From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

  She fed her children and then gave Anika paper and scissors. As the girl played, Helene stood at the window, watching for her father. Finally she saw him, moving toward the house in quick steps, his brow lined with worry.

  “It’s as we thought.” He quickly entered the room and latched the door behind him. “A group of prisoners has already been taken to Siberia.”

  Helene gasped. “Prisoners?”

  “Ja, those considered enemies of the Russian state. Nazi sympathizers. They’re accusing many of cooperating with the enemy. Those already taken are being sentenced. Only those who are ‘of service’ to the occupational forces will remain. Even now Russian tents are being set up where American ones recently stood.”

  “How many of them are here?”

  “The men you saw are only the tip of the sword. They have come to protect the borders. The full occupational forces have yet to arrive.”

  Helene glanced at Anika, who was cutting a piece of red paper into the shape of a heart. She lowered her voice. “Are the borders closed?”

  “Ja.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them.”

  Helene collapsed onto the chair. I deserve this. I am an enemy. But as soon as the words filled her head, others took their place. She could hear Michaela’s voice. No, you are forgiven. Your slate has been wiped clean.

  In God’s eyes, perhaps, but not to the rest of the world. To the Russians she was simply the wife of a former guard.

  “There is a way out.” Her father sat in the chair beside her. “It is risky, but it is our only chance.”

  Helene stared into his gray eyes. He seemed so old. So tired.

  “There are many who want to get out. Even Jewish survivors who are still weak. Farmers are rowing them across the river.” He placed his hands over hers. “I want you to go tonight. With the children.”

  “In a rowboat? Across the Danube? But it is so wide and strong. Nein, it’s too dangerous.” She stood, then leaned against the table. “I can’t. If anything happened to them—”

  Her father stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is no other way. You know you will be found. Too many know. And even those most loyal can be bought … or threatened.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have already been sought out. First by the Nazis for storage, then by the Russians for men. They want to use our home for boarding.” He kissed her head. “As long as I provide a room and schnitzel, I will be taken care of. I am an old man. I pose no threat.”

  “I can’t leave you again. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Be strong, my daughter. Think of the children. When things settle down, then perhaps I can join you.”

  “Either you come too, or I’m not going.”

  His eyes flashed vulnerability for a moment, and then the willful expression returned. “You don’t understand. There are dynamics I cannot begin to tell you about.” He held her face in his hands. “The Lord knows I’d do anything for you and for the children. But I cannot leave. Not yet. You have to trust me in this.”

  The determination in his eyes told Helene he wasn’t going to change his mind. “But cross the river? Isn’t there another way?” Her thoughts went again to the man she had depended on so many times over the previous months. “What about Peter? Can we get word to him? Can he come to help?”

  “Nein. From the moment of surrender, no U.S. soldier has been allowed into the Soviet zone. You must go. They are already collecting names. Names of former Nazis.”

  “But even if I get across, where will I go?” Her father took a knife from a kitchen drawer and carefully sliced the stitching on the lining of his jacket. He pulled out a paper from inside, neatly folded, and handed it to Helene.

  She unfolded the sheet and saw the seal of an American eagle. The date on the paper was two weeks old.

  Dear Captain Standart,

  By my own witness, and by others of the Eleventh Armored Division, the bearer of this paper, Helene Völkner, compassionately helped the troops of our division in their efforts to save the lives of the victims of Nazi atrocities.

  In return for protection for herself and her children, Mrs. Völkner has agreed to cooperate with the U.S. Department of Investigation in their efforts to secure the names and ranks of SS officers and guards at Camp Gusen.

  If you have any questions about Mrs. Völkner, please feel free to contact me.

  Sincerely,

  Sergeant Peter Scott

  Helene held the paper to her chest. “You want me to disclose the names of the guards?” A knot formed in her stomach. “You’ve had this planned all along. You and Peter. You knew, when faced with danger, I’d have to comply.”

  “We were hoping it would not come to this. We knew no American servicemen would be allowed in, but we had no idea the Russians would shut down the border to locals so quickly.”

  Helene considered the danger of giving out such vital information. She thought of Arno Schroeder. His face, his taunts, his threats. He was just one man. There were hundreds like him who had disappeared, never wishing to be found. Many who would do anything to keep her silent.

  Then again … maybe she’d have a chance to work for the side of good rather than evil.

  “Could you give the names?” he asked.

  “Of course. I know them all. Their positions. Their wives. Their families. After all, I attended their parties. I visited their homes. I was one of them.”

  Helene refolded the letter and set it on the table. She thought of Peter’s care, his interest in her and her friends. Had it been real? She thought of the American actors in the movies set up for the GIs’ amusement. They played their parts well. Had Peter’s interest been just an act? Had he played the part of an honorable hero only to win her confidence? Maybe he’d known who she was from the beginning. After all, who else but an SS wife could give the U.S. Army all the information they could ever need?

  Helene tried to control her shaky voice. “When did he approach you with this idea?”

  “He did not approach me, but I him … just in case it came to this.”

  “So, this was your plan?”

  “Our second plan. Our first was to have you leave with Michaela if she had chosen to move to Germany.” He lowered his gaze. “You could not leave with Peter alone. Nonfraternization, you know. But you could safely travel with her, especially if she were employed by the U.S. Army. After all, she had no laws about who she could befriend.”

  Helene dropped her head. The more she heard, the more she realized she didn’t want to know. “But Michaela went one way, and Peter the other.”

  “So here you are.”

  “Still, that doesn’t answer my question. What will I do when I get to the other side?”

  “Someone will be waiting to take you to Linz. Once there, find an American serviceman. Give him the letter and ask to be taken to Captain Standart. He will know how to contact Peter, and Peter will connect you with the right people.”

  “Peter is expecting me?”

  Her father rubbed his mustache. “He knows it’s a possibility.”

  “I have to think about it.”

  “Of course.” He paused. “But remember what you saw last night. Leaving will be dangerous, especially with two little ones. But staying could be even worse.”

  Helene didn’t need to hear any more. She picked up the letter and shuffled to her room. Anika still slept on the bed, Petar in his cradle. Her heart swelled with love for them. They were so helpless. They didn’t realize who they were in the minds of the Russians. They didn’t know their father had been an accomplice to the murder of thousands as their mother stood by and watched.

  Oh, God, it is so difficult. She dropped onto the bed and curled into a ball. The foolish decisions she’d made long ago mattered so much now.

  Helene knew what she had to do. It was the only way. Her father knew it. Peter did too.

  Helene gazed about the room, taking it all in. She would leave everyth
ing behind again. Her father. This place. The memories, both good and bad.

  Helene noticed something glimmering on the floor in the corner, half covered with dust. She rose from the bed and reached for it.

  My wedding band. How many weeks ago had she pulled it from her finger and thrown it across the room? Yet even so, she had not been able to escape its hold. She would forever be Friedrich’s bride.

  Helene slid the ring onto her finger. She would go. She would give the names. And as she kissed her sleeping baby, Helene hoped more than anything God would go with her.

  Twenty-Six

  AUGUST 2, 1945

  Helene repacked her satchel for the tenth time. How could she possibly reduce everything she needed for herself and her children into one bag? Their identification papers, ja. Old photos, a few. She put those in the bag, then picked up the map she’d found. She had studied it again after Arno came around asking questions, but still it made no sense. Nevertheless, she stuffed it into the satchel just in case.

  At 2 A.M. her father came for her. He lifted Anika from the bed. The girl stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Helene lifted Petar to her shoulder. Then she picked up her satchel with her other hand. The weight of a life’s possessions pulled against her fingers.

  “Did you give them your grandmother’s special tea?” her father asked.

  “Ja. I hope it works.”

  The two made their way down the back stairs. The slivered moon seemed far too bright, their footsteps too loud. Helene followed her father through the back streets. Her side ached and her breathing was labored as she balanced a sleeping baby and a satchel that felt like it was full of rocks.

  “When you get to the other side,” her father whispered through the night air, “watch for a blue two-door sedan. My friend said it’s the color of a robin’s egg, and it should be the only car out there.”

  “You found a ride for us?”

  “I hope,” he said. “My friend is nervous. He has a family too. He said as long as there was no danger …”

  No danger?

  Near the water’s edge they trudged through the woodsy shoreline toward a small boat. Her father took the lead. As Helene followed, something in the bush stirred. It’s only an animal, she told herself, her heart pounding.

  Suddenly something leapt from the bush—a man. Helene tried to call out, but before she could say a word, a hand clamped over her mouth. Another hand grabbed her arm. She stumbled but somehow managed to hold on to the baby and the satchel.

  Heavy breathing exploded in her ear, and she smelled beer on the man’s breath. She held Petar tight to her chest as the man pushed toward the water’s edge.

  This is it. It’s over. The Russians. The woman’s screams from the night before flashed through her mind. Helene silently cried out to God. Please let my children escape.

  Her father looked up from the boat where he’d laid Anika. His face registered fear, then confusion. “Arno! Get your hands off her.”

  Arno? Friedrich’s friend had escaped with his family days ago, hadn’t he?

  Helene’s captor pulled his hand from her mouth and pushed her into her father’s arms. Petar stirred. “Shh,” she said, bouncing him. His eyes opened for a few seconds, then fluttered closed again.

  “I need you to take me across with you,” Arno said, nose-to-nose with her father.

  “And what if I say no?”

  Arno opened his jacket. A pistol was tucked in a holster on his side. “Then I’ll just take the boat myself.”

  “You dare threaten an old man, and a woman with children?”

  “No threats.” Arno buttoned his jacket. “Only a request.”

  “Fine, get in,” her father said in an angry whisper. He waved a hand toward the rowboat. Helene climbed in. The boat rocked as she settled onto the seat near Anika. Arno sat in the center.

  Down the riverbank not more than a hundred meters, Helene saw other forms piling into a similar craft. Her father pushed off and then jumped in.

  She surveyed the shoreline. She spotted headlights coming their direction. Other lights flashed through the trees. Helene held her breath. The truck slowed but kept moving.

  Thank God.

  The current was strong. Her father fought it with every stroke, heading toward their landing point slightly upstream. At least it would be easier for him to make it back. Helene glanced into the dark water and thought of the rumors of entire transports of bodies dumped into the river. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she imagined the icy waves driving her body into the river’s current. She caressed Petar’s head.

  A cold wind blew on Helene’s face, and she adjusted Petar’s blanket to block the wind. It did little good. Petar stirred and let out a cry.

  Arno shot her an angry glare. “Shut that kid up, now!”

  Helene pressed Petar to her chest and rocked him, but the muffled cries escalated.

  Her father glanced back. “Please, Helene, do something.”

  “Mutti?” Anika asked, rubbing her eyes. “What wrong? Where are—”

  “Quiet,” Helene rasped as she fumbled to place a blanket over her shoulder and lift her blouse. Petar latched on to her breast. His crying stopped. Her fingers trembled as she stroked his cheek. Then she pressed a hand on Anika’s back.

  Strong waves tugged against the boat and splashed water over its side. Her father’s breathing labored as he struggled to keep them moving forward. When it seemed her father could row no more, Arno took the oars. Helene was grateful for Arno’s assistance, but his presence still worried her. What would he do when they got to the other side? Would he follow her? Would she be safe?

  Helene tried to make out the other boat through the darkness. She finally caught sight of it downstream and noticed it moved neither as fast nor as gracefully as theirs. Perhaps Arno’s presence is a gift in disguise.

  With a grating sound, their boat finally hit land. The jarring motion startled Anika. She sat up and clung to the side. Helene motioned for Anika to be quiet as her grandfather lifted her to the shore.

  “Thanks for the lift, old man,” Arno said as soon as they were unloaded. For a split second a small object glistened in the moonlight. It landed at her father’s feet.

  “Something for your troubles.” Arno sneered.

  Her father bent to pick it up, then cursed. “A tooth.” He threw the object into the water. “A gold tooth.”

  Arno muffled a laugh, then jogged away with a wave.

  Helene’s stomach lurched. She balanced Petar on her hip, flung the satchel over her shoulder, and took Anika’s hand. “What a sick man,” she seethed. “First he threatens our lives, then he waves good-bye?”

  Her father stared at her intently. “Do you have the letter?”

  “Ja, pinned to my underclothes.”

  “Good. You must hurry. Do not stop. The car should be waiting on the road. My friend will take you to Linz. It’s only about six miles south of here.”

  “I know,” Helene assured him.

  “Remember, Linz is also divided into four segments. The American section will be the first one you come to from the main road. Don’t waste time once you get there. Ask for the captain and give him the letter. Then, and only then, will you be safe.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Helene released Anika’s hand for a moment and wrapped an arm around her father’s neck.

  “My little girl.” He rocked her gently. “God be with you.” She felt his chin tremble against her cheek before he released her.

  “Can’t you come? I’m sure Peter can help you too.”

  Her father shook his head sadly. “Nein. I must stay. There are those who still need help. Besides …” A twinkle lit his eyes. “Just like the Germans, I am sure the Russians are easy with their words when they are drunk. Nights around my living room with a few drinks often leads to information that can help many.”

  Helene chuckled despite her tears. So that’s what he’s been up to all these years.

  Her father embraced her one last time,
then kissed both children. Tears glistened on his eyelashes as he returned to the boat and pushed off.

  Anika whimpered.

  “Don’t cry.” Helene grabbed her daughter’s hand and plowed up the riverbank. “I need you to be strong. We have to go now. We have to—”

  Helene heard the sound of footsteps down the bank. Not far from her, others struggled up the sloping shoreline toward freedom. She spotted a car in the distance. An older-model blue sedan parked on the side of the road. She and Anika had made it nearly halfway to the road when spotlights bounced over the waters.

  Across the river, a truck stopped at the water’s edge. Bright headlights flooded the distant riverbank. Helene spotted the two rowboats struggling to cross. Her father’s boat was in the lead.

  Russian shouts and gunfire split the night air. Bullets splashed the river’s surface.

  A spotlight flashed on the other boat. The man in the boat stood, hands high in surrender. Gunfire erupted again. His body trembled, then slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. Helene watched in horror as he hit the wooden side and splashed into the cold depths of the river. Another victim swept beneath the silent waters.

  Papa! Where was he? As the lights swung that way, Helene located his boat on the far shore, empty. It was a miracle he had made it across so quickly. But was he safe? She didn’t have time to think of that now. More gunfire rang out. One of the trucks was moving across the bridge in their direction. She looked toward the car again. Would she have time to reach it before the truck was upon them?

  She yanked Anika’s hand. “Hurry!” The girl did her best to keep up as they ran awkwardly through the trees.

  The Russians had returned to their trucks and now aimed their large spotlights at the grass not more than ten feet behind Helene and her children.

  “Anika, faster!”