A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  “That’s a direct order!”

  The medic nodded and ran into the building, arriving at the top of the stairs in less than a minute.

  “Major Sauer is wounded,” Erik explained, meeting the medic at the stairs. “It’s a shoulder wound. A bad one. He needs immediate attention.” The medic moved to Major Sauer, and Erik squatted down to assist as best he could. He held Sauer’s hand, squeezing it, trying to take his commander’s mind off the wound.

  The major grimaced as the medic set to work. Sauer shifted under the pain until a shot of morphine calmed him. He lay his head against the floor, drawing a deep breath.

  “What’s going on out there, Captain?” he mumbled through the drug-induced stupor.

  “All hell’s broken loose,” said Erik.

  Sauer waved his arm at him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Get out there. Take charge and run those bastards off.” His family picture slipped from his fingers. He groped for it frantically.

  Erik picked up the picture. He slid his fingers across the slick surface, doing his best to remove the blood before he pressed the photo into his friend’s hand. Sauer is my friend, he realized. Something had happened somewhere along the line. He rose and ascended the stairs, preparing to take over this desperate battle for survival.

  Erik raced down the stairs and out of the building. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, taking in the chaos around him. Most of the square was now empty except for the wounded and the dead, splashing the snow crimson. The salty-sweet smell of burnt and bloodied flesh seared his nostrils, but he shook his head, pushing through a brief flicker of nausea to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Erik made a mental note of what he’d seen from above. The battle seemed to be shaping up at the outskirts of town. What might be happening behind him, he didn’t know, and now wasn’t the time to find out. A private ran past him, fleeing the battle. Erik grabbed the soldier by the chest and shook him until his wild expression calmed and he turned to the captain.

  Erik motioned to the courthouse with his head. “I want you to head to the other side of town and see if anything is going on. If there are men there engaged in combat, find out who’s in charge and what the situation is. I’m going this way,” he said, turning his head the other direction. “When you find out what’s going on come back to me and report immediately. Do you understand?”

  The soldier hesitated, staring past Erik. Mueller shook him again. “Did you hear what I said?”

  The private nodded.

  “Then do it and get back to me!” He let the soldier go and turned his attention to the street in front of him. He sprinted across the road as quickly as he could, slipping and sliding, struggling to keep his balance in the sloshing, bloody snow. He didn’t know if any of the other snipers were still active, but he made it safely across the street and under the cover of the next buildings. He kept on moving out of the downtown and into the jumbled, sporadic houses near the outskirts.

  The roar of explosions and the whistle of bullets drew near as he passed one house then another. Now he could see a couple of tanks, nestled among the houses, one a smoke-belching pile of twisted metal. An active panzer rocked back as it expelled another round from its cannon. Erik moved behind it and slightly to the left. When he saw a narrow opening between the tank and the house, he wedged between them and past the vehicle, advancing into the storm.

  He had reached the main line of resistance centered on the ragged edge of town. The tattered remnant of a German company spread out a hundred meters or more in both directions. The men huddled behind low-hanging eaves and pressed against the back walls of the Russian houses. At the extreme edge of each house, two or three men were positioned, firing around the corners for a second or two before stepping back to let other men take over. Several panzers were also wedged among the houses, firing their cannons and machine guns.

  He called out to a lieutenant whom he didn’t recognize, demanding an update.

  “We’re trying to stop them, but there are too damned many!” shouted the lieutenant. “There’s got to be at least a brigade out there, maybe a whole division!”

  Thousands against a hundred, thought Erik. “How many tanks?”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “I don’t know, fifty maybe.” Erik grunted. Their nine Tigers had been reduced to seven by the fighting, and they had just a dozen Panzer V’s.

  “Lieutenant, we have to hold this line, do you understand?”

  The lieutenant looked stunned. He clearly expected an order to withdraw. He nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Erik saluted in return and headed back to the center of town. He dragged a couple of privates with him and hurried them to the north and the south to reconnoiter. His heart beat against his rib cage. He expected the Russians to pour in from every direction.

  Three quarters of the way to the other side of town he found the original private he’d sent for intelligence, who informed him there was no fighting in the west. Erik drew a breath of relief. There was some hope. He sprinted in that direction to see exactly what was going on.

  He found his own company spread out in position, idly standing by with nothing in front of them. Should he leave them here to guard the rear? He shook his head. He couldn’t spare them. He screamed to his lieutenants, ordering them to abandon their position and move into the fight. He was evening the odds a little, giving his men the best chance to survive the day. He wanted to run, to get them out of there, but there was nowhere to go, only the endless kilometers of steppe. If they fled the town, they would all die.

  He raced back to the center of town. Captain Sauer was resting, still groggy under the influence of the morphine. Erik hunched next to him, hands on knees, gasping for breath. He examined Sauer’s injury. The bleeding was under control. He might make it if they could get him to a surgeon in time.

  Erik drank a cup of coffee from an abandoned field canteen, gulping down the lukewarm liquid quickly, then turned back toward the fighting. Back at the main line, he took full control of the battle. In his absence two more Tigers and three Panzer V’s had been destroyed by the Russians. He still had fourteen operating tanks and several hundred men. His side had the advantage of cover and a well-entrenched position. Would it be enough against these odds?

  He found a relatively open observation point across the street from the first row of houses in the second story of a Russian home. The window was small but afforded him a 180-degree view of the battlefield, except the portion directly beneath him, which was partially obscured by the roofs. He set up a system of runners and a radioman to assist in communication.

  Now that he finally had things in hand he realized they were not as bad as they had seemed. The Russians attacking were clearly inexperienced. They came on in waves, clumped together, subject to massive casualties from tank and machine gun fire. The tanks themselves were another thing—T-34’s. Not quite the threat these tanks had been two years ago, but still formidable.

  As he watched, a line of several hundred Russians jogged through the snow, clustered among three or four tanks. The armored vehicles poured machine gun fire into the buildings.

  First one T-34 exploded, then another. The Russians following were cut down by MG 42 fire, the heavy machine guns planted on the rooftops, along with the panzer guns, which strafed the attackers over and over. Another Tiger was hit; he heard screaming and the bellowing of smoke and fire. His men were taking casualties but at an acceptable level.

  The battle continued. Another wave came and then another. Two more Tigers and four more Panzer V’s were knocked out, leaving him only eight operating tanks, but the Russians seemed spent. He counted three dozen burning enemy tanks. Russian dead and wounded lay in mounds like hewn wheat in the field below him.

  Erik decided it was time to act. He ran down the stairs, gesturing for his men to follow him. He clutched a radio and shouted instructions, directing the remaining panzers to sweep out in a wide circle to the right and left, with the infantrymen ch
arging in between. The orders were crisply followed; he watched with pride through field glasses as his men surged through the blood and snow. The Germans took rapid casualties but they kept charging on. Soon the tanks outdistanced them. He watched the panzers overrun the Russians, knocking out the last two enemy tanks and spraying the infantry with machine gun fire.

  His men surrounded the Russians within minutes. After some sporadic additional fire, all was silent as the Russians threw their arms up and dropped their weapons in surrender. Erik hastened out of the building past the burning husks of several panzers and out into the field beyond. He did his best to ignore the screaming wounded, calling out to him in German, until he reached the surrounded Russians.

  He called one of his lieutenants over and ordered the enemy prisoners to be taken back to the town square. He drew out his field glasses and anxiously scanned the horizon, looking for more threats, but he could see no more enemies. The battle was over.

  For another half hour, he stood in the field, making provisions for the wounded and dead and ensuring his men kept up an active defense in case any additional enemies approached. The Russians had attacked in brigade strength, and he worried his men might stumble on the rest of the Russian division. But there were no new threats on the horizon. He finally called for the rest of his men to return to the line of defense at the outskirts of the town, and he escorted a group of them back toward the city hall.

  He arrived in the center of town a few minutes later. Major Sauer was sitting up now, his back supported by some coats rolled behind him on his stretcher. He directed men, pointing in various directions and organizing the battalion.

  When the major looked up to see Captain Mueller approaching, a grim grin crossed his face.

  “You’ve done an amazing job,” he said. “I’ll get you the Knight’s Cross this time for sure.”

  Erik beamed. Germany’s highest medal would take him another step on his path to security in postwar Germany. “Thank you, sir,” he said gratefully.

  “Quite a bag of prisoners, Captain.”

  “Where are they, sir?” asked Erik.

  Sauer nodded behind him. “I had them stuffed into the church,” he said, gesturing at the structure Erik had observed when they first arrived in the center of the town.

  “Have you interrogated them yet?”

  “A couple. Sounds like they were an independent command. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, at least at this point. Is the town still secure?” he asked.

  Erik nodded. “We’re down quite a few men and we need more tanks, but we can hold a bit if they hit us again.”

  “Excellent, Captain. Then there is just one more order of business. Burn the church and let’s clear out of here.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Those Untermenschen ambushed us. With snipers. They deserve no quarter.”

  “Those troops had nothing to do with the snipers, sir.”

  Sauer raised his hand. “Nonsense. That attack was too well coordinated. They were all part of it, and I want them dead. Burn it.”

  Erik was stunned. He didn’t know what to do. The adrenaline and the excitement of the battle swiftly left him. “I . . . I can’t, sir.”

  Sauer frowned, his expression hardening. “Mueller, don’t make me order you.”

  “Please, sir,” pleaded Erik. “I can’t do that. Don’t make me. For our friendship.”

  Sauer stared at him with surprise, his eyes gradually filling with disgust. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe it’s coming to this. That wasn’t a suggestion. I’m giving you a direct order, Captain. Burn that church.”

  Erik nodded. He faced the building and took a couple of steps, conflicting emotions battling within him. This was the moment he had dreaded. Everything hung in the balance. He was a hero, an officer, about to receive another commendation. These Russians had attacked them, ambushed them. If they’d succeeded in overwhelming the town, they probably would have killed all of the Germans. There was no mercy on the eastern front.

  “Captain. Now.”

  He took another few steps. You have to do this. Your future depends on it.

  He hesitated, taking a few deep breaths.

  “Now!” the major repeated.

  Erik turned and bowed slightly. “Sir, I must respectfully refuse.”

  Sauer stared at him incredulously. “Erik, don’t do this.” His voice pleaded. “Please, my friend; this is nothing, a simple order.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t.”

  Sauer stared at him for a moment more and then turned to a private standing nearby, tears running down the major’s face. “Place the captain under arrest,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Königsberg

  February 1943

  Trude woke in the darkness, disoriented. She lay in bed. Her head burned with a scorching pain beginning at the temples and lancing all the way through her back as if a spear had pierced clear through her.

  Her mind chased elusive memories. There was something important she couldn’t quite remember. And then it struck her like a stone wall: They’ve taken my daughter. We missed our chance. After more than a year, we missed her by one day.

  As she struggled to rise, she realized she couldn’t move. She was immobilized. She fought again and became aware she was restrained. Someone had tied her to the bed. Had the SS caught her? She calmed herself. That didn’t make any sense. Then she remembered slamming her head against the pavement. They think I’m going to kill myself, she realized. My friends tied me to the bed to stop me from hurting myself.

  They needn’t worry. Or should they? If she had a gun right now, would she use it? She didn’t know. Much of her wanted to give up, do something extreme to take away the pain, the worry, the fear, and the responsibility of all these lives at risk on her behalf. But her daughter was out there, alone, afraid, under conditions Trude hoped were still safe, but there was no way to know.

  Things had changed. Under Gunther’s protection Britta had lived a relatively safe existence in the Gestapo jail. Now who knew what might be happening to her, where they had taken her, or what her future was.

  What had changed? Had Gunther given up on ever finding Trude? Was he washing his hands of the whole situation? She determined that she would not kill herself. Not while there was the slightest chance her daughter might survive. If she had confirmation that Britta was gone, well, that was another thing.

  She yelled, trying to get someone’s attention, but her voice came out in short, clipped, guttural spurts. She was hoarse, probably from the crying. She tried again and this time made a louder sound. Minutes passed. Her door opened and the light flipped on. Her eyes burned for a moment, adjusting. Captain Dutt stood over her, full of care and concern.

  He looked at her forehead and lifted what must have been a bandage, peeling it back to peer carefully before returning it to place. He shook his head. “You’ve done some wonderful work there,” he said gently. “It’s a wonder you didn’t finish yourself off. You’ve a nasty bruise and some cuts. I’d bring the doctor here, but unfortunately we can’t risk it. So, you’re stuck with my feeble ministrations.”

  He sat at the edge of the bed and clasped one of her hands. She tried to sit up, but the restraints held her.

  Captain Dutt coughed uncomfortably. “I see you’ve discovered our little . . . precautions.”

  “I don’t need them,” she said.

  “Well, I would love to believe you, but after last night . . .”

  “Look at me,” she said, her voice gaining an edge. “I won’t do anything stupid. Where’s my daughter?” she asked. He didn’t speak for a moment. She realized he must know something.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “I sent Friedrich back out yesterday morning after he returned. He met up with the guard again. He returned the money, by the way. He’s quite a man, my friend’s nephew.”

  “What did he say? Why did Gunther let my daughter go?”

&nb
sp; “He didn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did I, but now I do.” He explained, “Gunther’s been transferred out of Königsberg. Or rather should I say he’s traveled to his new promotion?”

  “Where?” she asked, her heart falling.

  “I have good news on that issue. He hasn’t moved very far. It’s a place called Soldau. It’s only a few hours away by train or car.”

  “Why would Gunther move to Soldau?” She’d been near the place a time or two as her family traveled around in the summers all those years ago. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “There is now. A big prison of some sort, and Gunther’s been placed in charge of the whole thing. He took Britta with him. Apparently, he’s grown rather fond of the girl.”

  Trude froze. A new idea she had never considered creeping into her mind. She knew Gunther’s character, what he wanted from Trude. What if those feelings extended to other women, a younger woman? The thought was too terrible to even consider. “We have to get her out of there,” she said.

  “I don’t know if we can,” said the captain. “I’m out of options, unless . . .”

  “Unless we deal with Gunther directly.”

  The captain nodded.

  She shook her head. “I told you, you cannot trust anything he does. He is the most diabolical man I’ve ever dealt with. He’ll make initial contact in a friendly manner, he’ll arrange a payment, and then he will arrest all of you and still get me. No, there must be another way. What about this guard? Could he be transferred, too?”

  The captain raised his arms in exasperation. “I don’t know how that would happen, Trude. We don’t have any control over his future, and probably neither does he. Plus, you’d be asking him to move, perhaps permanently, away from home, just so he could execute a life-daring escape for someone he doesn’t know.” The captain shook his head. “Even if he had the power to do it, he wouldn’t. There’s too much at risk.”

  Trude laid her head against the pillow. Of course, the captain was right. But what could they do? She felt dizzy. Her injury burned. The room spun round and round.