Something was wrong. They should have had an all clear by now. Erik called the rest of his men together along with the panzer commander to express his concerns. He ordered the men to spread out and approach the houses cautiously.
He watched the peace explode into chaos in a moment. Flashes spurted from every window in the village. Bullets ripped by, slamming into flesh. Several of Erik’s men were hit. Erik’s ears rang as a panzer near him opened fire, sending a shell into a house that exploded in a cloud of smoke, fire, and rubble. The panzer rumbled and accelerated, storming down the road. The men filed in behind it, sprinting to stay close to the armored protection. More panzers rolled out into the fields on both sides of the road, their cannons blazing.
They reached the first houses in what seemed an eternity. Erik darted his head back and forth behind the turret, firing with his machine pistol toward the windows. The lead panzer rolled between two houses. A young Russian peasant, no more than twelve, streamed out the back door of a house, a bottle in his hand. He threw it even as his body was riddled with machine gun fire from the tank. The bottle exploded, spewing fiery liquid all over the panzer. Erik could hear the screaming within. The turret opened and men scrambled out, their bodies on fire, writhing in agony and stumbling about before tumbling to the mud.
The remaining panzers entered the village moments later, their machine guns spewing bullets. Erik ran past the burning tank in the first row of houses. He fired this way and that, spraying in the general direction of the flashes he saw in his peripheral vision. He ran past the still body of the young Russian boy. He couldn’t glance down.
Bullets danced around his feet, and he knew any moment he would be hit. He charged forward as fast as he could and dived through the front door of the house directly in front of him. He hit the ground hard and tried to rise, taking in the interior of the Russian house, looking for threats. His gaze rested on Sergeant Messer, sitting on the dirt floor a few meters away from him staring back at him with eyes wide. Behind the sergeant was a Russian girl, no more than fifteen. She held a huge knife against Sergeant Messer’s throat. She was screaming at Erik in Russian.
Erik raised both of his hands slowly, trying to speak to her as calmly as possible. Outside the battle raged on, but he kept his focus on the scene in front of him.
The girl’s hands trembled. A rivulet of blood dripped down the sergeant’s neck.
“I’m sorry, sir,” whispered Messer.
“Everything is going to be fine,” said Erik, his eyes never leaving the Russian. “She won’t hurt you.” Erik placed his hands on the dirt floor and pushed himself up to his knees. The girl screamed at him again, but he ignored her. He maintained eye contact, speaking soothingly in his most reassuring voice, knowing she did not understand but trying to calm her.
Her trembling increased, but her voice seemed to soften just a fraction. Erik continued to rise, his hands in the air, speaking softly to her.
The Russian girl ripped the knife across the sergeant’s neck. Scarlet liquid washed over her hands as Erik’s friend slumped into the dirt. His body writhed in silent agony.
Erik’s mind exploded with rage. He reached down to retrieve his pistol, taking a couple of steps toward the girl. She looked down at the sergeant’s body still twisting back and forth beneath her feet. She seemed to realize what she had done. She dropped the knife and fell to her knees, placing her hands on her head.
Erik raised his arm and fired, shooting the girl in the head. He did not hesitate or think about what he was doing. He only knew this girl had killed his best friend. The Russian girl fell backward, blood splashing the wall behind her. Her body jerked once and was still. Erik ran forward to help Messer, but it was too late.
Tears streamed down Erik’s face. His closest companion was gone. And something else, something worse: he had killed someone in cold blood. Not even a soldier, just a girl.
“It’s about time.” He heard a familiar voice. Captain Sauer stood in the doorway, nodding approvingly. “You did the right thing, Lieutenant. I didn’t know if you had it in you.” He stepped over and grasped his shoulder. “Now you are the man I needed you to be.” The captain slapped him hard on the back and walked from the room.
Erik stood there in the fading gunfire for a moment, alone with his grief and his shame.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Königsberg
December 1941
Trude sat in the front room of Mrs. Werner’s townhome, thread and needle passing back and forth through torn fabric. How many more times can I mend this shirt? she thought. Captain Dutt still dropped off food on a weekly basis, but he could do nothing about clothing. Fabric had been strictly rationed in Germany since the war began. From everything Trude had heard from Mrs. Werner and from the radio, people were making do with the clothes they’d had before the war. This was a problem for everyone, but doubly so for Trude, since she had come to Mrs. Werner’s house in the middle of the night with only the clothes on her back. Several times she chastised herself for not keeping the luggage they had with them that night so long ago now, when her husband was arrested at the docks. Still, that wasn’t realistic. They’d needed to get away quickly, and there was no way that she and Britta could have run all the way back with their satchels and still escaped. Frau Werner had a spare dress she was able to use, and she’d been able to modify a couple of outfits for Britta, but there would be no more.
She couldn’t believe that night was now about a year and a half ago. In some ways, she was so thankful; here she was, still alive, still with her daughter in safety thanks to the courageous efforts of Frau Werner and Captain Dutt. At the same time, she’d heard nothing more about her husband’s whereabouts. Whether he was alive or dead. She and Britta had been prisoners in this home, unable to go out for risk of capture.
She glanced over at Britta, sitting nearby. Her daughter was spinning the wooden top. The black-and-white paint had faded and chipped now with no way to repair it, and no father to do so. Her daughter was so pale; she hadn’t seen sunlight in all this time. Trude felt guilty. At least every now and again she could escape to Captain Dutt’s house when he summoned her to give her an update on his efforts to locate Johannes. While this was only every couple of months, at least she’d been able to leave the tiny townhome on a few occasions. She could breathe the fresh air and look out at the sky. Frau Werner was afraid to even part the curtains, lest a neighbor spot them and call the Gestapo.
Time passed so slowly. There was little to do except the basic functions of the day. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, laundry, and listening to the radio at night for the news. Trude had hoped after all this time that something in the world would go right, but she had been sorely disappointed. The Germans continued to rack up victory after victory. First in France, then in the Balkans, now storming through Russia. The German army was within a few kilometers of Moscow, and the radio predicted a swift surrender and the end of the war.
More alarming were the stories of captured Jews and the Germans who harbored them. There were nightly lectures from radio broadcasters about the strict prohibition of hiding this unwanted population. All Jews in Germany were being collected and relocated. It was a severe crime to harbor them. Trude discussed this periodically with Mrs. Werner, telling her that they should leave, that she could not risk her life for them. But Mrs. Werner would not be moved. She refused to even listen to Trude’s discussions on this point.
Trude thought of her husband again as she did so many times each day. What had happened to Johannes? Was he safe? Was he even alive? She just wished she knew something about him. She didn’t want to hear that he was dead, but if it was true, she would rather know, and then the anxious, agonizing waiting would finally be over.
Escape was the other thought that filled her mind hour after hour. Captain Dutt had promised, without much hope, to consider the issue. He still had connections at the docks and among the various ship captains. But a year and a half had passed with nothing. She wasn’t surpri
sed; there were so few places that were safe to go. Even if she could find a ship, what port would it reach that would get her away from the Nazis’ grasp? Germany was at war with Russia now. Norway was controlled by the Germans and so was Denmark. She might escape to Sweden and somehow make her way from there to England, but even if she miraculously found a ship, there was every chance it would be sunk by one enemy or another on the way. Still, some chance was better than nothing. She felt the Germans closing in on her with each passing day.
A ring at the door jolted her out of her reverie. She looked up in alarm to see Mrs. Werner mirroring her fear. “Britta, go upstairs as quietly as you can,” she whispered.
Her daughter rose without making a sound and tiptoed rapidly toward the stairs. Trude followed right behind her. It had been so long since they’d had an unannounced visitor. Captain Dutt always called ahead before he sent Friedrich with food or to collect her.
Trude reached the top of the stairs and went into the bedroom, closing the door except for a crack so she could listen to any conversation below. She heard the door open and Mrs. Werner greeting someone.
A woman’s voice answered. She heard the clip-clop of heels on the landing. Relief washed over her. It wasn’t the Gestapo; it was some neighbor or another probably making a social visit to check in on Frau Werner.
“Frau Mueller, what a pleasant surprise,” said Mrs. Werner loudly. Trude froze. Could this be Corina Mueller? She hadn’t thought of Erik in ages, but he was in the SS, wasn’t he? She recalled her conversation with Johannes; her husband had said Erik was in the wrong kind of SS. What did that mean? Did that mean they were safe?
“Frau Werner, how delightful to see you,” Corina responded.
“What may I do for you?” asked Mrs. Werner, still standing near the doorway.
“May I come in and sit down for a moment? This will not take long.”
Trude felt her anxiety rise again. She knew Mrs. Werner must feel the same because she hesitated before answering.
“Certainly, please come in.”
Trude heard the clip-clop of Frau Mueller’s heels stepping into the sitting room where they had been just minutes ago. “Please sit down,” said Frau Werner. “Is there anything I can get you? Some tea perhaps?”
“I see you’re doing some sewing,” said Corina. “But whoever are you doing it for? You would swim in this shirt.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s . . . for my niece.”
“I didn’t know you had a niece in town. What’s her name?”
“It’s Helga,” said Frau Werner.
“Helga. I see. You must bring her by sometime. I have so few guests from the neighborhood. Although you must hurry.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“I’m looking for a new place in the Steindamm District. Erik has done quite well in the war, you know, a decorated hero and an officer. We are just waiting for his promotion to captain before we take the leap.”
“Your husband is safe, I hope?”
“Oh yes. I don’t think he’s even in the fighting most of the time. He’s in charge of everyone else. I think he just sort of sends them in.”
“And you don’t worry about him?”
“Certainly I worry, but he’s done so well for himself. We seem destined for great things, you know. Was your husband in the last war?”
“Oh no, we were far too old for that.”
“I suppose so. Well, talking about Erik was not the purpose of my visit. I’ve been asked to organize a neighborhood patrol.”
“What sort of patrol?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard all about it on the radio. There are Jews hiding everywhere. Right here under our noses.”
Trude felt her skin crawl. She tried to hold her breath, not wanting to make a sound.
“That sounds silly,” said Frau Werner. “There can’t be any more Jews in this neighborhood! Didn’t they all leave ages ago?”
“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, Frau Werner. They’re rats. You walk through the house and you think they’re not there, but they are, hiding in the cracks and the crevices. My friend Karl told me just the other day that there could be five thousand Jews or more left in Königsberg, hiding in the cellars, the basements, the attics.”
“What would you like me to do?” she asked.
“Well, obviously, we can’t have you marching up and down the street,” said Frau Mueller, laughing. “I’m just going door-to-door asking people to keep an eye on things. If you see anything suspicious—a person who’s not supposed to be here, strange sounds at night, even people moving around in your neighbors’ houses who you wouldn’t expect to be there—please just give me a call. Here’s my number.” Trude heard a rustle of paper.
“I . . . I will certainly do so.”
“Why, what’s this?” asked Corina.
“That’s nothing. Just a toy.” Trude’s heart froze. Britta had left her top behind when she’d run up the stairs.
“Does your niece have a child?”
“Yes . . . She does. She must’ve left it behind.”
“So strange. You know that feeling when you’ve seen something before? I’m certain I’ve seen something just like this. Silly me, I can’t remember when. Well, I will remember eventually.”
Trude could hear the determined heels move again across the floor. “Thank you again for seeing me today, Frau Werner. It was a great pleasure.”
Trude heard the door open and close. She sank to the ground trying to catch her breath. The danger was closing in.
For agonizing days Trude waited for the Gestapo to come. She anticipated the moment that Corina remembered she’d seen that same black-and-white wooden top when they ran into each other that fateful August day in 1939. Erik’s wife seemed very sharp and obviously had no qualms about turning in a Jew, child or not.
No one came. Mid-December became late December. The Germans were on the verge of capturing Moscow. Leningrad was surrounded. Soon the Russians would be out of the war, and the Germans would rule Europe and perhaps the rest of the world. At some point, they would look inward and ferret out the rest of their perceived enemies. The door-to-door searches would increase, and even an honest German like Mrs. Werner would be subject to a thorough search. At that point there would be nowhere else to hide.
She again raised with Mrs. Werner that she and Britta should leave. Frau Werner was insistent. “I’m not going to let that callous blond wench push me around,” she said. “If she remembers and the Gestapo comes, it is God’s will. I’ve had a long, full life, and I will not sacrifice you and your daughter for another year or two. No true German could do anything less.”
“I’m afraid most of the true Germans have gone over to the Nazis,” said Trude. “You are a true human.”
There was a loud bang on the door. The sound jolted Trude, and she saw Mrs. Werner flinch. She grabbed the bread and raced up the stairs as quietly as possible, knowing it would do no good to hide upstairs if the Gestapo was here for her. This was the end.
She heard the door open below and the sharp voice of a male.
“Trude,” Frau Werner’s voice called up the stairs. “You’d better come down.”
She steeled herself. This was it. She motioned for Britta to stay there. Perhaps they would just take her and not search the house.
She opened the door and started toward the stairs, searching for the group of men in leather coats who would be here to take her. She was shocked to see it was only Friedrich, Captain Dutt’s driver. He’d never come before without calling.
She breathed a sigh of relief and came down the stairs quickly. “Friedrich, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve come to collect you,” he said gruffly, not meeting her gaze. A year and a half of deliveries and the occasional trip to the captain’s home had not altered his icy demeanor. He seldom spoke to her in their drives back and forth to the captain’s home. She knew his feelings about her, about the Jews. Another worry that had haunted her. Another
person who might betray her at any moment. She knew only his loyalty for Captain Dutt kept him from immediately turning her in.
“Why didn’t you call ahead?”
He grunted. “No time.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but she remembered Corina’s words about watchful neighbors.
“Do you have news?”
“Yes, urgent news.”
“Well, I can’t go now. Can you come back later, after dark?”
The young German shook his head. “We have to go now.”
Urgent news? What did that mean? Had the captain finally found some way out? She would have to risk it.
“All right,” she said. She turned to Mrs. Werner. “Can you watch Britta for a little while?”
“Of course, dear. But be careful,” said Mrs. Werner, eyeing Friedrich doubtfully. “And you, mister, make sure she gets there and back safely.”
Friedrich nodded sternly to Mrs. Werner, a flash of disapproval slipping across his face. He turned stiffly and marched back out the front door toward the car.
Trude set a foot on the porch and looked up and down the street. There was no one out for a walk and few cars. She strode as swiftly as possible toward the open door. She was certain there were eyes on her from every house. Some people might even recognize her. She was putting everything at risk, but she had to know what news the captain had.
Friedrich whisked her through the streets of Königsberg. She hadn’t been outside during the day in all this time. She was surprised by how light the traffic was and how many stores seemed to be closed even during the day. Many were boarded up. She also saw alarming signs of anti-Semitism. Store windows with giant Stars of David and insulting statements painted on the glass. Broken windows, boarded-up doors. She felt her fear rising.
“They hate the Jews,” said Friedrich. “I told you so.”
A Bitter Rain Page 17