’t want to call attention to myself.” He braced himself for a tirade.

  “You’re impossible.” She laughed. She pulled him close again, kissing his neck and cheek. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so proud of you.”

  “There’s nothing to be proud of. I did my job. I’m just happy I’ve made it home to my girls.” He darkened. “Many didn’t, you know.”

  “Where’s your medal?” she asked. “We were all excited when we heard the news.”

  He fumbled with the interior pocket of his jacket and drew out his Iron Cross.

  She took it and held it up, laughing to herself. “My husband: a real hero. I’ve told everyone. All the neighbors and our family. People can’t stop talking about it.”

  He laughed. “I can’t imagine why. They handed out plenty of these. It’s hardly a Knight’s Cross.”

  “That will come in time. What about your promotion? Any news?”

  “Lieutenant Sauer mentioned something about looking into it, but I don’t have any specifics.”

  “I’m so curious about him,” said Corina, fingering a gold-colored silk scarf, her eyes dancing to the flicker of a candle. “He sounds so brave and wonderful.”

  “Wonderful? He killed unarmed prisoners,” blurted Erik. He had promised himself he wouldn’t say anything, but the words rushed out before he could gather them.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. It was near the end of the campaign. We were in a firefight, and we took some prisoners. The lieutenant was wounded. I think he was angry.”

  She paused a moment and then pushed her hand out as if waving away the event. “What does that matter? They were Poles, yes?”

  “Correct. Polish prisoners. I think I have to say something.”

  Her smile faded and a frosty cloud entered the room. “Don’t you even think about it,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “You are a decorated hero now, with a promotion on the way. If they make you a lieutenant, you will be an officer. An officer, Erik! It’s everything we’ve ever dreamed of. Think of what it will mean for Greta’s future. For our future. We can find a better house, leave this drab neighborhood behind. Doors we’ve only dreamed of will open for us.” She stepped forward and pointed a finger. “You can’t give all that away for a couple of dead Poles. This is war. They would have killed you if they’d had a chance.” She reached out to pull his chin toward her until
their eyes met. “You promise me, now. Promise me you won’t say a thing to anyone.”

  He hesitated. Was she right? Certainly, it could hurt his future if he turned the lieutenant in. But Sauer’s actions were murder, plain and simple. If he ignored that, what did it make him? “I will wait and see, that’s all I can promise you.”

  That seemed to be enough for her. She pulled him back in and kissed him on the lips. “Oh, Erik, thank you! Thank you! Imagine when you are promoted. I can’t wait to tell everyone. You have made all of us so proud. Karl will be delighted, too.”

  “Karl? You’ve seen him?”

  She pulled away and started moving the sheets back into place. “No. Not really. I ran into him at church one Sunday. He asked about you, of course. He is always interested in your future. He was impressed with your medal. I know he wants to see you again as soon as you can.”

  “I won’t have time now. I’m only home for forty-eight hours.”

  “Where will you go after that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. West, I would think.”

  “Surely the French won’t really fight us?”

  “They haven’t backed down yet. Neither have the British.”

  “But they aren’t doing anything, are they?”

  “No, that’s the strange thing. They sat back and let us roll over the Poles. I mean, what was the point of declaring war to protect them in the first place if they weren’t going to fire a shot at us while we defeated their allies?”

  “I’m sure they won’t fight now,” she insisted. “That’s why it’s so important that you don’t say anything about your commander. There may never be a chance again to earn a promotion.”

  He watched her for a moment. She was busily straightening the bed. She was so petite and strikingly beautiful. She was probably right; he needed to take care of his family. Sauer had been wounded and under extreme pressure after all. Erik stepped back and closed the door. She looked up and smiled at him. “My hero.”

  He left the bedroom sometime later and returned downstairs. Greta was in the kitchen with his mother. Anna was showing his daughter how to mix the dough for a pastry. He smiled at the girl’s fierce concentration. Oh, to only have the worries of a child.

  He walked into the sitting room. His father perched in his chair, puffing away at his pipe while he thumbed through the paper. He looked up. “Ach, Erik. Come join me.”

  Erik took a chair opposite his father. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

  His father set the paper down, giving Erik his full concentration. “What is it?”

  “Something happened while I was gone. I wanted to know if anything like this ever happened to you.”

  “Tell me.”

  Erik described the last battle and Lieutenant Sauer’s actions. The color drained from his father’s face as he finished.

  “You’ve seen plenty of fighting and war now, son.”

  “Did you ever have something like that happen?”

  “No, but I heard plenty of it. Prisoners sometimes didn’t make it back to the rear areas. Even when the fighting was good and done. Think on it, Erik, you watched your men die. How did that make you feel?”

  “Like nothing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Peter nodded. “Precisely. Those emotions take a bit for some folks to recover from. Everyone handles combat differently. Is this Sauer a good man otherwise?”

  Erik thought about that. “He’s very brave. He’s a party man, though. A true believer. He takes all of this propaganda much more seriously than I do.”

  “Well, there are plenty who do.” Peter leaned forward. “We’re in strange times, boy. I don’t know if the party is here for good or for bad. Some of the stuff they say I figure they can’t possibly believe. I certainly don’t condone their conduct in every way. Still, they’ve made Germany great again. Greater faster than I would have ever believed possible after we lost the last war. I kept expecting the Führer to fail, but somehow he ends up on top over and over. He’s some sort of genius, I guess. He’s made a great many believers out of the hopeless. You can’t blame Sauer and others for giving the man everything they have. You just have to keep your own wits about you.”

  “What should I do? I wanted to turn the lieutenant in, but Corina told me that would be disastrous for us.”

  Peter nodded. “For once I agree with her. He’s not going to get into trouble over a couple dead Poles. It would probably be your word against his, and he outranks you. If it’s bothering you, talk to him man to man. If he’s as brave a soldier as you say, he won’t mind speaking about what happened. He might even be happy to discuss it with you. He’s probably haunted by what he did. None of us are proud of what we do in war.”

  Erik nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Father. That’s just what I’ll do.”

  Erik reported to his platoon after his brief leave and boarded a westbound train. The men took over an entire passenger car, veterans taking the best seats for themselves and their equipment, while the new recruits brought in to replace the dead and wounded huddled together in a few cramped seats in the back.

  Erik took no notice of these replacement troops when they’d reported to him, other than to briskly order them into their seats. As a platoon sergeant, he knew he should welcome them, but he wasn’t ready to open up to them just yet. Let them sit and stew in fear for a few days. Hadn’t he had to do the same? When they arrived at their new location, wherever that might be, then they would have a chat. For now, he wanted to spend time with his men. His companions through the Poland campaign who had shared the mutual terror, sweat, and death.

  The fields and villages of Northern Germany whisked by the windows on either side as the men sipped hot soup and swapped stories from their visits home. Erik drew a flask out of his pocket and spun open the lid. He took a sip and then stared at the container. The schnapps burned his throat before he felt the liquid enter his stomach. A warmth filled the length of his body. He leaned forward, offering the flask to Corporal Messer.

  Messer looked up and smiled, shaking his head slightly to decline. Erik didn’t think the straitlaced Messer would take a sip, but he’d offered nonetheless. He chuckled a little to himself. The corporal had faced certain death. They were about to battle the French, who had killed millions of Germans in the last war. Messer had every right to indulge himself a little. His faith and integrity wouldn’t allow it.

  “Sergeant, what’s the condition of your men?” He recognized the voice barking the query. Lieutenant Sauer leaned over him, hands on hips, an accusing scarecrow with straw-colored hair.

  “All good, sir.”

  “Corporal, could you excuse us, please?”

  Messer stood and saluted stiffly, then made his way down the aisle to the opposite side of the train. Sauer watched him go. Once they had a little more privacy, he eased himself down into one of the chairs, a grimace flashing across his cheek.

  “Is it the wound, sir?”

  Sauer grunted, ignoring the question. A flicker of pain flashed across his face. He breathed a few times, seeming to calm himself, before leaning in to address Erik. “The Poles are finished. What do you think about the French?”

  “Not sure why they’re even in the fight still, sir.”

  “They may not be. The rumor is the Führer is negotiating a face-saving peace for them—and the English.”

  Erik nodded. “That would be a relief.”

  “Are you afraid to face them?” Sauer asked.

  “No, sir. But is there a point if we don’t have to?”

  “Very true. We’ve no use for France. What we want lies out in the east. Land, fields, space.”

  “Do you believe in all that Lebensraum propaganda then?”

  Sauer looked up sharply. “It’s not propaganda, Sergeant. It’s our future. It’s our destiny to dominate Eastern Europe. There is simply no reason that eighty-five million Germans should be bottled up in a tiny country while worthless Poles, Ukraini
ans, and Russians lounge around on land intended for our use.”

  “Is that why you shot those Polish prisoners? Because they were worthless?”

  Sauer leaned forward, his cheeks filling with blood. “Something on your mind, Sergeant?”

  Erik looked at the floor. “No, sir. Not really. It’s just . . . they were unarmed prisoners.”

  Sauer snorted derisively. “Don’t be sentimental. They would have slit your throat given half a chance. Besides, there are too many of them out there in our land. Gut them now or later; soon enough they must go.”

  “You can’t mean we would kill civilians?”

  Sauer’s voice was like ice. “How did you get into the SS in the first place, Mueller? Haven’t you paid attention to anything? We are going to take that land out east. We are going to farm it and rebuild the cities in our German image. Those Untermenschen are in the way. The future is for the strong, Sergeant. I had doubts about you from the start, but that changed in Poland. Do you know what I saw? I saw a brave young German fighting for his future. I recommended you for the Iron Cross and for promotion because I thought you were one of us. Was I mistaken?”

  “No, sir. You were not.”

  Silence crept over them. Erik focused on the floor. The quiet chilled him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Sauer was smiling.

  “Don’t you worry, Mueller. These are difficult times, and it takes a bit to get used to our new world. It’s not for the weak of heart. Don’t you fret about your part in things. You’re a good soldier and a strong leader of men. Let others be concerned about the big picture. You’ll be fine.”

  Erik nodded and stood as the lieutenant rose. They both extended a formal salute. After Sauer left the car, Erik sank back down into the cushions. He shouldn’t have said anything. Corina was right. She always seemed to be. Had he ruined his future? Should he care? He couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d never said anything. The lieutenant seemed at ease in the end. Perhaps things were indeed fine. He took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes.