Playing With Matches

by Lee Strauss

  “Have you ever shot a plane down?” asked Katharina.

  All the chatter and noise from the other units faded, and Emil felt like he and Katharina stood alone on the earth. Blood whooshed through his ears as she waited calmly for his confession. She’d been part of their small group of resisters. We didn’t believe in the war, remember?

  “I don’t work alone,” he answered. If Bettina was confused by his answer, Katharina wasn’t.

  “It’s really very powerful, and very dangerous.” Emil stared hard at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “But I am.”

  “I’m here, too!” Bettina butted in, frowning.

  Emil shook his head and the world around him came back into focus. “I meant both of you.”

  Hans and Franz were doing drills on the next station and every time Albert was out of sight, they would make annoying catcalls to the girls.

  “Hey, beauties! Why don’t you come hang out with us real men?”

  Emil felt blood rush to his face. He curled his fists.

  “Just ignore them,” Katharina said.

  Bettina was distracted by the boys. And tempted. Before Emil could say anything she was over with Hans and Franz, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes.

  Katharina ran a hand down the large Flak canon and then looked up into the sky.

  “People were dying.” Emil tried to explain. “Women and children. I had to shoot back to help save them.”

  “Do you think we’re safe now? I mean all the military bases and factories near here have been hit already.”

  “It’s not just about the bases and factories anymore.” No, it was way more complicated than that. “Now they’re out for blood.”

  The bell rang announcing lunch and everyone immediately headed back to the mess hall. Franz had his arm around Bettina. Hans sneaked up behind Emil and Katharina and scooped Katharina up in his arms, twirling her.

  “Put me down!”

  “Katharina, why do you insist on hanging out with that cripple, when you could have me?” Hans put her down and she pushed herself away just as Emil stepped in front of him. He clocked him in the nose.

  “Hey!” Hans’s hand went to his face. There was blood.

  “You stay away from her!” Emil yelled.

  “Or what?” He lunged at Emil throwing him to the ground.

  They wrestled and for a moment Emil was on top. He punched Hans in the face again.

  A crowd had gathered, but Emil couldn’t tell who they were cheering on. He only knew that the pain in his leg was sapping his strength.

  They rolled again and now Emil was on the bottom. He saw Hans pull his fist back and braced for impact. Then his head exploded. Emil’s right eye felt like it burst and he knew it’d be black and swollen by the end of the day.

  Franz pulled Hans off Emil before he could do more damage. “Enough!” he said. “If Jäger gets wind of this, we’ll all be in for it.”

  Hans was breathing hard, too. His nose still bled as he shook himself off and left.

  Emil’s head pounded.

  “Are you okay?” Katharina knelt on the ground beside him. He felt like an idiot. If you’re going to start a fight, you better win it, and he definitely hadn’t won this one.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, thanks, for, you know. Sticking up for me.”

  “Sure.”

  Albert would hear about their scrap, Emil was certain of it. How could he miss his black eye and Hans’s bruised nose? Lucky for all of them, Albert just found it amusing.

  The days fell into a pattern of breakfast, drill training, lunch, farm/base labor, the evening meal, with leisure time in the evenings, often spent at the pub. It was a change of scenery from the base, and a place to take refuge from the winter winds.

  Emil’s eye healed even if his ego didn’t, but when Katharina looked at him, it was like she couldn’t see the bruising of his eye, the limp of his leg, or any of his many flaws. They’d agreed early on to try to keep their relationship undercover, purposely sitting apart during meals and mingling with other soldiers in the evening.

  But Emil knew he couldn’t keep the admiration he felt for her hidden. His eyes gave him away.

  He was sitting beside Günther on a bar stool at the pub. He tried to be polite and nodded when Günther spoke, which thankfully, wasn’t very often, but mostly his eyes lingered over his left shoulder where Katharina sat with a couple of girls.

  “Oh, just go to her, already,” Günther sputtered.

  “What?”

  “You’re driving me crazy with your puppy-dog eyes,” he said. “Do us both a favor, okay.”

  Emil stared at Günther. “You feel strongly about this, I see.”

  Günther shrugged and chugged at his beer.

  Emil pulled the scarf away from his neck. He had warmed up, and as he stood to cross the room, he felt heat surge through his chest.

  The girls with Katharina spotted him first, stopping mid sentence to watch him limp his final step towards them, and pull a chair out beside Katharina.

  “Evening, ladies,” he said with a smile. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “We don’t mind,” a brunette said. “Do you mind, Katharina?”

  Katharina smiled, and a rosy blush filled her cheeks. “No, I don’t mind.”

  Emil turned his attention to Katharina’s bunkmates, asking them where they were from, how their families were, clearly charming them.

  At the same time he reached under the table and grabbed Katharina’s hand, not letting go until the pub closed and it was time to leave.

  That night they were awakened by the sirens.

  Emil, Günther and Hans jumped out of bed, grabbed their helmets and ran out to the Flak stations. Emil searched the sky but couldn’t see any signs of enemy aircraft. No muffled noise of propeller engines, no search lights.

  “Where are they?” yelled Günther.

  “I don’t see anything.” The sirens screamed as Albert barked out instructions over them. Katharina found Emil at the mound. She looked frightened and he wanted to hold her tight. Once again he burned with anger that she was here.

  Albert commanded, “Ready yourselves, load canons….

  Emil still couldn’t see anything. He grabbed a canon ball, stuffing it in the barrel of the gun, and fumbling for the fuse.

  “And halt!” Albert’s face stretched as he shouted. “It’s just a test.”

  A test?

  “Everyone, go back to bed.” And with that, Albert marched away, leaving them standing in the cold.

  The sirens stopped, and Emil felt slapped by the sudden silence. Katharina stood stiff, staring after Albert.

  “He’s a jerk,” Emil said, then grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, but she was trembling. “I can do this, Emil. I have to.”

  They started walking, but somehow they didn’t end up back at the bunkers. Katharina had looped an arm through Emil’s and he was glad.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said.

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “It is?” He hadn’t been following. The war was the main attraction.

  “Yes, it is.”

  They stood still, inches apart snowflakes dropping gently on their heads.

  “Well, then,” Emil said. “Merry Christmas.”

  She turned her face up, “Merry Christmas.”

  Emil leaned down and kissed her. Her sweet cool lips warmed his soul and he really hoped they had a future after the war.

  The next day Albert called Emil over.

  “There’s no romance allowed on base. I’m moving your girlfriend to another Flak station.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” He’d deny anything to keep her with him.

  “Really, Radle? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to move her. It’s done.”

  “But, it’s Christmas Day!” Emil hoped to appeal to Albert’s good will, but it was to n
o avail.

  “What do I care about Christmas? It means nothing to me.”

  Emil was furious with himself. He was the one who failed to be discreet with his feelings, and because of this, Katharina had been re-stationed at the Flak post to the north. They were too far away to speak to each other now, but at least when they were manning Flaks, he could still see her from a distance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  1945

  JANUARY

  THERE WASN’T anything official planned to celebrate the new year of 1945. Most of the senior officers went home to be with family while the younger soldiers were left to fend for themselves on the base.

  It was Katharina’s idea to throw a little party. At first there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm—the future was more ominous than ever, certainly nothing worth celebrating, but Katharina insisted. We’re only young once, she’d said. Emil remembered thinking, that was true, and hoped the war would end soon and they’d actually get to grow old.

  Katharina had roused up the girls, and though at first they begrudgingly assisted her with preparing food and decorating the mess hall, soon they grew excited.

  Emil found a phonograph and records that had been stored away in a closet. Hans and Franz took up a collection and purchased several cases of beer from the pub before it closed.

  Since there were more guys than girls, the ladies were kept busy dancing from fellow to fellow, but by midnight, the mood on the base was the highest it had ever been as far as Emil could remember. The hall was filled with cigarette smoke, chatter and laughter, and when the countdown began, they shouted together, “Zehn, neun, acht…drei, zwei, ein, null!!”

  Emil embraced Katharina and kissed her. She laughed. “Nineteen forty-five is our year, Emil. Just wait and see. The war will end and then it will just be about us!”

  They danced together, clumsy in their inexperience and falling behind beat with his weak leg, until the sky lightened, washing the dusty room with sunshine. When Emil finally fell on his bunk to sleep, he was the happiest he’d been in a long, long while.

  Emil dared to dream about life after the war. It couldn’t end well for the Germans, that had become blatantly clear, but it would end. Then what? Could there be freedom again in some form? Whatever happened, he’d be okay, as long as he had Katharina by his side.

  His dreams turned into a nightmare.

  Moritz is alive; it’s Emil’s wedding day. Katharina in a white dress, smiling at him.

  Sirens. At their wedding?

  Sirens. Piercing, screeching sirens. He popped upright in bed, his ears ringing. This was real.

  He’d slept in his clothes. He always slept in his clothes.

  Plunking his helmet on, he scrambled after the others, through moonless darkness to the Flak stations.

  His mind was numb, but somewhere in its deep recesses he knew this wasn’t a test. It was real this time.

  He was right. First he heard the engines, then he saw the lights. Incoming enemy aircraft.

  Hands shaking, breath heaving, they worked to load the Flak guns.

  “And, ready!” Albert yelled.

  Emil lit the fuse.

  “Fire!”

  The earth trembled. The thrust of the explosion nearly threw him over.

  Though he couldn’t see her in the moonless night, Emil knew Katharina was at her station, doing the same pattern as he. Loading the canons, lighting the fuses.

  Bomb after bomb fell; the ground rumbled and waved ceaselessly—Emil struggled to keep his footing. Orange blasts blotted the dark horizon. The searchlights scored the skies without rhythm or rhyme; there were more aircraft than they could track. And no Luftwaffe. They had no air support at all.

  The explosions tore through the streets, the fields without pause.

  Then frenzy and wild-eyed panic.

  “Firestorm!”

  Just like Hamburg. Emil remembered the horror stories Georg had told him. The city of Nuremberg screamed— glowing flames enveloped the streets, entombing buildings.

  Emil dove for cover.

  Hot. So hot.

  The heat sealed his eyes together. He couldn’t see. He stayed down, ducking.

  “Get up, Radle!” Albert was frantic. Emil managed to stand, forced his legs to obey his commands. Peeling open his eyes, he loaded the Flak gun, lit the fuse.

  Again and again, they fired into the sky. Just hold on, Emil thought, it will be over soon.

  Another explosion. Too loud, too hot. They were hit! The base roared with flames, a gigantic fire pit.

  The earth gave way and Emil lost his footing, falling hard.

  The bunkers exploded, snapping like popcorn.

  Katharina’s station was down.

  “Katharina!”

  The station was destroyed. Debris everywhere. Emil started running. Limp, hop, limp hop.

  “Radle! Get back here!” It was Albert, but Emil ignored him. He hopped and strutted, throwing stones and debris aside. He had to get to Katharina. Albert could shoot him later if he wanted. Please, Katharina, be okay. Please.

  Emil saw her under the debris. He started digging through burnt wood and ash.

  “Katharina!” He pulled her out from underneath it, bit by bit. She was still breathing. Emil held her in his lap. Her eyes flickered.

  Bombs exploded all around them.

  “Katharina?”

  “Emil,” she said softly.

  “You’re going to be all right.” Emil whimpered. Be all right, please be all right.

  A small smile. “So are you.” He read her lips “Promise me?”

  “No! Stay with me.”

  “Promise me.” Her breath was shallow and labored. “You will be okay.”

  He shook his head. Not without you.

  “Please?”

  “I promise,” he said weakly.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Katharina!” Emil shook her. “Don’t!” He could see her slipping away. “Katharina! Remember our dream! Please!”

  “It’s still your dream.”

  “It’s not,” he sobbed. “I don’t have a dream without you.”

  “I’m sorry, Emil. I love you.”

  She relaxed in his arms. He pulled her tight. “No, Katharina, please.”

  A screeching cry tore from his throat. Scorching pain squeezed his heart, slashing through his body as if Hitler himself had dug his nails into his flesh and ripped off his skin.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  THEY BURIED the dead in long rows in a farmer’s field. Despite incredible human loss, civilian and military; despite the fact that nearly every major city in Germany had practically been incinerated; despite the knowledge that the lines on the east, west, north and south were all squeezing in, a stranglehold on the throat of the German nation, still Hitler drove the people on. It seemed he would not stop until every city was destroyed and every last one of his “beloved” citizens was dead.

  Emil fashioned a cross for the top of Katharina’s grave. She was his hope for the future, his reason to hold on, to believe for a life after the war. Now he had nothing. The pain of his sadness was so heavy, it was almost unbearable. But he lived on.

  Why was Katharina dead and not him? He should be the one buried here. She should be safely tucked away in Passau with Johann.

  Poor Johann. This would kill him for sure.

  As they drove through the streets of Nuremberg, it was hard to believe Germany would recover. Ninety percent of the city was annihilated after a mere one-hour Allied bombing blitz. Emil wondered why they bothered to clean it. It was a wasteland, and their efforts were useless. He just wanted to go home. He was tired and homesick and heartsick. And Günther had more bad news.

  “They didn’t tell you, Emil, but I found out. I watched and I listened and I found out.”

  “Found out what?”

  “The night of the firestorm, Passau was hit, too.”

  “What!”

  “They didn’t want you to know, because of our moral
e being low already.”

  “How bad?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Emil flopped onto his bed as his mind shut down. He couldn’t process this news. Mom, Helmut, Johann, they had to be okay. He couldn’t lose Katharina and them, too. He just couldn't. He would rather die, even if it meant killing himself to accomplish it.

  On January 27 the Red Army liberated Poland and discovered Auschwitz. Death camps. Furnaces. Large rooms full of bones. An atrocity of the worst kind.

  Georg Stramm had been right again. For once, couldn’t that idiot just be wrong?

  Emil wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it. Germany would never again be able to hold her head high. It had all been a gigantic lie. Their pride. Their strength. Built on death. Built on lies.

  He lived on automatic, no emotions. Winter broke and spring arrived on schedule. Leaves budded and flowers bloomed, like Katharina had never died.

  Had he really once worn the Hitler Youth uniform so proudly? Had he really marched with confidence, like it was all a game?

  Emil hadn’t heard word from home. The roads were out; he knew that there was no way for the post to travel. It didn’t mean they weren’t alive, but it didn’t mean they were.

  Bombs had dropped on Germany like a bad case of the measles. The country was sick. Very sick.

  Emil had been right. The Allies were after blood, now. There was no way they could ever win this war, and yet the Americans and British relentlessly dropped firebombs on Dresden, near the eastern border. It was the worse firestorm ever, hundreds of thousands of people burned to death, mostly refugees from the east.

  The news on the street was that Hitler was hiding. Their esteemed and fearless leader was hiding out in his little bunker.

  Berlin was next. There was no keeping the Soviets out, now. It seemed Hitler knew it. He killed himself so he wouldn’t have to watch.

  Coward.

  There was nothing left to do now, but surrender.

  The war was over.

  Millions of people were dead. No city was left standing. Emil didn’t know if he would find his family alive.