“You’re that Jew, aren’t you?”
The question startled her.
“My family is Jewish, that’s true,” she responded.
Friedrich grunted.
“Is that a problem for you?” she asked.
He shrugged, not answering. “I follow orders from the captain, that is my duty. I don’t have to like them.”
“Why aren’t you in the army?” She was curious how a young man like this had avoided service. As soon as she realized her question might produce an uncomfortable answer, she blushed slightly, feeling embarrassed.
She expected a sharp response. How would a Jew dare ask that kind of question of a German? But he answered with no trace of anger in his voice.
“I have an illness,” he explained. “Anemia. I was found unfit for duty. Captain Dutt was kind enough to find me employment. My father is a friend. In any event, I don’t know why we are in this war. The Jews caused it in the first place, if you believe the stories.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I don’t know. If it isn’t true, why would they tell us that? My father said the army didn’t lose the last war. They were still in the trenches with plenty of ammunition, food, and everything else they needed. Then suddenly the fighting simply stopped. If the Jews didn’t betray us, then who did?”
Trude could feel Friedrich’s hard stare in the rearview mirror, boring into her. She was afraid; she realized there was something about this young man that was very unsettling. Mrs. Werner had told her stories of neighbors reporting neighbors. All it would take was one member of the captain’s household to turn her in.
A long silence followed as the car rolled through the streets of Königsberg. Finally, Friedrich wove up through the narrow driveway and into the carport attached to the captain’s home. She was ushered out of the car, up the back steps to the kitchen, and then through a hallway she’d never traveled to the familiar library.
Friedrich delivered her to the chair in front of Dutt’s desk and departed without saying good-bye. He did not offer coffee or tea. She sat alone for a few minutes, looking around again with admiration at the elegant collection of books, paintings, and mementos. She was struck at how much the room reminded her of her father’s study. His had been smaller, but in its own way just as charming. She heard a door open, and she turned to see Captain Dutt in the doorway. There was a look in his face she’d never seen before: a sadness and perhaps something else.
“Have you been made comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she responded, not wanting to say anything about Friedrich’s lack of hospitality.
“Don’t you have anything to drink or eat?”
She shook her head.
The captain shouted and Friedrich quickly reappeared. “Didn’t you offer our guest anything?” he asked sternly.
“You instructed me to bring her here.”
“You know full well I want every guest to be furnished with refreshment. Bring it now. We will talk later about this.”
Trude saw the young German flush. He turned sharply and stormed out, returning a few minutes later with a tray of small sandwiches and tea. He placed them on the desk and bowed to the captain before departing. He refused to look Trude’s way.
“I apologize for my driver,” he said. “I see there are some elements of his education that I will need to restructure.” He motioned at the food. “You need to eat, my dear. You look like you’ve lost weight. Not that I’m surprised.”
She reached out with shaking hands and picked up a sandwich. She’d had so little to eat in the past week that she struggled to maintain her dignity and eat slowly. Her body screamed inside, desiring to shove the delicate food into her mouth. She chewed carefully, setting the food down between bites, and sipping some tea with composure. Captain Dutt sat back, watching her silently, letting her finish before he asked her any questions.
“You’re withering away,” he said at last. “Why don’t you stop with all your manners and eat.” He motioned to the food, then called out for a servant to order more to be brought.
Trude abandoned her decorum and reached out with both hands, shoving a sandwich into her mouth. She didn’t know when she had tasted anything better in her entire life. In a few minutes, she had consumed all the sandwiches and a full cup of tea filled with cream and sugar. She then set to work on the new tray of food, continuing to eat until her stomach finally felt full. The captain kept insisting she continue, but finally she shook her head, unable to eat anymore. Satisfied, he rang a bell on his desk, and the servants came back and whisked the tray away.
“Now,” he said, leaning back and pulling out his pipe. “I want to hear from your own lips, is what Frau Werner told me true?”
She told him everything about the terrible night. Captain Dutt listened intently, interrupting here and there to ask a question. He registered surprise and then deepened into a greater sadness.
Finally, she was done. He leaned back farther in his chair, his eyes half-closed.
“You’re a brave woman,” he said.
“Not as brave as you,” she responded. “You’ve taken terrible risks on our behalf. I have no right to ask for anything more from you.”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “There are still true Germans in Germany,” he said. Then he broke into a slight grin and chuckled to himself. “Well, at least there is Mrs. Werner and me. Perhaps we are the only two. I’m sure you enjoyed your ride with Friedrich. Don’t worry about him; I trust him completely, even if he has some interesting ideas about Germany and the Jews.”
She hoped he was right and decided not to press things too far about the driver. “Have you been able to learn anything or come up with a plan?” she asked.
“Nothing specific at this point, Frau Bensheim. I’ve been racking my brain this past week, trying to come up with something, some idea or option. I told you I have friends out there, but that they must be approached with caution. What was true a year ago would be doubly true now: no one is willing to put their life on the line. There is always the possibility of a betrayal. Still, I’m not without connections. I just need some time to consider this matter. We must proceed carefully in the meantime. You need to stay put. I’ll be able to drop food off at Mrs. Werner’s for you. There should be enough to keep you going, although I can’t provide a feast. Stay there and stay safe. Do not leave until I come for you and for your daughter.”
She was disappointed but so thankful there was at least some hope of a plan to rescue them. She was grateful that he was risking so much for her. She rose and cautiously stepped around the desk. She placed her arms on his shoulders and embraced him. He stiffened in surprise and awkwardly raised a hand to pat hers.
“Remember what I told you, child. You cannot leave your house for any reason. I will be in touch as soon as I know anything.”
He rang the bell again and Friedrich reappeared.
“Drive her home,” the captain ordered. “And, Friedrich, you will treat her with the respect that I afford her.”
Friedrich stiffened. He glanced at Trude for a moment and then marched out. She turned to follow him.
“There is one more thing,” said Dutt. She looked over.
“I’ve heard news of Johannes.” He hesitated. “It’s not good. They’ve taken your husband deep into Germany. I don’t know where or what has happened to him. I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
German/Russian Border in Poland
June 1941
They waited in the early morning darkness. Erik’s platoon was in the lead of the company, spread out among the trees. He had ordered total silence, but here and there he could hear the crackle of a brushed branch or the snap of a twig under a heavy boot.
The forest erupted in fire and light. Artillery shells shrieked above them. Erik shouted for the men to advance and he stormed forward, rushing from tree to tree, taking his first steps into Russian-occupied Poland.
Tracers raced by
; he could hear their whistling echo as the enemy returned fire. He raised his machine pistol and fired a blind burst into the darkness ahead. He couldn’t tell if he had hit anything or what was in front of him. From behind he could hear the rumbling of the panzers as they jolted forward, cannons roaring, adding their fire to the weight of the artillery attack.
As the morning passed, the platoon streamed onward. Kilometer after kilometer passed as they progressed. Resistance was surprisingly light. The last briefing they received told Erik to expect at least a division in front of them, so heavy fighting would be likely from the moment they invaded. But so far they had run up against nothing more than a company of badly surprised Russians who made only a token of resistance before retreating. How strange to be here in the first place. They’d signed a treaty of friendship with the Russians less than two years ago, and now they were invading them with no warning. I won’t think about those things.
By noon they rumbled into the center of a village. There were no Russians in sight. Shortly thereafter Captain Sauer rolled into the collection of houses in a new command car. He exited the vehicle looking this way and that, his back straight, scanning the town for threats. After his gaze settled on Erik, he strode rigidly over.
Erik saluted and received a stiff response. “Lieutenant, what’s the status?” asked the company commander.
“No Russians in this place,” responded Erik. “Doesn’t look like they were ever here.”
“Nonsense,” said Sauer. “We’ve been told the Poles avidly collaborated with the Russians. Round up the village leaders for questioning.”
Erik hesitated.
“Are you disobeying a direct order?” demanded Sauer.
“No, sir, I’m not.”
Sauer glared for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Get to it then, Lieutenant,” he ordered, waving a dismissive hand before returning to his command vehicle. He directed his Polish interpreter to follow Erik. The two went from house to house knocking on doors and demanding information. They asked who the mayor of the town was and the location of the principal officials.
Eventually, they were directed to a home on the edge of town. The house was slightly larger than the others in this modest village. Erik banged on the front door and waited. No answer. He banged again, harder this time, and he heard the release of the latch on the other side. The door opened a reluctant crack. A middle-aged man stood inside, a woman behind him clutching a couple of children.
Erik asked through the interpreter if he was indeed the mayor. The man stood frozen for a moment before nodding. Erik reached out, and over the screaming objections of the man’s family members, he half carried, half dragged him into the center of the village. Sauer was there, a makeshift table of crates and a plywood board serving as a command center as he examined the maps. He issued orders tersely to runners, who took off in different directions. Captain Sauer looked up with grinding satisfaction as Erik approached with the mayor.
“Good work, Lieutenant,” the commanding officer said. He turned to Erik’s captive. “Where are the Russians?” he demanded. The mayor waited, listening for the interpretation before answering.
“I do not know what you mean,” he said through the translator. “There are no Russians here. There never have been. We are too small, too poor. They would visit now and again to collect some taxes or to investigate some crime or misdemeanor. Other than that, we hardly saw them.”
“You’re a liar,” said Sauer. He drew his pistol from the holster, cocked the trigger, and aimed it at the head of the mayor. “Where are the Russians?” he repeated.
Erik could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He thought of the mayor’s wife, his children. Waiting in fear and silence a few hundred meters away. What could he do? He’d been warned. He would put his own life at stake if he interfered.
The moment continued. The mayor begged, telling everything he knew about the Russians, where their headquarters were, when the last time was they visited. Sauer was unmoved. He took a step forward and slapped the man across the face. The Pole crumpled to the ground, his hands over his head, whimpering. Sauer stepped forward and placed the pistol barrel against the man’s temple.
An explosion rocked the village, then another. Erik threw himself to the dirt, covering his head. Sauer and the others did the same. The rat-a-tat of machine gun fire ricocheted off the stone houses. Sauer rolled a few times until he was hiding behind one of the houses. He called out orders. A panzer nearby rumbled to life and advanced toward the sound of the fire. The company spread out, a few men hiding behind each house, slowly working their way toward the enemy rifles blazing away at them. Erik watched Captain Sauer scream orders at a couple of men near him and then disappear around the corner.
Erik seized the mayor. The man resisted, but Erik slapped him again and shook him until the mayor made eye contact. Erik grabbed the man by the shirt and pulled him backward, away from the attack and toward his house. The mayor continued to resist until he realized what Erik was doing. He raised his hands in supplication and then shook himself free and nodded. Now the Pole took the lead, scrambling between the houses as Erik followed. Finally, they were back at the man’s home. He knocked on the door and shouted something several times in Polish. The door opened on his wife and his children. They ran into each other’s arms, holding each other tightly. The mayor turned around, thanking Erik silently.
Erik nodded and sprinted back toward the fighting. He found some members of his platoon and led them forward, but the battle was already dying off.
Captain Sauer returned from the fight, heading to his command vehicle. He leaped up, standing on the front seat, calling out orders as several more panzers rolled into the village center. Soon the entire company was back, unscarred, in secure control. The counterattack had been repulsed.
June turned into July, and Erik’s company stormed through Poland and into Russia proper. Their enemy seemed stunned and totally unprepared to resist, just as in the attacks on Poland almost two years ago. There was hardly an enemy airplane in the sky. Stukas ranged at will over the battlefield, strafing enemy formations and dropping bombs on the armored vehicles that hadn’t already been wiped out by the powerful panzer formations. Russians surrendered in whole units, smiling and surprisingly good-natured. Erik was amazed at the progress of the war as they stormed with abandon hundreds of kilometers into Russia.
Still, everything was not perfect. Occasionally they came across a unit fighting desperately, even to the last man. Hundreds of Russians would come charging out of the woods, as if ghosts materializing from the trees. The panzers would mow them down, but they kept on coming. Erik’s company took casualties, far more than they took in Poland, Belgium, or France. Perhaps even more alarming, a month into the battle they had covered more territory than in either of the previous battles, but they were still nowhere near their objectives. Intellectually, Erik knew that Russia was far bigger than France or Poland, but to walk the actual steps, to see the kilometers, seemingly unending, pass by was another thing altogether.
Even more disturbing were the stories circulating among the troops. Bloodthirsty Russians sneaking into camps in the middle of the night to slit the throats of German soldiers. Captured SS men found hanged or even crucified. Each rumored atrocity was met with fierce retribution by the German army or the SS, but this did not seem to deter the Russians, who kept on fighting when it was so obvious the war was already over.
This Russian will to fight, to take massive losses and yet keep going, was something Erik and his comrades had never experienced before. They whispered about this around the campfire at night and during their long marches over the endless kilometers. Erik felt a tinge of panic—just a spark, but it seemed to grow with each passing day. As they pushed on, farther and farther into Russia, the men moved faster and faster, trying to find the end, becoming more desperate, more uncertain at a time when victory seemed assured.
Erik received a boost in his morale when Sergeant Messer reappeared
in his unit as July turned into August. Messer had been injured in a training exercise a few months before the Russian invasion began. The sergeant was his right arm, his compass. He was entirely reliable and a great source of strength for Erik.
As usual, their division was in close support of a company of panzer tanks. Over time the Panzer I and II’s had been replaced by the more powerful Panzer III. This tank was more heavily armored and possessed a 50-millimeter cannon and two 7.92-millimeter machine guns. The machines proved unstoppable across the Polish and Russian plains. Erik’s platoon oversaw finding appropriate cover for the tanks to stop each night. This was typically either a wooded area or within a town or village.
This evening they traveled far, fortunately without engaging the enemy. Except for periodic airplanes overhead, the day had been eerily quiet. They had moved forward more than thirty kilometers, and Erik and his men were slopping over in exhaustion. As the sky began to darken, he spotted a collection of houses a few thousand meters down the road. He halted the platoon and heard the tanks behind him rumble to a stop. Straining through his field glasses, Erik inspected each house one by one, looking for anything suspicious—a rifle, a face, anything.
After about ten minutes he was satisfied there were no visible risks.
“Sergeant Messer!” he called.
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.
“Take your group and check out those buildings ahead. If everything is safe, give me the all clear, and we will set up camp in there for the night. Mark the best houses for sleeping quarters and for cover for the panzers.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. Messer called his group together and gave them brief orders, then the men spread out and made their way down the road, rifles drawn.
Erik watched them through his field glasses, anxiously making sure they were safe. Soon the men disappeared behind the buildings. Erik waited, first five minutes, then ten. He couldn’t see anything. There was no movement, no sound from the village.
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