A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  “Tell us your story. Everything. Now.” His deep voice bellowed through the courtroom, filling the space.

  Erik thought for a moment. What should he say? Should he lie? Should he admit the charges and beg for mercy? He realized it would make no difference. He’d heard of these trials. They always ended the same way. The best he could do was tell these men what happened; his fate would be in their hands. He began speaking, telling his story identically to what he explained to Karl only a few days ago, although he went all the way back to Poland and filled the men in on what had occurred there and in France.

  The officers listened attentively. He’d expected they would shout him down as he’d been warned. Instead they sat back, taking in the information, interrupting him politely to ask a question here and there. When he was done, the colonel asked if there was anything more he wanted to say. Erik shook his head. The officer then reached down and opened a briefcase Erik had noticed resting near his feet and pulled out a folder of paper. He reviewed it for a second and then said, “I will now read the statement from Lieutenant Colonel Sauer.”

  Lieutenant Colonel. That was a surprise. He must have had another promotion.

  The colonel cleared his throat. “This is the sworn statement. ‘Near the city of Kharkov our battalion was supporting a company of tanks when we were attacked by both snipers and a full brigade of Russian infantry supported by fifty T-34 tanks.

  “‘Our men were just settling down for a meal and were caught by surprise. Captain Mueller and I rushed into a building and neutralized one of the snipers. In the process, I was wounded. Captain Mueller assisted me back into the street and arranged for medical care. He then took over command of the battalion and successfully fought off the attack, capturing several hundred Russians in the process. By all reports, the captain performed brilliantly. I was treated with morphine, and when I awoke, to my dismay I realized that Mueller, apparently flushed with victory, was packing the Russian prisoners into a large wooden church with the intent of setting it on fire. I immediately ordered him to desist, but he refused. I commanded him again, but I was unable to rise because of my wound, and he simply laughed at me and walked away, directing for the building to be lit on fire. I was distraught, but there was nothing I could do. Ultimately I was able to call over a couple privates, and I ordered Mueller to be taken into custody and sent away so that these crimes could be addressed. I’ve attached an affidavit with the signatures of additional officers and men, all of whom attest to the facts as I’ve described them.

  “‘I must say formally how distressed I was by Captain Mueller’s conduct. He has been a brave officer and a friend. I never expected him to disobey a direct order. I know he must face the consequences of this action, but I would ask the court to consider Captain Mueller’s prior service and bravery, which I’ve outlined below, along with his decorations. I leave this matter to the judgment of the court.’”

  The colonel watched Erik closely as he read the statement and the confirming statements of the fellow officers. When he was finished, he turned back to Mueller. “Lieutenant Colonel Sauer is well known to the SS. He is a rising star in our military. He not only made this statement under oath, but he’s gone out of his way to defend you despite your conduct. Now I will ask again, and think closely before you answer: Are you still prepared to tell me in the face of all of this evidence that it was Sauer and not you who ordered the Russians to be burned?”

  Erik knew he was in an impossible situation. If he changed his story now, he proved his own guilt plus he would be lying, something he had never overtly done in his entire life. If he continued to assert his story, then in the eyes of the men in front of him he was betraying a brother officer, a superior who still displayed loyalty to him even after such heinous actions.

  “I stand by my story, which is the truth,” he said.

  A hint of color grew in the colonel’s cheeks and his expression hardened. “I see,” the judge said, shaking his head slightly. He exchanged glances with the officers to his left and right before returning to Erik.

  “You may return to your cell while we deliberate.” The guard stepped forward and removed Erik from the room, walking him swiftly back to his cell. There was lunch there, a meal they didn’t normally serve. He was surprised to see that there was not only bread but a little meat on the plate.

  Perhaps this is a good sign? Then he smiled to himself. You truly are naïve. This is a last meal. He ate the food, not tasting it as he felt his nerves coursing through his body. He wondered how long he would have to wait. When the door clanged open again just a few minutes later, he was surprised. The guard sternly motioned to him, and he was rushed back down the hallway to the courtroom. The officers were still there, staring impassively as he was dragged into the middle of the room and shoved down into the chair.

  The colonel addressed him. “Do you have anything else you wish to say before we pass sentence, Mueller?”

  Erik responded. “I simply hope that whatever sentence I receive will not be extended to my family.”

  The colonel responded. “That is not in my jurisdiction, but I would point out that is something you should’ve considered before, Mueller, and it is not for you to decide now.”

  The colonel cleared his throat. “I’ve rarely seen a case with so many witnesses, particularly one of such a high rank, who have all sworn under oath concerning an event where the responding party continued to deny their involvement. The only thing that surprised me in this case is that anyone would speak on your behalf. Yet you had not only Lieutenant Colonel Sauer requesting leniency for you, but another influential member of the SS. You have powerful friends you perhaps do not deserve.

  “The original intention of the SS was for you to be publicly tried. An open humiliation which, in my opinion, you richly deserve. Based on the pleas of these others, we decided to utilize this more private process, although I can’t imagine why you are entitled to it. That said, it is the unanimous position of the judges in this matter that you are guilty not only of the murder of hundreds of prisoners of war but more importantly of refusing not only once, but twice, to follow the direct orders of your superior officer.

  “For this reason, this tribunal sentences you to death by hanging. This sentence will be executed tomorrow at dawn. You are also to be stripped of all rank and all decoration, and you will be expelled from the rolls of the SS. Do you have any questions?”

  Erik was stunned. He knew this was a possibility, but somehow he thought the truth would be believed or perhaps some other miracle would happen. He realized now that would not be the case. He stared at the men silently for a few moments. Death was all around him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Soldau

  March 1943

  Trude was escorted by the guard out of Gunther’s office and down the long corridor and the stairs. He led her out the back door toward a barbed-wire gate guarded by a single SS sentinel, machine pistol at the ready. The guard nodded at Trude’s escort, eyeing her curiously before he opened the gate and motioned them through.

  Trude stepped into a world she would never have believed existed. Her senses were assaulted from every direction as they walked past row after row of what looked like military barracks. The buildings and surrounding area were teeming with women, scarecrow like, with shaven heads and ratty striped uniforms. These living corpses shambled to and fro, under the watchful eyes of SS guards, who screamed at them to hurry along. Most of them were barefoot, and they shuffled along through the snow and dirty slush, stares vacant and hopeless.

  The guard led her to one of the barracks, opening the door and pushing her inside. The stench was overwhelming. Trude nearly passed out from the pungent smell. Row after row of wooden bunks lined the interior. There were no mattresses. The barracks was almost entirely empty except for a few wretched souls, too weak to move, laid out on the hard wooden beds. Their bodies rocked back and forth slowly. The barracks was ice-cold, and she could see no blankets.

 
“Do you know what these women did wrong? Why they are here?” asked the guard.

  Trude shook her head.

  The guard laughed. “They are Jews. Just like you. They are here for that crime and that crime alone.”

  Trude stared in horror as that truth sank in. These women were Jews just like her. They were here only because of their race. She shook her head again, not able to grasp what she was hearing. Surely the guard was lying. He must be taunting her. Gunther had probably put him up to it. A thought struck her suddenly: Johannes was sent to some special camp in Germany. What if it was the same as here? She couldn’t imagine her poor husband, beaten, weak, and emaciated. Suffering in a camp just like this.

  I can’t think about that right now, she told herself. The guard motioned, and she followed him back out the door and onward until they reached the kitchen. Inside other inmates were cooking a soup in large iron kettles. The guard took her over to inspect the contents, and she saw it was little more than hot water with tiny globs of cabbage.

  “This is what they live on,” he said, chuckling. “They get a half bowl of this slop twice a day. That’s it. Nothing more.”

  “No one can live on that,” she said, almost to herself.

  The guard snorted again. “They don’t. Not for long anyway. They end up like those wretched sticks lying in the barracks. But there’s plenty more where they came from. Trainloads of them every week.” He walked out of the kitchen and into the fields, where Trude saw hundreds of women at work, on their hands and knees, lifting rocks of all sizes and carrying them slowly on weak and unsteady legs until they dropped them into waiting wheelbarrows. Guards stood by, talking to each other, ignoring the inmates. Now and again one of them would turn and scream for a woman to hurry up. The inmates would flinch and push themselves a little faster.

  Trude observed a girl who could not have been more than fourteen. She hobbled along and then fell face first into the field. The guards ignored her. Trude watched the girl for long moments, but she didn’t move. Trude cringed. The guards would notice the girl any second, then she would be beaten, or worse.

  Her own SS soldier followed her gaze and laughed again. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a goner.” Trude saw it was true. The girl wasn’t moving. She was dead.

  “Don’t tell me this is your first corpse?” he said sarcastically. “Is it? You really don’t know where you are, do you? We could build a wall to Berlin with the dead here. Let me show you.”

  She didn’t want to follow him, but there was nowhere for her to run. Reluctantly she shadowed his steps as he led her around the last set of barracks, where a massive snowdrift extended off the back. The drift sloped downward, extending from the building in an arch about ten meters to the ground. The guard stood near her, waiting expectantly with a grin.

  At first she didn’t understand what he wanted her to see. The guard huffed in disgust and moved toward her, grabbing her harshly by the neck and turning her toward the drift. “There, you stupid bitch. Look there!” She turned her head fearfully and realized with horror that mixed in the snow were arms, legs, and faces. Corpses, hundreds of them, frozen, naked, discarded, and jumbled in the ice.

  “That’s just a taste,” said the guard. “A little appetizer for you. A sniff of this place. I could fill every barracks top to bottom with the dead.” He grabbed her by the arm again and harshly jerked her around. Her eyes were closed, and he screamed at her, “Look at me. I don’t understand what kind of spell you’ve cast on our commander, but you better knock off your game and wise up. He’s offering you your life and the survival of that little brat you call a daughter. Look around you. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here.”

  He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her into the snow. She landed with a hard crash into the frozen bodies. She pushed herself up, horrified, nauseated, trying to regain her balance.

  The guard stood there laughing at her, leaving her to struggle. She finally regained her footing and rose to her feet. “Shall we continue our little tour?” he asked.

  She wondered what could be worse than this pile of poor frozen souls. She braced herself as they continued on. She felt the freezing numbness invade her body and spirit. She trembled, and she didn’t know how many more steps she could take. She feared she would fall again. Thankfully the guard led her back through the camp and out the barbed wire and into the administrative building. Perhaps he’d decided he’d shown her enough. He brought her down the long hallway on the first floor. She’d expected to go up the stairs, but he stopped her abruptly at one of the doors, pulled out keys to open it, and ordered her inside.

  “I thought I was going back to Gunther. What about Britta? I need to go see her.”

  “Orders are for you to stay in here,” he said.

  “I want to talk to Gunther. Please take me to him.”

  The guard laughed again. “Oh, now you want Gunther. Now you want to negotiate, do you? You don’t get to bargain, you Jewish slut. Now get in there!” He reached for her, but she moved out of his way, stepping quickly into the room. The interior was bare except for a single cot. A framed window looked out onto the camp through barbed wire. There were steel bars fastened over the window to prevent escape. She was in a holding cell of some kind, she realized.

  “Enjoy yourself,” said the guard. “We will send some of the delicious soup from the camp for you. I hope you enjoyed the tour.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone. She stood, staring out the window for long minutes, her body shaking. Soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She was more afraid than she’d ever been. What was this place? Why were they doing these things to people, to her people? As terrible as she knew the Nazis were, she’d never dreamed such a place could exist. A place where they murdered people in countless numbers based on their race.

  She’d come to expect their propaganda, the arrests, the beatings. This was something more, something beyond the landscape of humanity. She’d come to the land of demons and devils, mocking God above, destroying his creations with a wicked glee.

  Trude was eventually taken back to Britta’s room. She was relieved that her daughter was still there. As she spent the day there in the quiet with Britta, her mind reeled. This was a camp where the living and the dead blurred. Where they intentionally starved and beat and humiliated a person, where they strove to take all humanity away. She thought of Johannes. What foolish arrogance he’d possessed to try to defy these people. To think he could control them, that he was immune to them. He’d had no idea what they were capable of. Neither had she.

  After a time, she grew hungry. Lunchtime passed, and still there was no food. What was Gunther going to do to them? she wondered. He must be enjoying himself immensely, playing this game of cat and mouse that for him could never result in anything but a temporary delay of his satisfaction. For her the reverse was true. Her entire world was on the line. She felt her resolve crumbling. Should she just give in and do what he wanted? She realized it was crazy to demand that they be allowed to leave together. There was no way he could ever trust her to return, and she had no leverage, nothing to offer him in return. She racked her brain, trying to think of some way she could get Britta back to Captain Dutt short of leaving the camp. It was impossible. If she gave a name, a contact, even a street location, ultimately Gunther would find them. Besides, he would never let Britta leave. She realized that now. No, she had to insist that no matter what, Britta must be allowed to go. She had to hope that Gunther would allow this. Finally, the door jingled open and the guards brought in food, bread and soup. Her stomach grumbled and she hastened to the tray, attacking the food. She looked outside and realized light was already fading. It must be almost dinnertime. The guards turned to leave, but even as they did so, Gunther appeared.

  “Hello, my dear. I trust you enjoyed your tour of the camp and had a day to think about it.” She saw the insipid smile on his face as he sat down, breaking off a piece of the bread and dipping it in the soup. She ignored him, continuing to eat.
She was starving, and even Gunther’s presence could not assuage her hunger.

  “That said, my dear, eat your fill. You need to keep up your strength. I trust you are going to put aside your silly illusions about leaving now.”

  She did not answer but kept eating. He took her silence as acquiescence and smacked his lips appreciably, slurping the soup.

  She continued her meal, ignoring him as best she could. Within a few minutes she had gulped down a full portion along with several slabs of bread. She felt her hunger gradually dampen. She was ready. She set the tray aside, looking up at Gunther.

  “I would like to speak to you alone,” she said.

  He smiled, misunderstanding her intentions. “Of course. Let’s let Britta stay here, and we can step into my office.” He rose and motioned for her to follow him. He let her out of the small apartment, locking the door, and then took her down the hallway to his office. He closed the door behind her and led her to the chair across from his desk. She sat down and cringed as she felt his hands on her back, giving her a little squeeze before he stepped around the desk and sat down, pulling out his pipe and loading it with tobacco. He lit it. Again flashing that satisfied smile, he asked her, “What can I do for you, my dear?”

  She had to try one last time. “I’m asking you again to let me leave here with Britta. I saw the camp. I understand everything you are doing for us. I appreciate it very much. I’m willing to give you myself, give you everything you want, but my price is my daughter’s freedom.”

  She saw the flash of anger followed again by a grin. “I’ll tell you, you Jews,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “Always bargaining even when you have nothing to bargain with. I can’t believe that you saw the camp today, and you still came back asking for the same thing again. You’re going to be a fun one to conquer,” he said laughing to himself. She cringed. “But seriously, I told you, my dear, anything else you want, but that I cannot do for you.”