He watched her closely. Would he refuse to speak with her? She watched him closely, and she could tell he was thinking about what he should do. To her relief, he nodded and motioned for her to follow him into his office. She stepped inside, and he closed the door behind her.
“Have a seat,” he said. He sat down as well. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you, but then I’m guessing you already know that. Whatever you must say to me, you better say it quick. I’m taking a tremendous risk.”
Trude started talking rapidly, the words pouring out. She filled him in about Johannes’s arrest, their hiding, Britta’s seizure, and her own eventual surrender. Her voice trembled as she explained the last two years, the nightmare she’d endured. Finally, she told him about the camp evacuation and what Gunther was offering her.
Erik listened, his forehead creasing in concern. “He’s telling you the truth about the Russians,” Erik said. “Maybe he didn’t even tell you everything about them. You can’t be here when the Russians arrive. They will exact revenge, particularly on someone like you.”
“What do you mean someone like me?”
“A collaborator.”
“Do you think I’ve chosen this life?” she demanded. Her voice rising—too loud.
Erik raised his hands. “I’m not saying you did. I don’t know your situation. It doesn’t matter, though. The Russians won’t draw that distinction. There’s more than one guard who would be happy to tell them your role here, not to mention the inmates. They all know you are Gunther’s girl, and the Russians would assuredly treat you so.”
Trude was not surprised. She’d suspected that Gunther was telling the truth, and now Erik confirmed it. “I can’t stay then.”
Erik shook his head. “You should go with Gunther.”
“I can’t.” She leaned forward until her lips were just a few centimeters from his ear. “I have to get out of here, and I need your help.”
Erik looked both surprised and wary. “What do you mean? What do you think I could possibly do for you?”
“I need you to get me and Britta out of the camp.”
Erik laughed, shoving himself back from his desk as if trying to put distance between them. “You can’t be serious. How on earth could I do that? I don’t have any special powers here. If I walked out with you two, we’d all be arrested immediately.”
“I don’t know how yet; you have to be able to do something.”
Erik’s face clouded. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t help you.”
“You mean you won’t help me.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I can’t put my family’s life at risk. You don’t understand my situation any more than I understand yours.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Erik told her as quickly and as quietly as he could the whole story. Trude was surprised. She didn’t know any of this, although nothing about Karl, Gunther, or the Nazis surprised her anymore. Now she understood why Erik had avoided her all this time, why he had done nothing to help her and why she feared he would do nothing now.
“I still have to ask you to help me,” she said. “Please, for my daughter.”
Erik stared at her helplessly and finally shook his head again. “I can’t do anything for you. If I could, I would. I’ve risked too much just talking to you. If I help you, we will be caught, and my whole family will suffer. You must hate Gunther. I understand that completely now. Still, he’s your best chance for survival. Go with him.”
She tried to argue with him, but he cut her off.
“You are a selfish bastard,” she said. “What happened to the man I knew at university?”
“He’s long gone,” said Erik quietly, his eyes cast to the ground.
That was it then. She’d tried her only chance and she’d failed. She turned and left, a blanket of stifling hopelessness smothering her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Soldau
December 1944
Erik spent the rest of the evening with the door closed to his office, sipping away at his flask, the fiery vodka inside burning his throat and numbing his emotions. He’d long ago worked through the brandy and now helped himself to whatever cheap liquor was available.
She wanted his help to escape. Was she mad? He’d risked too much even talking to her. Corporal Schaefer was his friend, but would he risk his own neck for Mueller? He might have already reported the incident to Gunther. Certainly, the guard who’d accompanied Trude owed him nothing. As he sat there, he waited for the summons to the Kommandant’s office.
He felt wretched. For nearly two years, he’d spent most of his time in a stupor. The liquor helped him survive this hell on earth. That and the corporal, his only friend in this horrid place. He’d received infrequent letters from home, cold and disappointed in tone. They were filled with complaints, of the dwindling food supply, the ever-increasing bombing by the Russians, the death of the future they had planned before he failed Corina so spectacularly.
At first she had pushed him about new promotions. Was he doing everything he needed to do to make that happen? But with the crumbling fortunes of the war, she had stopped even trying. He’d had several leaves, but she told him in no uncertain terms that she had no wish to see him.
Now the Russians were knocking at the door. On the other side of Germany, the British and Americans had invaded this past summer, and were already nipping at the borders. The radio still proclaimed ultimate victory but focused more and more on the heroic defenses of towns and cities in an ever-shrinking circle around the Fatherland. In the past few weeks, the dull thudding of artillery erased the need for news reports. He didn’t need to try to figure out anymore what was happening; the Russians were close.
Erik had already received several briefings from Gunther. They would vacate the camp soon. The prisoners were to be marched westward into the heart of Germany. Erik shook his head, thinking about that prospect. The ground was frozen and snow covered. The temperatures outside were below freezing. The prisoners were already starving and practically naked. They would die by the thousands long before they reached their destination. Even the guards had no proper equipment and little food. What is the point? he wondered. Why not just leave these wretches here and let the Russians take care of them? In Erik’s opinion, they should all go home to their families, for the war was clearly over.
But then did Erik have a family to go home to? Corina was terribly afraid of the Russians and was planning to evacuate. Karl had a plan to get her and the family out by a ship through the Baltic Sea. The route was dangerous, filled with submarines and enemy aircraft. But Karl assured her they would have German navy protection, and there was a good chance they would be able to get through.
Always Karl. Erik felt strangely jealous. Corina’s letters were filled with references to the colonel. He shook his head. He shouldn’t feel that way. Karl had saved his life. Karl and Corina were friends, nothing more. The colonel was in a position to help his wife and daughter, and Erik must be grateful.
Erik took another deep drink of vodka and poured himself another full glass. The liquor warmed him. The office was far from the stove. He stomped his feet and pressed his hands together before returning to his thoughts.
Trude. He couldn’t shake her from his mind. Why should he care about her at all? Just because he’d known her at the university? Sure, he’d found her fascinating, even attractive. She was mysterious, intelligent. They’d shared a meal or two. He’d attended a couple of her musical performances; she had talent. They’d never even held hands. He wasn’t sure she’d even been interested in him. Then she’d found another Jew. This Johannes. They’d started to date, and Erik moved on. His interest faded, and eventually he lost contact with her entirely. He’d never seen her again until she appeared that day in his neighborhood, just before the war.
They had no real connection. Now she was asking him to put his life on the line for her. What about all the rest of these people here? What made her more important? He
had no problem with Jewish people. He didn’t believe the propaganda about the Jews and the Russians, or the rest of the Nazi nonsense.
He just wanted to go home and try to protect his family. He thought of the Russians arriving at his door in Königsberg. He knew what they would do to Corina, even to Greta. They would probably kill them all. He was SS after all.
Didn’t he deserve whatever happened to him? He wondered if any of the other staff at the camp thought of the thousands of people coming and going from Soldau. He thanked God again he’d never been forced to work directly with the prisoners. But did that make him more innocent? He knew everything that was going on, but he’d done nothing to stop it. Instead he’d ignored the truth as much as he could, drowning himself in alcohol and waiting for the end.
He walked out of the office and into the warehouse. Corporal Schaefer huddled near the stove. He looked up at his commander and nodded by way of greeting. Erik acknowledged him, stepping over for a few moments to warm himself. He looked out over the warehouse and approached one of the carts spilling over with possessions.
For two years now he’d stayed away from the sorting. He’d let Schaefer conduct that task, always finding a way to stay busy with paperwork. The corporal never complained; perhaps he understood.
Now he stood over the cart, looking down at the contents. He stuck his hand in, pulling out a jacket. He ran his hands over the fabric, searching it. There was a watch, a biscuit, some twine. He dropped the coat and picked up another item, continuing his search. He went through article after article, setting aside an object here and there. Finally, he had enough of what he was looking for. He looked down at his hands. He held a stack of pictures he’d gleaned from the clothing. Without looking at Schaefer, he returned to his office, closing the door behind him.
He sat at his desk, pouring himself another tall glass of the clear Russian drink. He took a deep gulp and then leaned back in his chair, setting the glass aside and thumbing one by one through the pictures. He stared at the images. There were young families staring out at him, elderly couples, a reunion. He looked at them for hours. These were real lives, humans who had perished all around him as he’d sat day by day inside the walls of his sanctuary.
Tears ran down his face. He’d allowed all of this to happen, he realized. He’d come here, intent on saving his own family. He’d protected himself in this warehouse, insulated from the world outside. He’d allowed thousands to perish here, simply to save his own life, his own family. Why did he have more of a right to live?
He’d felt himself more noble here, a step away from all the death. But was he? He knew if they’d placed him in the camp, he would have had no choice. He’d made his bargain. He would have committed atrocities under orders. He would have done anything to save his family. He sat that way, thumbing through the images, gulping the fiery liquid, drowned in his shame.
When he was jolted awake the next morning, his head was buried in his arms and he was lying across his desk. His back and neck were wrenched with pain and his head swam with a wretched hangover. His bones were frozen. A blanket was slung over his back. Schaefer had placed it there. He looked over and saw the corporal lying down in his bunk, under a pile of blankets.
Erik felt ill. He lurched up, stumbling over to the waste bin where he threw up loudly, his stomach jerking back and forth in waves of nausea.
“Are you all right, Sergeant?” Schaefer’s head poked up from behind its pillow.
Erik nodded and tried to raise his hand, but the movement made him ill again, and he returned his head over the pail.
“Now we’ve talked about this before, sir,” said Schaefer. “There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.” Erik felt a gentle hand on his back and looked up into the concerned eyes of his corporal.
“Are you all right?” Schaefer asked again.
Erik nodded. The corporal helped him to his feet and back over to his chair, pouring a tall glass of water for Erik to drink.
“I’m going to get the stove going, sir. Come out when you’re feeling a little better.”
Erik was grateful. He was freezing and could use the warmth. Schaefer departed, and he took sip after agonizing sip from the water. He was worried the new liquid would make him throw up again, but his stomach seemed to be settling down, and he was terribly thirsty. After a few minutes, he felt a little better. Even the spinning was starting to subside, although his pounding headache gave no sign of relief. Well, he’d known what he was getting himself into when he’d kept going last night; he had drunk far too much.
He hadn’t felt this ill in a very long time. He opened his drawer and pulled out a hard biscuit he’d found in the bin yesterday. He took a couple of bites, washing the stale bread down with water, and then he pulled himself slowly to his feet and stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind him. Schaefer was at the stove. He’d already started a sizable fire, and he was feeding pieces of wood into the greedy, licking flames. Erik could feel the warmth emanating from the hot iron, and he pulled himself gently into a chair, soaking up the heat.
“That feels splendid, Schaefer,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
“Think nothing of it. I don’t want us to catch our death of cold. Speaking of not catching something: What was Gunther’s girl doing around here yesterday?” he asked, eyeing Erik curiously.
“She wanted my help,” he said.
Schaefer snorted. “Why on earth would she expect to find help from you? Besides, it seems like she can get anything she wants from her precious Gunther.”
“She’s worried about the Russians coming.”
“Ha!” said Schaefer, slapping his knee. “And well she should be. The Bolsheviks won’t look too kindly on a piece of Jewish skirt that sold herself out to the SS.”
Erik grunted in agreement. “She’s in no better position than we are. Maybe worse. She told me Gunther’s planning on taking her away from here by himself. Her and the child. Do you think that’s true?”
“Who knows?” said Schaefer. “He certainly put enough at risk just keeping her around in the first place. If word had ever gotten to his superiors, he would have been arrested on the spot. Frankly, I don’t know how he’s pulled it off.”
“He’s well connected, don’t forget it. He’s Heydrich’s cousin.”
“Heydrich’s been dead for years. I’m not sure that carries as much weight as it used to. Still, Gunther’s a shrewd character. Who knows who he’s threatened and bribed? He’s a survivor, that’s for sure.”
“He certainly is. And he’s dangerous.”
Schaefer shrugged. “I don’t like him much. But I must thank him for leaving me here all this time. Three square meals a day and duty inside this warm warehouse. I couldn’t ask for much more, particularly with you at the reins.”
“She wants to escape the camp,” said Erik.
“Is she out of her mind? She’d never get out of here. Even if she did, where would she go? She has no papers. She’s in the middle of hostile territory. Any German worth their salt would turn her in immediately.” Schaefer shook his head. “Fool of a woman. The only protection she’s got is Gunther; if he is truly planning on leaving with her, she better go and be thankful she has the chance.”
Erik mused over that for a moment. Schaefer was right, at least as far as he could be, but Erik knew the price Trude was paying. Schaefer assumed the arrangement between Trude and Gunther was voluntary, but it certainly was not.
“What if I wanted to help her?” he said quietly, his eyes on the floor. He knew he was taking a tremendous risk, but he’d grown to trust the corporal implicitly.
Schaefer was quiet for a few moments. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked finally.
“I know her.”
“What do you mean you know her?”
Erik explained their history, the university, the neighborhood.
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t really seem important befor
e. Gunther made me swear to never speak with her. I wasn’t willing to risk my family or myself, at least until yesterday.”
“You shouldn’t have spoken with her then, either. If you refused, that would have been the end of it. What’s changed? The risk is still the same. Your life and your family will be sacrificed if you’re caught, which you most assuredly would be. So, what, you went to school with her? You went to a couple concerts. You flirted. I don’t care if you slept together for three years. That was then and this is now. She’s a Jew. Your life’s on the line. Look at her; she sold her own people out. You don’t owe her a damned thing.”
Erik looked up, seeing the lines of care creasing Schaefer’s face. He appreciated his friend’s loyalty and concern for his well-being, but he couldn’t agree with everything he’d said.
“Maybe I don’t owe her anything,” Erik explained, “but maybe I owe myself something. I did a lot of thinking last night. This whole war I’ve seen awful things happen. Everyone told me to stay out of it. I did everything I could to do so. Finally, the terrible things and I ran afoul of each other. I refused to commit them. I risked my life to disobey an order. I was proud of that. Proud, too, that I came here and stayed out of the worst of things here. Look at me, I’ve even refused to go through the carts,” he said, nodding over toward the stacks of articles. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m always busy when it comes to the sorting?”
“I know why you don’t go through it, sir,” said Schaefer. “You didn’t fool me. I knew from the start you were a good man. I’ve tried to protect you because you’re decent and kind. I respect you. You’ve taken care of me, of us. You’ve protected me, kept me here away from all the horror outside. You say you’ve never done anything in this war, but you’ve spared me, and I’ll never forget it.”
Erik looked up, surprised and thankful. But he shook his head. “Those words mean a lot to me, but it’s not enough. While I protected you and my family, thousands have died around us. I was thankful just to not be directly involved, but I realized last night I’m still responsible. We all are. Even if we haven’t directly done it, we’ve let it happen: all the killing, the torture, the destruction of mankind. All of us are responsible, not just the ones who pulled the trigger.”
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