A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  They were cleaning the dishes with even Captain Dutt chipping in when the kitchen door abruptly flew open and Friedrich stepped in. She was relieved to see he was safe. The young German’s cheeks were splotched white and red from the cold. He poured himself a cup of coffee from a nearby container, warmed his hands on the mug, and took a couple of sips before he spoke.

  “Good news,” he said.

  Trude felt her heart explode in joy. “Tell us,” she said.

  “He’s sympathetic. He grew up with Jewish friends. He doesn’t believe all this garbage the Nazis are peddling. He lost an older brother on the eastern front. He hates the war and just wants all of it over. But he’s terribly afraid of what might happen if he is caught.”

  “Did he take the money?” asked Captain Dutt.

  Friedrich shook his head. “Not yet, but I think he will. He said he needed a day to think things over.”

  “When?”

  “He said to meet him again tomorrow night and to bring the money. If he will do it, he plans to try to take her out tomorrow evening. He said he didn’t think it would be too difficult if things went well. He works the night shift tomorrow night. There are only two guards, and he said they take turns sleeping sometimes. He should be able to sneak around while the other guard is taking a nap. He’s afraid of the ramifications, but there’s been an escape one time before. The guards that time got in trouble, but nothing long-term.”

  Friedrich looked at Trude. “He’s very fond of Britta, you know. He talks to her at night sometimes. He said she is very brave.”

  Trude felt the tears welling. It was a miracle. A miracle from God. After a year of nothing, she was hearing real things that were happening to her daughter. Friedrich had met with somebody who saw his daughter every day. Someone willing to help.

  “I need more money,” said Friedrich.

  Captain Dutt nodded. “That is not a problem. Whatever the amount we will pay it.” Friedrich stepped over and put his hands on Trude’s shoulders.

  “I know this will be an agonizing day, but you’ve waited so long already. Tomorrow night, I’ll bring your daughter home to you.”

  She turned and put her arms around Friedrich, burying her face in his chest. “God bless you all,” she said.

  The next day was worse than the last. The new sense of hope vied with an intense sense of urgency she had not felt since Britta was arrested. Now the potential of an escape raised new fears. What if the plan failed? Would Gunther punish Britta? Would she be relocated? The guard would be tortured probably. Did he know who Friedrich was? Would that lead them back to Captain Dutt? It was a strange feeling that this new possibility brought intense despair at the same time.

  Captain Dutt tried to keep her busy all day. He was teaching her chess, a game Johannes enjoyed but that she had never picked up at the university. She listened patiently while he explained the roles of the various pieces and how they moved, and they played game after game as he walked her through the strategy. She didn’t want to tell him she wasn’t listening. Then again, he must have known. Her clumsy moves. She was too bright to need to learn the basics over and over. She was grateful for his effort. It helped if only a little to pass some of the time.

  Time. An enemy as formidable as the Nazis. Since the loss of her husband and her daughter, time was the only thing she always had too much of. She realized the last three and a half years of war were one long exercise in endless time. Time and fear, her other constant companion. She could hardly remember her life before the war. Her childhood, the happy times of the university and with Johannes. Even losing their jobs and their rights under the racial laws seemed a pleasant holiday compared to what she’d endured since the fighting started.

  Now it was time again. Time for Friedrich to leave with the money, with her future in his hands. He would not be back for hours, perhaps not until morning. When he returned, there was every chance he would bring her daughter home to her finally. If this miracle happened, perhaps she might one day see Johannes coming through the door. Perhaps this war would end and they would be free again.

  She allowed herself another thought: What if the conflict resulted in a Nazi defeat? Though she had not dared consider that idea until this fall, when the Germans started suffering enormous losses, first at El Alamein, in Egypt, and then at Stalingrad in Russia. The invincible now seemed mortal. And while the end seemed an eternity away, no longer was it certain the Germans would win the war.

  Friedrich dressed in dark clothing, putting on a heavy black wool overcoat. Captain Dutt handed him a satchel stuffed full of Reichsmarks. Bribes were a reality of her life during the war. Some Nazis, despite their high-and-mighty ideology, could be bought because of that pettiest of human emotions: greed.

  Friedrich turned to Trude, taking her hands in his. A flicker of a grin crossed his lips. “I’m going to go get your little girl,” he said.

  “I know you will,” she said, smiling encouragingly, not feeling the confidence she tried to portray. “Thank you for everything, Friedrich, you’ve been like a brother to me.”

  “Does that make me an honorary Jew?”

  She looked sharply at him, but he was smiling, and she realized he did not mean it as an insult. She nodded.

  “I could live with that,” he said. He stepped forward and embraced her briefly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Then he was gone out the door. She heard the automobile cough alive and stutter off into the night, and she was left again with hours to wait, the terrible fear and anxious hope returning. Her entire life depended on what happened tonight.

  They finished a cheerless meal. Trude picked at her food, unable to eat. She felt like she might be sick. The minutes stacked up, collecting slowly into hours.

  Evening became night as they held their vigil. Midnight passed. Trude and Captain Dutt went through the motion of playing chess hour after hour until her hands trembled from weariness. Her eyes were bloodshot, her vision blurred; she could hardly make out the pieces any longer.

  The jiggle of keys in the door froze her breath. She stared at Captain Dutt for a moment and then rose, running to the kitchen with arms out, ready for her daughter. The door swung open to reveal Friedrich. He was winded, ashen faced, sadness in his every movement. Alone.

  “He refused,” she said. “He won’t help us.”

  “No, no. That’s not it,” he said, stepping forward.

  “What then? What happened to my little girl?” She drew her breath in sharply. “Please don’t tell me they were caught.”

  He shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean? What are you saying?” Her head exploded in pain and confusion. She tried to beat her fists against his chest, but he held her wrists, holding her back.

  “Calm down and listen. I met the guard and paid the money. No problem. He left and I waited with the car running, for his return. He was back about a half hour ago, but he was alone.”

  “Then he did refuse.”

  Friedrich shook his head. “No, she was gone. When he went to his shift, she’d been transferred from the cell. He doesn’t know where.”

  Trude felt her knees giving way, and she struggled to maintain her consciousness. “What do you mean transferred? Where is she? We have to find her!”

  “Don’t worry, Trude,” said Captain Dutt. “It will be all right. This is a temporary setback. So, they moved her? We will find out where. We have someone on the inside. It’s a delay, perhaps a day or two.”

  Trude shook her head, unable to answer. She didn’t believe him anymore. What good would it do to locate her again? She couldn’t believe there would be another chance like this. If this guard no longer had direct access, who else would risk their lives on her behalf? Her girl was gone. She might not even have Gunther’s protection anymore. She had lost her like she had lost Johannes.

  She wanted to scream out to the heavens. All this time waiting, hoping was but a cruel hoax. She felt what little life she had clung to
falling before her eyes. The fragile glass of her soul shattered, the cruel fragments slashing her apart. She felt sanity slipping away; her tears flooded the hard stone floor of the kitchen. She flung herself to the ground and pressed her face against the surface, closing her eyes, clinging, praying, and then with all the force she could gather she drew her head back and smashed it as hard as she could against the tiles. A blinding fire flashed and there was darkness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Near Kharkov, Soviet Union

  February 1943

  Erik looked up from the snow, his hands over his helmet. Ice and mud flew as bullet rounds crashed into the ground around him. Two more men across the fire were quickly hit even as they attempted to scramble out of the way. Erik rolled, clutching his machine pistol with one hand.

  Even as he moved into position, he scanned the street, taking in what was happening. He completed his roll to his stomach and cocked the bolt of his weapon with one motion. He was facing away from the fire and across the street toward the government building. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Sauer was here, too, hugging the frozen ground.

  “Where are they?” said Sauer, shouting through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know,” Erik responded, but even as he said that he saw a flash from the second story of the town hall across the way. A sniper, he realized. He must have hidden and been missed in the first sweep of the buildings. Erik watched flashes up and down the street coming out of various buildings. This wasn’t a single Russian but a team of snipers working in concert.

  An ambush. It was suicide to attack a battalion, he thought. Not that the Russians were incapable of insane actions. Still, there had to be more to this. As if in answer, the screeching of incoming artillery shells rained down to join the whistling bullets. There were Russians out there in some force, attacking the town. This group of snipers was working with them.

  Another shell erupted near him, and he knew he had to move again or be hit. He reached out, grabbing Sauer by the shoulder, and tugged on his uniform. He dragged himself to his feet, slipping in the icy snow.

  “Let’s go!” he screamed to his commander. He jerked the major up, and the two of them dashed through the snow, bullets crashing into the ground around them as they rapidly closed the distance to the government building. In a few moments, they made it and kicked open the wooden door. It was just Sauer and him. They were armed with his machine pistol and the major’s 9mm. He gestured silently, mimicking a grenade. Sauer shook his head. They would have to make do with what they had.

  Erik rapidly scanned the downstairs of the town hall. There were a few offices ringing a large central hallway leading to stairs rising up about five meters before turning sharply to the left. He looked around for another way upstairs, but there wasn’t one. The sniper or snipers upstairs assuredly knew they’d come into the building, and there appeared to be only a single way to reach them. They were walking into a trap, he realized, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  He motioned toward the stairway. Sauer nodded in grim approval. They spread out, keeping a few meters apart as they moved forward as silently as they could toward the landing of the staircase. Erik’s eyes darted this way and that. He did not know if the offices were empty, whether other Russians were hiding downstairs. Agonizing minutes passed as they picked their way slowly to the stairs, weapons aimed at each successive office doorway. Erik hoped their silence and their patient progress toward the stairway would confuse the people upstairs, who would’ve expected an immediate attack. Of course, the snipers were professionals, and they could not expect to take them easily.

  Three quarters of the way across the hallway he heard a clatter on the steps, a click-clack, click-clack. He and Sauer both stepped backward quickly; he recognized that sound. A small metal ball appeared, bouncing down the stairs. A grenade. Erik drove himself to the ground as it exploded, showering the room with shrapnel. He waited for the hot metal to tear into his body, but he felt nothing. He was unhurt. He’d been lucky. He lifted his head. Sauer was still on the ground. The major smiled and gave him a wink; they were safe.

  Erik motioned for Sauer to remain still, and they trained their weapons on the stairway. He hoped the sniper would come downstairs to investigate the grenade. They waited, but the Russian did not come. Outside the sound of the shelling increased, along with the staccato trill of machine guns. The battalion was fully engaged in combat with a force of unknown size. He hoped his junior officers were rallying the men in his absence. If they did not put up an adequate defense, the Russians would overrun their positions and they would all be captured or killed. There was nothing he could do about that right now. He had to focus on the immediate danger.

  He waited a couple of minutes more and motioned for Sauer to rise. They both cautiously moved to their knees and pulled themselves up into a standing position. They did so in perfect silence. Erik retrieved his weapon, checking it over to make sure it was functioning and still armed.

  Sauer made eye contact again and motioned with his head toward the stairs. Erik nodded and resumed his silent movement toward the landing. Sauer followed, but Erik motioned for the major to stop. No reason for both to be killed by the next grenade. He would go first and call on the major if he needed to cover.

  He placed a boot on the first stair and took a tentative step up, lowering his weight onto the concrete in gentle intervals so that there would be no sound. Another step, then another. He tensed himself, ready to spring backward if another grenade came tumbling down. Each step was an eternity. He was midway up the first set of stairs. He kept going, one stair at a time. Finally, he reached the corner. This was the most dangerous part. If the sniper was at the stairway with his gun aimed and sighted, he would kill Erik before he even had a chance to look up the stairs.

  He removed his Stahlhelm. He lifted the steel helmet slowly into the field of view around the corner, expecting a bullet to rip through the metal and tear the helmet out of his hand. Nothing. This meant the sniper either wasn’t there or was too smart for the trick. He cursed himself. If he only had a grenade, this would be so much simpler. Still, there was nothing he could do. He had to take the sniper out.

  With his next move, Erik gambled everything. He stormed across the landing to the other side, slamming himself against the wall, hoping the sniper would miss. Again, nothing happened. He looked up the remaining stairs. The Russian wasn’t there. He must have moved back to a safer position or determined the grenade had done its work and there were no threats from below.

  Erik motioned for Sauer to come up to the first landing. The major moved a little more swiftly, and soon they were back together again. Sauer raised his pistol to aim at the top of landing, prepared to provide cover fire if necessary. Erik knew the pistol would have little value in a real gunfight, but it was better than nothing. He started his slow ascent again, first one step, then another. Soon his head was nearly even with the top stair. Now he faced the same danger. Again, he lifted his helmet above the rim, waiting for the telltale bullet, but again nothing came. He took another step and quickly a second, so his eyes were now slightly above the floor landing that gave way to a hallway and an office door across the way. The hallway and the office were full of rubble and dust.

  He didn’t see any Russians. He motioned to Sauer again, who moved up the stairs and joined him. Sauer pointed to the hallway and the door and made a running motion with his fingers. The major wanted to sprint across to the hallway and into the open office. Erik shook his head in disagreement—too risky. But Sauer insisted. Erik finally nodded and took a tenuous step and then another until he reached the top of the landing. Sauer followed right behind him. Erik drew in a deep breath, leaned slightly forward, and sprinted across the hall. Sauer rushed tightly behind him. He felt his commander crash sideways before he even heard the rifle report. Instinctively, he spun around, sped back into the hallway, and sprayed his machine pistol up and down the long corridor even as his body flew horizontal an
d slammed into the ground. Erik held onto his weapon with all his strength, pulling himself as quickly as possible into a prone position, but it was unnecessary. His first burst had made its mark. Down the hallway at the end he saw the slumped body of a Russian, riddled with bullets. Blood pooled greedily underneath him. The sniper’s rifle lay on the floor in front of him. Eyes stared vacantly and his mouth hung cavernously open in a silent scream.

  Erik stayed a moment longer to see if anyone else would attack and turned to attend to the major. Sauer was on the floor behind him, his body twisting in pain, a fountain of red gore spurting from a shoulder wound. Erik tore a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed down on the hole, desperately laboring to stem the flow of blood.

  Sauer looked up at him with gritted teeth, smiling. “You’re right,” he said. “It was too risky.” He clutched a bloody photograph of his family, fingers trembling.

  “Got him, though,” said Erik.

  Sauer bent his head, staring down the hallway. “You did good, Captain, as always.”

  “I’m going to leave you just for a second,” explained Erik. “I’ll be right back.” He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring a lancing fire in his back, and stumbled over to the window. Looking out he was shocked at the chaos in the courtyard below. Blood and bodies mixed everywhere with the churned mud and snow. Shells were still exploding in the street. Men ran in every direction. He looked out across the horizon and was stunned to see what looked like thousands of Russians and dozens of tanks rumbling toward the town. A smattering of Germans faced them at the outskirts, returning fire, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.

  Erik spotted a medic running down the street carrying his equipment bag and kneeling to assist a wounded soldier. Erik screamed to the man, shouting until his chest nearly burst. It took several tries among the explosions to get his attention.

  “I need you now!” he screamed.

  The soldier hesitated, looking down at the man he was tending to.