Their instinct to survive generated a surge of adrenaline. Thrashing one arm in front of another they were both carried down-stream. Clutching at anything floating before them they became prisoners of the flowing waters. As they both fell in and out of consciousness, their plight seemed hopeless until the river started to quicken as it flowed around a large outcrop of rock as it had done for hundreds of years. The effect was to eventually slow the current as the valley opened up again. Both men became aware at the same time that here was their chance to climb ashore. They slipped and struggled to gain a foothold in the shingled mud covered by the shallows on the left bank. They hauled themselves out of the water. Looking around they found themselves surrounded by a covering of low bushes and trees. The earth was cold and the air freezing. Dragging their bodies away from the Volga and further into the tree cover they heard the sound of the banging of an ill-fitting shutter in the wind somewhere in the distance. They moved slowly towards the sound. In a small clearing stood an earth covered dwelling. They had seen many on their way here and had been ordered to destroy the hovels and kill the occupants. It had been a sickening experience. Now they were on their own they would act differently. It appeared to be unoccupied. Nothing moved as they entered into the cold room. Something had burned in the open hearth recently, but the ashes were now damp from the few flakes of snow that wandered down the chimney. It seemed that most of the furniture had previously been burned for warmth. There was virtually none left. Dirty plates with the last meal frozen to the surface were stacked in the sink.
They pulled the meagre blankets over their bodies and lay down on the trodden earth floor. Sleep was not easy but eventually their eyes could remain open no longer as they drifted off. Only one of them awoke to experience the next day. Hypothermia had claimed the life of Klaus Neidman at the age of twenty-one.
Johann wiped the tears from his face as covered Klaus' face with a blanket. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a frail movement from above. He turned and saw the face of a teenage girl. He smiled and put down his rifle. He opened his arms, tempting the child forward. She hesitated and spoke in Russian. He nodded and moved to the fireplace and started to place pieces of wood in the form of a triangle ready to bring heat into the room. The girl watched intently. He looked at her asking for a match. She understood and pointed to the little box which was hidden under a rock in the corner.
He struck the match and lit the kindling. Within minutes the room was full of smoke and warmth. He coughed. She laughed. He went outside and soon returned with a kettle full of snow. She was standing by the fire cradling her hands in front absorbing the heat. She was dressed in a sack with waist ties and long torn stockings. On her head was his beret. It was now so dirty and torn that he wasn’t sure which army it belonged to. He smiled at her. Memories of his own daughter at that age lingered in his head as he stared at her for a long time. Catching those moments at home in Germany. The laughter of long past days, the sun on her hair, reading her those bedtime stories when she was little. And helping her to revise for her examines as she grew into a young woman.
It wasn’t long after they’d buried Klaus Neidman in the forest with a sad farewell that they were both working together preparing a meal. She scurrying back and forth with herbs and pieces of vegetable and throwing them into the boiling pot on the fire. He stirring occasionally, dressed in his soiled winter underclothes watching the steam evaporate from his uniform hanging from a ceiling rafter.
It wasn’t until evening as the sun disappeared behind the hillside to the west that they introduced themselves, he was Johann Bron and she was Nadine Rekova. On that discovery they shook hands and laughed. That night she retreated to the warmth under the roof where she had hidden earlier. He lay in front of the dying embers of the fire promising to add more fuel throughout the long cold night.
He kept his promise during a fitful sleep. He stirred early and turned to find Nadine had come down from her perch in the roof and had her arms wrapped around his waist. There was an innocent contentment in her smile. He gently brushed her hair from her face and looked closely at her.
‘What has happened to this world', he muttered in Russian to himself.
Nadine opened her eyes at the sound of her own language and hugged him closely.
‘You kept your promise.’ Looking at the hearth.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Shall we find something to eat?’
Nadine nodded and wrapped herself in a blanket that she had hidden under the old newspapers in the roof.
‘Come,’ she beckoned and ran to the door.
Johann followed, racing to put his smoke-dried uniform on, tripping over the threshold as he did so and plunging into the overnight snowdrift outside the door. Nadine couldn’t help herself as she laughed and jumped in air with joy and complete abandonment. She ran to help him up and brushed the white coating from his hair and face.
‘Follow me.’
After the zigzagging path through the trees, they came to an area that had been cultivated in the past. Under the snow and tree branches and broken foliage, lay rows of vegetables, some clearly frozen but still edible. These were her survival rations. On their return journey, Nadine made Johann cover their tracks using brushwood. Just in case.
This is how life was. Gently, Johann coaxed Nadine to tell him her story.
Chapter 17
Stalingrad Russia 1942
‘One day, there was a knock on the door. My parents had the door shuttered from the inside. It got louder and I went to hide in the roof. Finally, it splintered, and two men came into the room carrying guns and grabbed my parents and marched them out.’
‘When was this, how long ago?’
‘Not too long, it was last year. The summer was still with us. My parents never came back after that morning. Daddy had always worried that one day that knock would come. He would tell me stories about terror and repression. He hated Josef Stalin and said the man punished anyone who he perceives may be a threat to him and that his paranoia knows no bounds. They were afraid of the ‘knock’ that spelt arrest, exile, imprisonment, conscription or execution.
‘I was terrified and lived in fear of the day my parents would disappear. I don’t know why they took them away. They were simple farmers tending to the land that we owned. Maybe someone said we shouldn’t own land and that inheritance was anti-Soviet.
‘One thing my mother told me was never to let anyone catch me as I would be put in a Gulag far away in the freezing wastes of Siberia. She frightened me by telling me that I would be living in bare dirty cells in a brutal world mixing with older and more dangerous criminals, demanding and expecting sexual favours and then turning me into prostitution. That’s why I live in the roof. She looked at him, despair in her eyes as they travelled over him.
‘You need to get rid of that uniform. There will be revenge killings of your soldiers’ before this war comes to an end.’
Her words surprised him for someone so young.
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Johann paused. He’d been wandering when, but now he decided this was the right time. He couldn’t remain here indefinitely.
‘Nadine, are you prepared to give up your motherland forever and come with me? Never to return, in all likelihood. You need to think about that very carefully. I know you have managed to survive, and you will probably be able to make a life for yourself after this war is over, but....’
Johann drew her closer as a father would to a daughter. ‘I cannot remain here. I am putting you in great danger. We could do this together, escape, I mean.’
Nadine was certain that this life under Stalin was not something she wanted to endure even if it would one day change.
‘I want to go with you. Let’s try.’
Nadine put her hand in his and looked into his face, his eyes were soft and welcoming. The decision was made.
As the Russian winter grew colder. The nights were miserably cold and long. Dawn rose late, and evening came too soon. Surviving on Nadine’s hidden
vegetable plot and the occasional rabbits they trapped in the wilderness, life gave them new hope. Johann drew on his knowledge of Russia and insisted that to survive they must find a way to move south and follow the river Volga and then west away from the Russian forces. To do this Nadine had to learn as much of the German language as she could for later. The long drawn out darkness of the Russian winter provided hours of tuition.
Whilst Nadine was a quick learner, she had difficulty in hiding her accent. Johann knew that to the south of Stalingrad, the German Army was made up of weaker Hungarian and Romanian armies, under the commands of Petre Dumitrescu and Constatinescu. It might just be possible for him to disguise her amongst them if only contact could be made. They decided that to cross the vast Steppe land it could only be done under cover of darkness. Their breakout would take place in February.
They had no idea what was happening in the battles around Stalingrad. Johann had thought that it was probable that the German forces were in trouble, in which case so was the escape plan. As dusk fell, miles away in a divisional German army headquarters, unknown to Johann and Nadine, ‘Operation Lion’ had just begun. German soldiers who were trapped by the surrounding Russian troops in their hundreds were to be saved in one last ditch effort. This Operation was to be a helpful diversion, for no-one would be taking much notice of peasants who were no threat to an army pursuing and trying to capture Field Marshall Friedrich Paulus’ German 6th Army.
Dressed in Nadine father’s clothes, they packed their meagre belongings in two blankets, including Johann’s uniform, hoisted them onto their shoulders using old leather straps to secure them and with a sad backwards glance from Nadine, they set off south. The ground was hard with a light covering of snow. Their footsteps would be covered again by morning as the light breeze caused flurries of snow-flakes dance before them. At the beginning they agreed to speak only Russian between them, two peasants wandering away from hell.
A plane passed overhead, its engine roaring it onwards towards Stalingrad. It was followed by several more. As they disappeared onto the horizon, gunfire erupted from the ground lighting the night sky. A token gesture of defiance. Nadine and Johann plodded on. That night they had to make as much progress south as they could. Soon it was clear that they had put several miles between them and the smouldering city with its stench of death and destruction. They saw houses that were no longer houses, the rags and torn coats of men that lay motionless in wretched foxholes, tangled machine guns torn out of clutching hands that blasted their owners into tiny fragments, their mess tins and helmets scattered like confetti that had seen jollity on their owners faces listening to the music that once formed part of their existence, their fragile life. This was long ago in another world far away. In one such foxhole, Johann and Nadine decided to rest up for the daylight hours. Using the tangled frame of a machine gun, long abandoned as the bullets ran out and all that was left were the empty belts, Johann constructed a small enough space for them to sit and tear the hardened bread into bit size pieces to be washed down with cold tea. The sun rose yellow and crimson through the scarred desolate landscape was they closed their eyes that first day.
One thought pervaded Johann’s mind as they awoke the next evening. He needed a weapon for self-protection. Everything around them was rusted, even the watches had stopped for these men. Time was something that didn’t matter anymore. It scarcely mattered for Johann and Nadine, their time was measured only by the hours of daylight. Neither knew how long they were going to have to endure the foot chilling steps through the snow. Ahead lay swathes whiteness dulled under the moonless sky. Johann keep checking their direction on his stolen compass, he had no idea the miles that separated the two fighting fronts and when he’d see or hear the terrible barrage of fire that would inevitably mean the deaths of others in this stagnant world. He never mentioned his constant fear to Nadine as she seemed to be able to focus on what was important and be guided by that alone. She had already scavenged extra coats and managed to find boots that fitted with the help of additional socks. The dead would be glad to see them being worn again, she would say as they huddled together day after day each time waiting for night to fall again.
‘I’ve been calculating,’ said Johann in German. He insisted that was to be their language of choice the further away from Stalingrad they walked. Nadine was understanding most of his conversation but stumbled over words she’d not heard before.
‘Calcul…. What is that?
‘Adding things together, mixing numbers to make sense of things.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, we have been walking, save for the occasional rest, for four nights at about 3mph for eleven hours. Therefore, I calculate we are one hundred and thirty-two miles from where we started.’
‘I’ve never walked so far before, I should be very tired.’ She laughed.
‘Are you? Very tired?’
‘Only when I hear your calcul..., calculation.’
He laughed and gave her a hug.
Far away in the early morning sky, they both heard the approaching drone of a light aircraft getting louder as Johann’s curiosity got the better of him and he climbed out of their hiding place in wake of a burned-out Panzer Tiger I. The morning sun was bathing the frozen wasteland all around. Johann recognised the plane and waved his arms painfully above his head. The plane turned and descended for a closer look at this sole man now dressed in Wehrmacht uniform. It swooped overhead again recognising the uniform of the second person. Unknown to Johann and Nadine a report had already been made about another large group of German soldiers some miles to the west near the Don Heights and it now reported the position of these two lone figures.
Chapter 18
Munich Germany 1944
In the distance could be heard the muffled sounds of bombs exploding. Somewhere fifty of so miles away people were dying in flames and dust as the rubble of burning buildings toppled into the streets. That night the whole sky to the west was a gigantic sheet of fire. In the following days people was being dug out of the ruins, wedged amongst fallen beams. Some are still alive but unable to move but it was the dead that bore the agonies of their fate.
To the Allies, Munich was not only a German city that housed many high-ranking Nazis, it was a symbol of the Nazi regime. The Allies needed to send a political message. The targeted area were the two airfields, but the city surrendered to the massive collateral damage.
On the night of the 24 April 1944, Munich was set alight for the last time. There on this night two hundred and sixty bombers let loose their loads.
The next morning with fires still burning, the stench was unbearable. Everything smelled of smoke. Civilians were being pulled out of shelters and being buried in shallow graves in the gardens of destroyed homes.
Out of one such charred shelter crept a tiny boy. His hair was matted with tar that had dropped from the shelter roof as the buildings above fell upon his refuge. He wore only a filthy soiled pair of flannel bed clothes. He stumbled into the arms of a white hooded nurse and was immediately wrapped in a blanket.
Chapter 19
Munich Germany 1946
Captain Stuart Campbell stood before the Matron in charge of the orphanage on the outskirts of the ruins of Munich. With him was his wife, Naomi. She had spent the war hidden in the depths of Whitehall as a coordinator of relief amongst the thousands who had lost everything in the Blitz of London. Families were still trying to find what happened to the loved ones as the flames had engulfed street after street and the rebuilding had hardly started, so great was the restoration of order and the removal of broken houses and streets.
Her husband was still trying to find those who were responsible for perpetrating such horrors as he had witnessed travelling through southern Germany and Poland. Confusion and identity changes allowed some to escape. Stuart was meticulous in his efforts, lying awake at nights assimilating the situation. He barely talked about what he’d seen but occasionally Naomi was awoken at night by his restl
essness.
That day he had asked her if she could see if there were any ways the Allies could help in minimising the terrible traumas these orphans had suffered at not only the hands of the Nazis but the Allies who had tried to stop the madness.
She wandered through the corridors of this vast building, watching the staff, stepping out of the way of children running and doing what children do best, being energetic and enthusiastic despite their circumstances.
Naomi rounded on corner, sitting on the stone balcony plinth overlooking the vast play area was a young boy, no older than six or seven. He was lost in his own world repeating words to himself. She stopped and observed him closely. He had dark hair, very thin and, even for one so young, an intense bearing. He looked up and saw her looking at him. He curled into a defensive ball and stopped muttering. Naomi walked slowly over to him. She held her arms slightly forward in an open welcoming gesture. He didn’t move. A good sign she thought to herself. She stopped in front of him gently lowering her head to his level.
No words passed between them. She saw his body relax slightly but his eyes were fixed on the carved stone he was sitting on. Nothing that was obvious to a casual observer, but she knew.
In her halting German she asked his name.
‘They call me, Karl’, he said quietly.
‘Hello Karl. My name is Naomi. How are you doing?’
‘My real name is not Karl. Schatzi, that’s what my mamma called me and my other mamma.’
‘Good to meet you, Schatzi.’ Naomi held out her hand. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her fleetingly. He then sat on his hands protecting them from further intimate intrusion.
‘Are you not interested in playing with the other boys or girls?’
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