A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  “What was that all about?” asked Messer, returning to his seat.

  “Nothing.” He extended his flask again toward the corporal.

  “No thank you, sir.”

  “Of course.” He absentmindedly unscrewed the cap and took a deep pull, battling the demons in his mind.

  The train traveled all night, sputtering to a stop now and again at a lonely station. At first Erik looked out with curiosity at all the little signs, but soon he lost interest. He still felt plagued with uncertainty, and as they drew westward a creeping fear spread through him. In Poland, he’d grown used to combat until he hardly felt the tension. Only when they’d left the front lines did the battle stress overtake him. Now, as he approached another combat zone, he could feel the uncertainty and fear again, almost as if he’d never seen combat at all. Almost.

  He slept fitfully, his head lolling about as he nodded off. There was no room to lie down. He started with every lurch of the train or the blare of the lights at another stop. Near dawn the passenger car came to a final halt, and the rumble of orders thundered along the train.

  Erik gathered his gear and shambled out with the rest of the platoon. Nuns served hot coffee and two slices of thick black bread per man. They were loaded onto open-backed trucks and were soon rumbling away from the platform, down a wooded dirt road that bumped and jostled the men. The nauseating smell of diesel filled their lungs. Men masked the stench with cigarettes and by holding their coffee to their nostrils.

  They bounced along for a few hours down the winding road, always headed westward. Finally, when Erik felt his bones couldn’t stand much more of the jarring vibrations of the truck, the convoy pulled into an open space filled with wooden buildings. Military vehicles were scattered around the compound along with a couple of tanks. SS officers stood in a cluster, watching the vehicles rolling in. Captain Vogel was there, standing among some majors and a colonel.

  “Out of the trucks and into line,” shouted a commander as their vehicle lurched to a stop. Erik scrambled out of the back double time along with the rest of the men. They assembled into their platoon and then formed a long triple line composing the full company. Captain Vogel walked to the front along with Sauer and the other platoon commanders.

  Vogel called the men to attention. The entire line gave the Hitler salute. “Men, I trust your accommodations were comfortable for the trip?” Nobody responded. Vogel nodded and continued. “We will be joining the front lines. This front has been quiet for a very long time now.” He glared sternly at them. “This could change at any moment. You are the SS! You may not know this, but the regular army doesn’t want the SS to bear arms. They want to dismantle us. They have criticized our performance in Poland. The Führer will not listen to them. Instead, he is going to let us fight together as one full unit in France. I have the pleasure to tell you that we are now part of the SS-VT division. This is a new unit in the history of the world. We are the army of the party. We will perform with honor and courage. We will prove to the world not only that we are the match for the Heer, but that we surpass them! Do you understand me?!”

  A tremendous roar came from the company. Vogel waited for the sound to die down. “There will be some new assignments, which will be discussed by your platoon commanders, but there is one I want to announce now. Lieutenant Althaus was wounded at Modlin and unfortunately will not be able to join us for the fighting here. I am pleased to announce that on the recommendation of Lieutenant Sauer, we are promoting Sergeant Jaeger to lieutenant of the platoon.”

  The men clapped again enthusiastically. Erik joined them, but he felt hot sand in his mouth and his heartbeat quickened. Sauer had promised him that promotion. There was no doubt he’d taken it away last night. The lieutenant stared at him for a moment. An eyebrow raised a fraction. He received the message: Don’t cross me again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Königsberg

  Early October 1939

  A few more days passed. Gunther still didn’t return. They ate the last of their provisions. Trude watched Johannes carefully, concerned he would fade back into a fog. He didn’t, but he wasn’t entirely his old self, either. He was alert now. He played with Britta. He would talk to her and answer questions. But the fire was still gone. He approached nothing proactively, but instead merely reacted to her suggestions.

  Thank God they still had water, but the situation had to be remedied. Finally, Trude could wait no longer. She broached the subject with her husband.

  “Johannes, what are we going to do about our food?”

  He looked up from his familiar chair, staring intently at her for a moment as if trying to understand what she was saying. Then he nodded slightly. “You’re right; we do have to do something. I’ve been thinking about that the last couple of days. We cannot rely on Gunther. At least not entirely. What we need now is money. I still have some friends out there. People I haven’t asked yet for their help.”

  “What kind of friends?” she asked.

  “Gentiles. People my dad knew after the last war. People who know and respect him and who I think would be willing to help us.”

  “How can they help us get a ration card?” she asked.

  “I’m not talking about a ration card. I’m talking about getting out of here. We need some money, and we need access to a ship. My father has an old friend, Captain Dutt, who retired from the Kriegsmarine. He lives up in the Steindamm District. After he retired from the military, he captained some merchant ships. I think he might even have an ownership interest in one. He is who we need to go and talk to. He would have both money and possible contacts to get us on a ship out of here.”

  “When would we go?” she asked.

  He stared at her for a moment. “I can’t go, you have to.”

  She was shocked by his words. “What are you talking about? I can’t go by myself. Johannes, listen to me! I’ve been through enough. I’m exhausted and starving. Britta is going mad cooped up in here. I can’t keep taking care of all this on my own. I don’t know this person, and he doesn’t know me. He’s not going to help me; he will only help you.”

  “I can’t leave the house again, Trude. Think about it. We took a huge risk when I went to the grocery store. I’m wanted by the Gestapo. They will have a description of me, possibly with pictures posted all over the city. Certainly, the regular police will be looking out for me. There’s no way I can leave this house. You’re going to have to do it.”

  She realized to her horror that he spoke the truth. If he left the house, there was every chance he would never come back. Then she would have no connections and no hope. She could just imagine Gunther coming back to discover that her husband had been arrested. What would he do to her then?

  “You’re right,” she said finally. “I must go.” She turned away to head upstairs, but he was there. Hands on her waist. Holding her back.

  “Wait until after dark, my dear. I doubt they have a description of you, but it’s possible.”

  She nodded, the fear embracing her.

  They spent the next several hours in silence. Moments ticked by one after another as if each second desired to desperately cling to the clock a little longer. Finally, the sky darkened and the day faded into twilight and then darkness. In the meantime, they pored over a map of Königsberg. Johannes traced the route with his finger and forced her to repeat the directions over and over until he was satisfied she had them memorized.

  Her hands were clammy. She’d never been particularly good with maps, and the captain’s home was a long way off. It would take at least an hour to get there. An hour through unfamiliar streets where any police officer who might inquire about her papers would immediately arrest her. If that happened, she knew she would never see her family again.

  Johannes drew out pen and paper and composed a long letter for the captain, explaining the circumstances and asking for his help. He carefully creased the note and placed it in an envelope for her to carry when it was time.

  She reached out
for it, surprised her hands were shaking. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered. “There has to be some other way. Couldn’t you go? It’s dark now.”

  He shook his head. “It’s too risky. I’m sorry, but it must be you.”

  She nodded, understanding. She embraced him and her daughter and made her way out the front door into the night. The evening was cool and crisp. She was taken aback for a moment by the coldness until she realized she had not been out of the home for over a month. It was summer when I was last out, she thought, remembering their walks through the Strassen and Gärten of Königsberg before the war. She thought life was so difficult back then. The loss of their jobs. The hatred and suspicion from neighbors. Now it all seemed a pleasant memory.

  I must pay attention, she chastised herself. There was danger everywhere. She scanned her surroundings. The street was near deserted—even of cars. She looked around carefully to make sure nobody was watching and then she made her way.

  Each step seemed a miracle. She kept waiting for a voice out of the shadows. The stern command of a police officer materializing from the darkness to demand her papers. Here and there she passed a civilian pedestrian. She felt their eyes boring in on her but realized this was probably her imagination. They couldn’t tell she was a Jew just by looking at her. Just another fair-skinned brown-haired woman walking along the streets of Königsberg.

  The trip seemed to take an eternity. She was sure she would get lost, but somehow she kept the names and turns straight. She rounded a corner and realized she had arrived. Across the street, rising out of a forested hill, rose a towering stone house—almost a castle. A narrow cobblestone driveway wound up through the trees toward the voluminous structure looming above.

  Trude scurried across the street, her head bent against a windy flurry of snow that threatened to blow her over. She climbed carefully up the driveway, slipping on the treacherous stones. She arrived at the front door winded and trembling. She was safe for now, but she walked into new dangers. There were no guarantees how she would be greeted here. What if this Captain Dutt was a friend of the new regime?

  She turned a metal knob, and a shrill, trilling clang rang out within. A minute passed and then another. Nobody came. What if he’s not home? she thought with panic. I came all this way for nothing. She rang again, and to her vast relief the enormous wooden door opened to reveal an elderly gentleman staring out at her curiously.

  “May I assist you, madam?” he asked.

  “I’m here to see Captain Dutt,” she said.

  “Hmm. And who might you be?”

  “I’m Trude Bensheim. My husband is Johannes Bensheim. My father-in-law was a good friend of the captain.”

  The gentleman stared at her for a moment longer as if deciding what to do. Finally, he spoke again. “I will apprise the captain of your presence,” he said. “Please have a seat here, and I will be back down in a few moments.”

  She stepped into the entry hall, and the gentleman disappeared through a side door. Trude took a seat on a high-backed hard wooden chair resting beneath several large paintings of what must have been the captain’s ancestors. She glanced around while she waited. The wooden walls were adorned with these oil paintings of ancestors and what appeared to be the depictions of naval battles of the past. The walls were a rich cherry and the floors were covered in silk carpets. She couldn’t imagine how much even one of them might have cost. She forgot herself there in the moment, lost in the detail and beauty of her surroundings.

  “Frau Bensheim?” An elderly voice greeted her, mixed with age and power. A commanding voice. She looked up and there was the captain, every bit of seventy years old with iron-gray hair and powerful features. A pince-nez perched jauntily on the bridge of his nose as he watched her, scrutinizing her over the steel-gray ocean of his suit. He examined her curiously, as if not sure what to do with her. He clamped his hands tightly together. His posture was erect.

  “I’m rather surprised to see you here this evening, Frau Bensheim. I had assumed you and your husband were wise enough to have departed our lovely new Germany long ago.”

  “We were supposed to leave in September, but our visas were revoked.”

  “I see. Well, you had better come in and tell me why you’re here.”

  She followed the captain out of the entryway and down the long hallway to his study. His office was a cavernous room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Intervening spaces were filled with antique swords and rifles. A massive mahogany desk floated in the center of the study like a dreadnought, dominating the room. He motioned her to a chair in front of this behemoth, and then he himself came to rest behind it, sitting stiffly with arms crossed and eyes piercing her.

  Still she was quiet. She was unsure what to say, how to begin.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked. “Or perhaps you would like something to eat?”

  At this suggestion, her hands shook and her mouth watered. In her fear and exhaustion, she’d forgotten just how hungry she was. She tried to answer him, but the words would not form so she merely nodded.

  “I’ll take that as a yes to both,” he said. “Franz!” he called in a booming voice. Soon the elderly gentleman returned. “Bring us some tea and refreshments!”

  He turned his attention back to her. “Now, please tell me why you’re here.”

  She didn’t know why, but this small act of kindness released the flood of her words. She knew she should’ve been more careful, but she found herself telling this gentleman everything about the organization, the arrests, about Johannes’s collapse and Gunther’s advances. The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she did not pause to wipe them. She stopped only when Franz returned with tea and food. There were biscuits, cookies, and finger sandwiches. She was ravenous, and they stopped talking for a half an hour while they ate. Throughout the meal he stared at her passively. She didn’t know what he might be thinking; perhaps the Gestapo was already on its way. She didn’t care anymore. At least for this moment, her stomach was truly full. After all these months she dared to hope that she had somebody who would listen to what was happening to her. Finally, she continued her story. By the time she related all the details, she had been there for hours.

  He watched to make sure she was finished before he shifted in his seat. She still didn’t know what his reaction might be. Had Johannes been wrong about him? Wrong to trust him?

  He spoke, his voice beginning as a light breeze on the water but growing in strength until it had the force of a whipping gale.

  “What you just told me, young Frau, is one of the more incredible stories I’ve ever heard,” he said. “I’m not surprised by Johannes, for his actions were the actions of his organization. He is clearly his father’s son. But what you tell me about my own people, about Gunther in particular, surprises and saddens me. I do not know what is become of our country. I served the kaiser. I watched our navy grow and our nation rise until it was one of the greatest in the world. Then our emperor embroiled us in that stupid, senseless war. We lost everything, and in the chaos that followed, we let this party of criminals and fools take over. They play on our fear—on our base emotions. Now there is no honor left in Germany.

  “You come here for my help? You risk much to do so. Don’t you fear, my dear, you shall have it. Your husband was right to expect my trust and my aid.”

  The captain leaned back, his fingers absently scratching the opposite elbow. “The tricky part is, what to do? I have money. Not endless amounts, mind you, but money enough. I can help you there. But a ship?” He shook his head. “I’m retired. I’ve sold my interest in the merchant industry. I do have some connections, but can they be trusted?” He shrugged as if considering the point. “That is something I must think on. For now, I will help you as I am most immediately able.”

  He rose and made his way to a cabinet. He opened the door and retrieved a heavy metal lockbox from within. Grimacing a little at the weight, he shuffled back to the desk and gingerly set the container down on the
surface. He drew keys from his pocket and fumbled through them until he found the one he was looking for. He set the key into the lock and then opened the top, reaching in to carefully pull out several stacks of money. He thumbed through the notes, his lips counting silently, then returned a stack and brought the remainder over, extending his hand to her.

  “Here are fifty thousand Reichsmarks. Hopefully this will be enough to obtain a ration card on the black market. Who knows?” He shrugged. “Perhaps that’s enough to get you passage on a ship? Although I doubt it in these times. But never worry, I’m going to send you home with as much food as you can carry. I want you to come back in a few days. I will check with my connections and see what I can do about getting your family out of Germany.”

  She was so relieved. Trude stepped forward and embraced him. She could feel him stiffen beneath her arms, but she didn’t care. She had to show him some gratitude. Tears washed over her again like waterfalls down his back as she clung to him. He patted her, gently repeating over and over, “There, there.”

  Before long, she was leaving through the front door, two bags of groceries in her hands and the money tucked inside of her coat, new hope in her heart.

  The fresh groceries lifted their spirits tremendously, and a promising new atmosphere filled the Bensheim home for several days. Johannes almost seemed himself, laughing and playing with Britta and telling her stories of England and her grandparents. Trude whisked about the kitchen preparing meals just like it was the old days. Except for the fact that they could not leave their home, things almost felt normal.

  The food supply quickly dwindled again, however, and Trude knew she would soon have to brave the uncertain streets to visit their savior, Captain Dutt. Still, the risk could be greeted with greater prospects because there was hope now. She could imagine their family steaming out of the harbor from Königsberg bound for a neutral port and freedom. She whistled childhood tunes as she thought of her parents smiling, waiting for them in England.