A Bitter Rain

by James D. Shipman

  “You’re being too hard on yourself. What could you do differently? If you stood up, you’d be dead and so would your family.”

  “I realize that. But last night, I started to wonder if it matters if I am killed. Even if my family is. If enough people stood up, they wouldn’t be able to continue all this. We’ve all been too afraid. We all stood by and let it happen. We let these monsters in the door. They promised to protect us. They named our enemies and drove us to destroy them, but in the process, we’ve destroyed ourselves as well.”

  Schaefer reached over and grabbed Erik’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Maybe you’re right, sir, but we can’t do anything about it. You did do something. You protected us. You’ve saved our lives and your family.”

  “It’s not enough. I have to do more,” he said. “I have to help Trude and her daughter escape, whatever the cost.”

  Schaefer shook his head. “It’s not possible, sir. You’ll never make it. If you get caught, she’ll still suffer, and they’ll kill you and your family, too.”

  “I have to try. I can never make up for what I’ve done, or what I’ve failed to do. But I have to do something to try.” He stared at his friend for a moment. “Will you help me?”

  Schaefer paused for a moment, then nodded, a tear running down his cheek. “Anything for you, sir.”

  “Think carefully. If you’re caught they will kill you, too.”

  “What else do I have to lose?”

  Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper and a pencil. He set the paper on his knee and wrote in shaky handwriting a short, scribbled note. He folded up the note and handed it to Schaefer. “I need you to get this to Trude,” he said. “She won’t come back here, and there’s no way I can get to her in the building.”

  “They won’t let me in, either, sir. Not into her room.”

  “She needed starch yesterday. Bring her some more. They’ll let you. She was ironing Gunther’s shirts so he knows she’s using it. Even if he saw you, he wouldn’t be suspicious.”

  Schaefer nodded, his hands shaking a little as he took the note. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Erik asked.

  “Like I said, sir, I would die for you.” Schaefer bowed slightly, then turned and rapidly departed from the warehouse. Erik sat warming himself at the stove. His headache was gone. He felt a strange peace he hadn’t known in years, since perhaps before the war. He was taking a terrible risk, gambling not only his life but the lives of many others. Somehow that didn’t seem to matter anymore. For once he was doing the right thing, the just thing. He was striking a pinprick blow for humanity. His mind raced. He was trying to work out the details of a plan to whisk Trude and Britta away. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would do yet, but the outline of a plan was beginning to form.

  An hour passed and the door opened. Schaefer returned; his face was pasty white. He hurried to the stove, warming his hands and his body near the fire.

  “Did you see her?” said Erik. Schaefer nodded. “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t say anything,” said Schaefer. He reached his hand into his coat and pulled out a folded slip of paper, handing it to Erik. He carefully unfolded the contents and read the letter from Trude. The note contained information and an idea. Something that might help them. He refolded the paper, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes, his mind wandering through a field of possibilities. Finally, his plans crystallized and he opened his eyes again, leaning forward to Schaefer. “Thank you so much, my friend. I will never be able to repay you.”

  Schaefer shook his head. “I’m not done, sir. I know you need help, and I’m here for you.”

  Erik wanted to decline the offer. But he did need Schaefer’s help. Erik leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I will need you to visit Trude one more time, then here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Soldau

  December 1944

  As they planned, they realized that one of their greatest advantages now was turning into a significant liability: they had everything they would ever need in the warehouse, but that also meant that they rarely set foot outside of it. They couldn’t move freely through the camp without attracting attention to themselves. Worse yet, they did not know the gate guards well, and they had left the camp only a few times on official leave. They would have to come up with some excuse to get them out of Soldau.

  This would be manageable if it was just the corporal and himself. However, how could they get Trude and Britta out as well? Even if they managed to somehow free them from their locked room in the administrative building, they would have to get them out of the gate. Hour after hour they pored through various options, raising new ideas, working through the logistics and ultimately dismissing them. But they gradually perfected each step of the plan, until they settled on an overall set of steps that might, if they were lucky, get them all out of the camp. As they finished the final points, they realized it was already evening. They hadn’t eaten all day or left the confines of the office, even to use the bathroom. They rose and stepped out of the office, restoking the stove and cooking up some hot soup and bread, to be washed down with a fiery vodka.

  That night Erik lay tossing and turning in his bunk, hardly able to sleep, knowing tomorrow he would risk everything. He woke sandy-eyed and depressed, starting to feel he was wasting his time, that they would surely be caught. Should he call it off? Nobody was forcing him to do this. Schaefer certainly wouldn’t make him do anything that risked his life. He shook his head. No, he had to do something. This measure could not make up for the past. It was something, though, an act of defiance he had to make.

  He warmed himself at the morning fire and ate some breakfast Schaefer had already prepared. When he was finished, Schaefer and he loaded up a cart with supplies for the administrative building. They weren’t due to make any deliveries today, but he hoped nobody would notice.

  They set out from the warehouse into the frozen air of the camp. The cart was their largest, a double-layered structure with wobbly wheels and a long wooden covering. The cart was designed to carry items both underneath and above.

  They pushed and pulled the poorly made structure out the door and into the snow. It was slow going; the cart was top heavy, threatening to roll over at any moment. Both were forced to squat down, pushing as hard as they could to shove the cart through the snow.

  They only managed to move the cart a meter at a time, and it took nearly an hour to reach the paved pathway barely two hundred meters from the warehouse. From there it was much easier going. Erik felt his heart race. He was nervous, although there was no reason to be so at this point. They could hardly be arrested for smuggling office supplies. At the worst they might be chewed out by Gunther if he wondered why they were bringing such large quantities at one time into the building.

  They finally made it to the headquarters and shoved the cart through the door. They pushed the unwieldy structure down the hallway until they were near the stairs directly below Gunther’s office. Each of them took a load of supplies, stacking as much as they could carry, and then worked their way up the steps to the second floor.

  When they reached the Kommandant’s office, Erik knocked, waiting a few seconds for a response. There was none. Erik opened the door to the empty room. He beckoned for Schaefer to follow him and they entered, closing the door behind them and setting the load of supplies down on Gunther’s desk. Schaefer stood watch. There was no window, so he would have to listen, and would only be able to give Erik a moment’s notice if Gunther returned.

  Erik set to work immediately, opening drawers to Gunther’s desk. Fortunately, it was unlocked. He ran his hands through the jumbled drawers, thumbing through logs and journals, under a handkerchief and through a group of pens. He found nothing.

  He opened the second drawer down to his left. It was full of paper and files. He lifted a file and sifted through the paperwork. Again, he did n
ot find what he was looking for. Erik quickly searched the rest of the drawer but came up empty.

  The third drawer to his left was empty, except for a stack of paper pads. He moved to the right side of the desk, searching methodically. In the bottom drawer, he finally found what he was looking for. He wrapped his hands around the tiny object, looking up in triumph to Schaefer.

  He watched his friend’s look of approval shift to concern, and he saw the door handle of the office start to turn. Erik shoved the desk drawer closed and moved the desk chair back into place as Gunther entered the room, red faced, glaring around suspiciously.

  “What the hell are you two doing in here?” he demanded. They both stood at attention, flashing the Hitler salute and clicking their heels.

  “Answer me!” Gunther shouted.

  “We’re just delivering supplies, sir,” said Erik, pointing to the desk.

  “I didn’t order any supplies. Look at that mess. What would I do with all of that?”

  “It’s my fault,” said Schaefer. “The sergeant told me I was crazy, but we’re overstocked in the warehouse with paper, so I suggested we deliver some supplies to every office. Of course, we started with you.”

  Gunther’s suspicion turned rapidly to annoyance. He waved at them dismissively. “Get that garbage out of here! Don’t let me catch you in my office again without my permission. Do you understand?”

  They nodded and then fumbled for the supplies; Erik dropped a stack of paper that went flying all over the floor.

  “Clumsy fool!” shouted Gunther. “Just leave it and get out!”

  Erik reached down, grabbing as much of the paper as he could, and then they bolted from the office.

  “That was a close call,” he whispered to Schaefer after they were outside the office.

  “It’s not over yet,” said the corporal. “If Major Wolf discovers what’s missing, he’ll have to know it was us.”

  Erik nodded. He’d hoped they would get in and out of Gunther’s office undetected, but he’d caught them. Thank God Schaefer was there to give him a half moment’s warning; otherwise he’d have been caught red-handed.

  They returned down the stairs with their piles of paperwork. They set the paper down carefully on the top of the cart and then moved it all out of the way, as much against the wall as possible. They looked up and down the corridor. There was no one there. They walked away from the supplies, heading back to the warehouse. They had what they’d come for.

  For now, things were going as smoothly as they could. As they left the building Erik clapped Schaefer on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you again, and I want to say something to you,” he said, stopping Schaefer in the snow. “You’ve done enough. I can take it from here.”

  Schaefer shook his head. “You saw how that cart moves in the snow. You’re going to need my help. Think about Gunther’s office. Without my help, you’d be under arrest already.”

  “Fine,” said Erik. “You can help me with the cart, but that’s it. After that I want you to go back to the warehouse. You can blame me for the whole thing. I don’t want you to risk yourself and your family.”

  “I told you I’m in all the way. There’s no going back now.” They returned through the snow to the warehouse, warming themselves at the stove and chatting away through a lunch of canned cheese and biscuits. They worked away as busily as they could the rest of the day, a little apprehensive, waiting moment by moment for Gunther to storm through the warehouse door with guards to arrest them. But he didn’t.

  Dinnertime came and went. Then they sat by the stove, passing around a bottle of vodka. Erik took little sips. He needed to be alert. They lay in their bunks with the lights off, swapping stories and reminiscing about the last two years. Finally, they faded away into sleep.

  The next morning, Erik and Schaefer rose together and prepared themselves. A long day awaited them. Tonight, they would strike.

  The door unlatched in the predawn darkness. Trude opened her eyes. The room was dark, but she saw a pinprick of light dancing in the blackness. She followed the brightness, wondering what on earth the person was thinking. Someone would see them.

  The light moved toward her and then flashed in her eyes, burning them. She blinked, trying to see. “Shut that off,” she hissed.

  “As you wish,” a voice responded. Her heart sank. It was Gunther.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as quietly as possible, trying not to wake up Britta.

  “I need to talk to you. Come here,” he whispered.

  She climbed reluctantly out of the bed, making her way toward the light.

  “Stop shining that,” she said. “You’ll wake up Britta. Why don’t you come back at breakfast time? It’s too early.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t come to breakfast today,” he said. “Too much to do.” He grabbed her hands. She felt the repulsion course through her. It was worse now than it had been when she was so close to leaving him forever.

  “I have urgent news,” he whispered. “The Russians have broken through. They are no more than forty-eight hours away. But don’t worry, my dear. I have secured an escape for us today. We are leaving at noon. You need to be prepared. I have a car waiting. I’ll come get you and Britta at about eleven. Don’t worry about bringing anything; we will take care of all of that later.”

  “They’ll never let me leave here,” she said. “Even for you.”

  “Don’t worry. I have special orders signed by Colonel Schmidt. You’re wanted in Königsberg for questioning.”

  “Why would the colonel sign that?”

  Gunther shook his head. “He didn’t; it’s forged.” He rubbed her hands back and forth, massaging her wrist. “In a few hours, my dear, we will be free of this place. Safe from the Russians and on our way to Germany. I have maps, I have travel papers. I know where we’re going.”

  “I don’t want to go. Why can’t I just wait until the camp is liberated?” Her mind reeled. She couldn’t believe she was going to be whisked away, when her escape was planned for tonight.

  “I told you they’ll kill you,” he said with irritation. “After they’ve raped both of you. You don’t understand: I’m your only chance.” He squeezed her hands again. “I told you I’d always take care of you, my dear. Now listen, I need you to get up right now. As soon as I leave, pack your things and be ready. Someone will come back to get you in the next few minutes. It may not be me. Follow them. Whatever you do, go along with the plan.”

  He pulled her close and embraced her, kissing her on the lips. “Soon we will be together forever. I will always protect you.” He clung to her for a moment, engulfing her. She held on limply until he released her. “I promise you after the war, my dear, we will be equals. One man, one woman, one child.”

  He squeezed her shoulders one more time. “I’ll see you in a while.” With that he turned and left. She stood there in the darkness, panic racing through her mind. What was she going to do? She was locked in this room and would be until Gunther came for them. There was no way to get a message to Erik, and even if she could, what could he do?

  There was nothing she could do, she realized. She would have to go with Gunther. Maybe he was right; perhaps somehow they would be safe going into the mouth of the monster. But so many things could go wrong. Gunther would have no power where they were going. Germans were always on the lookout for false papers, for hiding Jews. They could be snatched up again and imprisoned, or perhaps even shot on the spot. Worse yet, she was confining herself to a lifetime with Gunther . . .

  She sat there in the darkness, her brain wheeling around the problem, trying to find an answer. There wasn’t one. The darkness faded and the light slowly covered the heavens. There was a knock at the door.

  Trude made her way over. “Come in, please,” she said. The door opened, and an SS guard carried in a tray of food. He smiled thinly and placed the tray on the table. Trude suddenly knew what she had to do, slim chance that it was. She allowed herself to fall f
orward, crashing her head against the table and then hitting the ground. The blow nearly knocked her out, but she could feel the hot blood streaming.

  She heard the guard gasp and felt his hands on her, reaching down to try to help her. She heard Britta’s screams and the guard’s shouts. There were more footsteps. She kept her eyes closed. Several Germans were there now, and they were calling for help. She fought nausea and unconsciousness. She had to stay awake. Ages seemed to pass, and then she heard another voice, one she recognized as a camp doctor’s. She felt hands on her, fingers touching her skin. The digits felt like a lit match, burning her wound. She cried out in pain.

  More hands on her. She was moved over onto a stretcher. She felt herself lifted into the air. They jostled her along with an uneven gait, the guards carrying her from the room, their boots clopping along on the hard tile floors of the administrative building. A burst of light; her lungs gasped in the frosty air. They were outside.

  The hospital was one building over. She heard the crunch of their boots in the snow as they carried her along. More doors, slapping open and closed. Through her eyelids, she could sense the dim lights of the hospital. This was what she wanted, but she hoped Britta was coming with her. She didn’t hear her daughter’s voice, but it was difficult to tell among the shuffling footsteps whether she was following or not. After what seemed an eternity she was lowered and then moved over onto a cot. She must be in the central ward.

  A doctor hovered over her, and now she heard a woman’s voice, a nurse, another member of the SS. They were talking about her wound. She could hear instruments clanging together. She pretended she was unconscious. She felt an intense, sharp, piercing burn at the injury and realized with horror they were beginning to sew up the cut. The pain was unbearable, a lancing, fiery sting followed by the tug of thread slicing through her skin. Somehow she endured it, agonizing stitch after stitch. She wanted to scream. She yelled in her mind, cursing and writhing, but on the outside, she didn’t make a peep.