by Lee Strauss
The alarm went off in the middle of the night.
“This is not a drill!” Someone shouted in the hall. “This is not a drill!”
Emil and Georg scrambled to their feet, changing clumsily into their uniforms, rushing with their boots straps, and grabbing their metal helmets on the way out. They knew exactly where to go and made their way to Station Three. SS Officer Spiegl, who was positioned as the gun commander, was already there with a third youth. He had his headphones on receiving information as to location. Emil and Georg worked with the third guy, to load the rounds.
Emil’s head spun. Was this happening? Was he really going to shoot a British fighter plane out of the sky?
No time to think. The searchlight crews scattered around the city snapped on their lights. They were spaced five kilometers apart in a chessboard pattern across Nuremberg. Together they “coned” their beams to illuminate enemy bombers. re
“FIRE!”
They lit the fuse and the canon fired. Emil pressed his hands against his ears and ducked down.
Secretly he hoped they missed. He couldn’t forget that Moritz had died because they didn’t believe in this war.
“Again!” SS Officer Spiegl shouted.
They loaded the next round. The bombs hit hard around them. The ground shook and the sky turned orange. Shrapnel whizzed by. Emil squatted down low.
“FIRE!”
They lit the fuse.
Miss, Emil thought. Miss. Miss.
At the same time he hated what the Allies were doing to Nuremberg. Bomb after bomb. Explosion, loud hissing, bright heat. Stop. Please stop.
“Again!”
Another load. Another fuse lit.
“We got it!” Georg cheered. They all ducked down and watched the Royal Air Force plane plunge to the ground. More cheering.
“Again!”
It seemed it wouldn’t stop. Emil’s heart raced, his hands shook. He couldn’t get the image of that plane exploding and falling out of his mind. All he could think about was how disappointed Johann would be if he knew.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JULY 2, 1943
Dear Mother,
You’ve probably heard about the recent bombing in Nuremberg. I wanted you to know that I am all right. Bombing does a terrible thing to a city. I understand now why you cried when we invaded Poland.
Don’t worry that you haven’t heard from Father. With so many roads and railways out, it’s hard for the post to get through, especially from the east.
Love Emil
“Firestorm, Emil, a firestorm. The allies dropped incendiary bombs on Hamburg, thousands of them.”
Emil could count on Georg to update him. “What’s an incendiary bomb?”
Georg looked at Emil like he was an infant.
“They’re chemicals. Chemicals that blow up when they hit the ground and spread lots of hot, hot fire.”
Georg was too agitated to climb up to his bunk, or to sit at the desk.
“Forty thousand people died. A bloody inferno.”
“What about the bomb shelters. Didn’t that save some?”
“No, that’s the thing. The bomb shelters were useless. Everyone suffocated or burnt to death. The heat was so hot, people melted. Melted, Emil.”
“Are you sure?” How did Georg know these things?
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s on the radio, in the newspaper.”
It must really be bad if it made the German news, Emil thought. Propaganda usually reports on victories, unless the truth is too big to hide.
“Corpses are shriveled to half their normal size; clothes burned right off their bodies. Forty thousand people.”
“Georg.” Stop, please. This was terrible. Emil’s stomach churned, he was dizzy and dropped onto his bed. Georg’s graphic images made him sick.
It was hard not to hate the Allies now.
The summer of 1943 saw the defeat of the German Central Army on the eastern front. The Germans called it Operation Citadel, also called Battle of Kursk, and it was meant to demonstrate Germany’s strength and determination to achieve ultimate victory. Adolf Hitler counted on a victory that would help to regain his position of prestige with his allies who were threatening to pull out, and to gain a large number of Soviet prisoners to use as slave labor.
It was the largest tanker war to date and it turned out that the Red Army was a tank-making machine. Reports were that the Soviets produced two thousand tankers a month. Germany only produced half as many. The loss of the Battle of Kursk was a bitter defeat.
After losing Stalingrad, this loss was particularly painful to the German campaign in the east. To make matters much worse, the Allies occupied Sicily around the same time. Germany had to fight on two fronts; men were sent from the eastern front to support the south, men the central army could ill afford to give up.
By autumn it became apparent to all but fanatics like Georg, that Germany was losing the war. After the allies landed in Italy, they systematically pushed their offensive line further north, approaching from both the south and west. On October 13, Italy declared war on Germany. The Fuehrer’s strongest alliance had turned against him.
“Mussolini was dead weight,” Georg declared when he heard the news. “Germany is stronger without him.”
It was funny how Georg could be so smart, Emil thought, and yet so stupid.
Emil was surprised when they offered him a three-day leave for Christmas. A ball of homesickness hung in his gut, and with the first sight of Passau—the beautiful brassy blue towers of St. Stephens Dome frosted with snow, the merging of the Danube and the Inn Rivers—his body trembled. He wanted to jump out of the train and kiss the ground. He felt like he could breathe again.
His family was at the train station to greet him.
“Mother! Helmut!”
“Emil!” They yelled. Helmut jumped him, almost knocking him to the ground. He must have grown thirty centimeters since Emil last saw him.
“Helmut, you’re so tall.”
“Hey, I’m almost as tall as you!”
“Almost,” Emil said grinning.
Mother tenderly wrapped her arms around Emil, and wept softly. “You are an answer to prayer, son. I was praying that you could come home for Christmas.”
She took a step back. “You look good. I’m glad to see they are taking care of you in Nuremberg.”
Emil wished he could say the same about her. She was even thinner than before, if that were possible, but her shoulders were straight and her expression strong. She was not the type of person to go down without a fight.
“And more good news!” she said, waving an opened envelope. “I finally got a letter from your father. He is still alive. Having you home, Emil and knowing your father is alive, is all I wanted for Christmas this year!”
Her eyes actually sparkled. Even in the darkness of this terrible war, Mother could find joy.
Emil glanced around the train station, half-hoping that maybe Katharina had come too, but glad she hadn’t. He didn’t want their reunion to play out in front of his mother and little brother.
Emil did make an excuse to go see her, though. Johann was home, too, so Mother and Helmut were none the wiser about his desire to see her.
Even though it was winter, Emil rode his bike through the slush and snow, but he stopped when he spotted their farm.
He told himself to breathe. He also wanted to see Johann, and it wasn’t like he was nervous to see him. He just had to focus on Johann. His old buddy Johann.
Pushing his bike down the drive to their house Emil saw him. He knew it was Johann because he was wearing his brown army uniform. His back was turned to Emil and he was carrying a pitchfork.
“Hey, Johann!”
Johann spun around. “Emil, my friend!”
Emil shook Johann’s hand vigorously.
I missed you,” Johann said. “I mean, I was kind of sick of you when you left…”
Emil punched him playfully in the arm. “What’d you mean? I was the one that had to st
are at the back of your head every day.”
“What? This handsome head. It was a privilege for you.”
Laughing, Emil followed him to the barn. “So, how’s the army been treating you?”
“Ah, you know.” He lowered his voice, “It’s not like I’m actually going to fight.”
What did he mean by that? Did he think the war would be over, or was he just going to refuse when the time came? A final resistance of sorts. They were sixteen now. Anything could happen.
Emil didn’t want to dim the mood with a serious conversation so he didn’t question Johann further. They were both only home for a short time. Emil was saved by the sudden appearance of Katharina.
With the sun shimmering from behind, she looked angelic. He gasped at her beauty and it took a moment before he could find his voice.
“Hello,” he finally mustered.
“Emil!” To his utter amazement and absolute joy, she rushed to embrace him. Christmas couldn’t get any better than this.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “I heard you had leave.”
“It’s really great to see you, too,” Emil said, all but forgetting that Johann was standing there.
“Well, aren’t you two a sight,” Johann said, grinning slyly. “If you don’t mind, and I’m sure you don’t, I’ll just make myself busy, over here, in the barn. Just in case you’re wondering.” He laughed and sauntered off.
The affection Emil had for Katharina was pretty obvious. He couldn’t hide how seeing her made him feel, and he was overjoyed to see she was struggling with the same thing.
They started walking, slowly, down the drive, and she asked him about Nuremberg, he about her family and plans for Christmas.
“Pretty simple, like most folks, I imagine,” she said. “A small meal, worship. We’re just happy to be together.”
Emil nodded. “Us, too. Except, you know, Father is still away.”
“I’m sorry he couldn’t get leave. Is he well?”
“Yes, at least I think so. Mother received a letter from him recently, but it was written some time ago.”
Out of the corner of his eye Emil saw movement, two men he didn’t recognize working in the fields.
“Who’s that?”
“That? Two Frenchies, POWs sent to help with the farm. They’re everywhere now, alien prisoners from France, Belgium, and Holland. Even some from the east. They are sent here to work because of the shortage of manpower.”
“Is it safe? I mean for you?”
She laughed. “I’m never alone with either of them. My mother sees to that. But it is disgusting how some of the girls flirt with the foreigners.”
Alarming news.
“Oh, no. I’m not like that. Besides it’s against the law. Fraternizing with the enemy is a criminal offense. I’ve heard that some unscrupulous farm wives have been arrested.”
“Where do the prisoners stay?”
“In the loft.”
“Our loft?” It was unreasonable, Emil knew, but he felt violated.
“I know. I’m sad we can’t go there anymore, too.”
“I want you to keep your distance from them, okay?”
She smiled and grabbed his arm. “You’re worried about me. That’s so sweet.”
“Just promise me.”
“I promise.”
Katharina wore a thin winter jacket over her mid-length dress. It was chilly enough to see their breath and she was shivering. “You’re cold,” Emil said. “We should go back.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re shivering. At least let me give you my coat.”
“Then you’d be cold, and you’d have to go. How about we just walk a little closer together?”
Emil put his arm around her shoulder. “Like this? Is this okay?”
“That’s fine,” she said. “Thank you. I’m much warmer now.”
The funny thing was, so was he.
Like other soldiers on leave, Emil was able to bring home a small package of food, items no longer available to common civilians.
He had a tin of canned meat and a small jar of peaches. Mother had managed to find a loaf of bread and another pat of butter.
She set the table carefully, but Emil noted all of their good silverware was missing. He also wondered why she put out five settings.
“I invited Frau Schwarz and Karl.”
Emil felt annoyed. They hardly had enough food for the three of them, and he wanted mother and Helmut all to himself.
“Don’t they have their own family?”
Mother paused to consider him. “No. I don’t think you heard about Herr Schwarz. They sent word three weeks ago. He died in France.”
“Oh.” Herr Schwarz was dead? Emil liked the man and was saddened by the news. He felt bad for Frau Schwarz and Karl and was glad now, that they were joining his family for dinner.
“What about Tante Gerta?” Helmut asked.
“She doesn’t believe in Christmas,” said Mother. “She took an extra shift at the prison.” She scowled as she thought about it. “I don’t even want to know what she does there.”
The Schwarz family arrived. Helmut was happy to see Karl, and he showed him a strangely shaped rock he had found on the farm where he worked.
“Thank you so much for inviting us over, Leni.” Frau Schwarz eyes were pools of sadness. “It was very kind of you.”
They sat around the table and Emil lit the candles. Mother presented the food in small slices and portions over three plates so that it actually looked like there was more food than there really was.
And as usual, she prayed.
The food was delicious. The bread and butter, the sliced canned ham, the sweetness of the peaches. The smiles all around made it a perfect Christmas Eve dinner. And to Emil’s surprise, there was enough for everyone.
It was Christmas, 1943. That meant a church service at 18:00 at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church.
Emil and Helmut stomped the snow off their boots and followed Mother inside. They were accustomed to sitting on the left-hand side, mid way up, and that was where Mother led them again. Emil was surprised at how full it was. He assumed the war had more people praying.
Pastor Kuhnhauser sat in the front row. He was an old man with thick jowls, a fixture in Emil’s life, and the only pastor St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church had had since he’d been born. The kind of person you thought would never die. He had a Bible in his lap, his bald head bowed over it, praying.
He stood up, and on cue Frau Koning rose to play the organ.
Christmas Carols. What a comfort to sing the songs of my childhood again, Emil thought. Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Silent Night, Holy Night, All is calm. All is bright…
Pastor Kuhnhauser walked to the pulpit.
“Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose birthday we are celebrating.”
Emil held his breath. Little red flags. No Heil Hitler? Will he at least bless the Third Reich?
“God so loved the world, that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. He came in the form of an infant…”
Emil exhaled. Okay, a normal Christmas tale.
“Though God’s son, he was rejected by the rulers of the day.”
Emil shifted uncomfortably.
“He came for sinners, to save them from the consequences of their sins, and if ever we needed someone to save us from our sins, it is today.”
The pastor continued. “I must confess. I have waited far too long to speak. I have let the fear of man and not the fear of God rule my heart.”
Emil’s heart pounded in his chest. Oh, no, oh no, oh no.
“A terrible evil has overcome us.”
A shuffle in the back of the room. Emil swiveled his neck. Two SS Officers wearing their usual black coats stood in the back. Stop Pastor, stop!
“We must not remain silent while a plot to ruin a whole people is being carried out, right under our noses.”
Emil h
eard someone behind him whisper, “What is he talking about?” But Emil knew. Damn Georg Stramm was right again.
“Especially to attack God’s chosen race, the Jewish people, like Jesus, himself.”
The Black Coats in the back began to speak together, but Emil couldn’t hear what they said.
“Confess your sins to one another.” Pastor Kuhnhauser ’s voice was surprisingly calm. “And he will forgive you. He is faithful and kind. He longs to gather you under his wings like a hen gathers together her chicks.”
He fixed his gaze on the Black Coats with an intensity that made Emil’s skin chill. “But he is also holy and just. And he will bring justice to this earth.”
“Halt!” A Black Coat called out in response. “You must stop speaking!”
“Faithful flock, do not forsake the gathering of yourselves together. Keep the faith. Do the good work.”
The Black Coats stormed towards the altar. Emil looked at Mother. Her eyes were tearing up, but her expression wasn’t fear. Was it pride?
“Love one another as God has loved you!”
Those were his last words.
The Black Coats strapped his arms behind his back but Pastor Kuhnhauser remained calm. He exited the building with his head high and his eyes shining.
He had accomplished what he had set out to do.
Word of Pastor Kuhnhauser’s arrest spread through town. Emil feared there would be some kind of spiritual revival, which would mean more arrests and executions, for there was not a doubt in his mind that the Nazis had just made their pastor a martyr.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
1944
FEBRUARY
THE EARLY morning silence normally found at the Nuremberg base was broken by a fit of coughing. It came from deep in Emil’s chest, wet and violent, thrusting him into a sitting position out of a fitful sleep. Each cough pierced his lungs painfully, and a loud groan escaped after a particularly brutal bout.
“Shut up, Emil!” Georg showed no mercy. The joints of the overhead bunk squeaked as the weight of his body rolled over.
Emil concentrated carefully, willing his chest to calm. Moist lines streamed down his cheeks and for one mortifying moment, Emil thought he’d started crying.