Rendezvous With Destiny, Book Two
Rhineland Inheritance
T. David Bunn
© 1993 by T. Davis Bunn
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7090-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
This story is entirely a creation of the author’s imagination. No parallel between any persons, living or dead, is intended.
Cover illustration by Joe Nordstrom
This book is dedicated to
Gil Morris
For the friendship
And the challenge.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
Other Books by Author
Back Cover
Prologue
The Former Third Reich of National Socialist Germany
OCTOBER 1945
Jake knew something big was in the air the moment he closed the door in his fiancee’s face.
Maybe he knew before. Maybe that was what gave him the strength to leave her photograph taped to the back of his locker. Six months had passed since she had written about her new lover. Yet the tattered photo had remained with him through two more postings and the end of the war. But no more.
Captain Jake Burnes set his cap at the proper angle, hefted his worldly belongings, and marched out to meet his future.
The future stood waiting for him in the form of a new-old buddy, Captain Sam Marshall, head of the local MP garrison. The war had taught both men the trick of making friends fast, then losing them even faster.
“Need a hand?”
“Thanks, I can manage,” Jake replied. “I decided to lighten the load.”
“Come again?”
“Never mind.” Jake started off toward the camp’s main gate. To his left sprawled one of the Allies’ internment camps, full to overflowing both with former German soldiers and the never-ending stream of refugees.
Marshall swung in beside him, matching Jake’s stride with the unconscious habit borne on a thousand parade grounds. “Got a jeep waiting for you up at the gate.”
Jake hid his gratitude behind pretended surprise. “This the normal treatment for somebody who’s just been kicked off base?”
“Just thought a buddy might need a lift, is all,” Marshall replied. “And maybe a little escort duty.”
“You what?”
“You’ve made some enemies around here,” Marshall said.
Jake’s shoulders bounced once in a humorless laugh. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
They walked on in silence for a time before Marshall said, “Got my marching orders this morning. Along with all my men.”
That stopped him. “Connors can’t be meaning to send all of you home at once.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Marshall replied. “The good colonel’s decided to get rid of all my men. And me. Next week.”
“He plans to guard the camp with those untrained gorillas of his?” Jake glanced over the fence to where one of the newly arrived MPs walked in bored guard duty. The man was built like a full-grown bull, all shoulders and swagger.
“That’s what it looks like.” Marshall’s eyes followed Jake’s. “Another dozen piled in this morning. Drawn from every division in Europe, by the sounds of it. None of them ever pulled MP duty in their lives. Only time they ever saw a stockade was when they were inside.”
Jake shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense, sending his only experienced men home all at once like that.”
“There’s a lot around here that doesn’t make any sense,” Marshall replied. “And more every day.”
“Such as?”
“Heard some of them talking last night, filling in the new boys. Work details, from the sounds of it. Nothing to do with any guard duty I’ve ever heard of.” Marshall watched the sentry make another pass. “Sounded like a bunch of bandits making ready for the big heist.”
“Then you must have heard wrong,” Jake said flatly. “That whole camp doesn’t have two plug nickels to rub together.”
“Maybe,” Marshall said doubtfully. “They kept saying something about orders direct from Colonel Connors. Strange to see a commanding officer take such interest in new MPs.”
Jake resumed walking. “Yeah, well, if I don’t ever hear that name again, it’ll be too soon.”
“They were talking about you, too,” Marshall went on. “What I heard made me think you might stay healthier if I were to see you off base.”
“Why would they bother with me?” Jake returned the sentry officer’s laconic salute. “I’m history.”
“Ever wonder why Connors would be so eager to get rid of his best officer? Not to mention the only man on his staff who speaks passable German.”
Jake hefted his duffle bag into the back of the jeep. “Maybe he’s got somebody else in mind for the job.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through over a grudge,” Marshall persisted.
“I gave up trying to figure the colonel out a long time ago.” Jake started to climb in; then something made him hesitate. He turned back around, and spotted a young kid watching through the wires.
The boy was no more than twelve or thirteen, but nonetheless wore the ragged remnants of a uniform. They had come across a lot of such child-warriors in the war’s last days. In his frantic final effort, Hitler had sent out whole battalions of the very young and very old. Most had received no training whatsoever. Many had not even been armed.
Jake saw a pair of dark eyes stare at him with the fathomless depths of one without hope. He had seen too many young eyes carry such expressions as he had trudged and fought his way through the war. Still, the gaze tugged at his heart. It always did.
For some reason he could not explain, Jake lifted his hand in farewell.
The boy remained still as stone for a time, then suddenly thrust both arms out through the wire. Fingers clawed the air, reaching for Jake, begging for what he could not give. The boy’s face became a mask of soundless pleading.
“Hey!” An MP with the battered face of a long-time boxe
r lumbered over. “Back behind the wire!”
Long before the MP reached him, the boy spun and fled into the camp.
Jake stood and watched the vacant space where the boy had been, and wondered why after two years of active duty he still could not stop hurting for the kids. He shrugged it away as best he could, climbed into the jeep, and said, “Let’s go.”
Chapter One
To Jake, this new colonel seemed a good joe—at least, as far as any superior officer could be. “Captain Jake Burnes, right?”
“Yessir, reporting for duty.”
“Take a load off, Captain.” Colonel Beecham buried his nose back in Jake’s file. “Let’s see. Left Officer Training School in October ’42, got to the front just in time for the push up through Italy. In the meantime you’ve earned yourself a silver star, a bronze star, a purple heart, and a string of medals from here to Okinawa. What’d you do, son, decide it was your own private war?”
“Never much liked sitting around, sir.”
“No, it doesn’t sound like it.” He flipped over another page. “Don’t see any mention of you speaking French.”
“Not a word, sir.”
“So they assigned you as liaison for incoming French troops.” The colonel snorted. “Another example of army logic.”
“Temporary liaison, sir,” Jake corrected.
“That so?” Colonel Beecham searched the file. “When are you due for release, Captain?”
“Seven weeks, sir. Just before Christmas.”
The colonel squinted down an invisible rifle barrel at Burnes. “They assigned me a liaison officer who doesn’t know a word of French and is going home in seven weeks?”
“Looks that way, sir.”
“Whose feathers did you ruffle, Captain? General Eisenhower’s?”
“Nossir. Only Colonel Connors’, sir.”
“Only.” A glimmer of humor appeared in the steely gaze. “That must be Cut-Throat Connors, isn’t that what they call him?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“I hear he’d sell his soul and mortgage his own mother for a star on his shoulder. What’d you do, son?”
“Nothing really, sir. Just a difference of opinion.”
“Come on, Captain. Cut to the chase. Sure as gunfire in a battle zone, there’s not a friend of Connors in sight. Let’s hear it.”
Jake decided the colonel really meant it. “I was responsible for a section of the Oberkirch internment camp.”
“I know that. So?”
“Just before I arrived they’d had a couple of suicides among the former German soldiers. The officer whose place I took spoke some German and managed to get some of the men to talk with him. Seems like they’d been growing despondent over what was waiting for them outside—cities pretty much destroyed, no food, less work, chaos everywhere. The officer started looking around for some way to improve morale, and decided to train a couple of squads in touch football.” Jake shrugged. “Since I speak German, he asked me to take over where he left off.”
“Connors is awful proud of his football team, isn’t he.”
“Yessir.”
Colonel Connors was responsible for security in the region north of Offenburg. It was well known that he was constantly scouting for football material, and any enlisted man who made his team won an MP billet and an extra stripe.
“What’d he do, challenge your German boys to a game? Put a couple of side bets down?”
“More than a couple,” Burnes replied. “From what I heard, sir.”
“And then your boys went out and whupped his pride and joy.” The smile finally surfaced. “Wish I’d been there to see that.”
“It was some game, sir,” Burnes said with evident satisfaction.
“Worth getting stuck with a bunch of foreigners for your last posting?”
Burnes shrugged. “Can’t be worse than guarding ten thousand defeated German soldiers.”
Colonel Beecham settled back in his chair. “So you speak some German. How much is some?”
“I guess I can get around pretty well, sir. I was studying it before I got called up.”
“Maybe you’ll be of some use, after all. I’ve got quite a few bilinguals in French and English, but almost no German speakers. Just a chaplain who’s almost never here and a young lady who’s already too busy by half. Any chance of you changing your mind, maybe signing on for another tour?”
“None at all,” Jake replied flatly. “Sir.”
“It’s like that, is it? You got somebody waiting for you back home?”
“Not anymore,” Jake replied bitterly.
“She dear-johned you?”
“Six months ago, sir.” The letter had simply said, don’t come back expecting to find things like they used to be, because what used to be isn’t there anymore. “Guess she got tired of waiting.”
“Family?”
“Not anymore,” Jake repeated, more softly this time.
The colonel’s leathery features creased with concern. “While you were over here?”
Jake nodded. “Both at once. They had an automobile accident.”
The letter had been waiting for him when his platoon had marched into Rome. The fact that he hadn’t slept for three days had partly numbed the pain. The letter had been written by their elderly next-door neighbor and family friend. Snowstorm. Icy road. Oncoming truck. His dad had not made it to the hospital. His mother had died two days later in her sleep. No apparent injuries, the doctors couldn’t explain it. Jake was sad but not sorry. His mother would have been lost without his father around.
“Tough,” the colonel said, and clearly meant it. “What about brothers or sisters?”
“One brother,” Jake said, telling the rest in a weary voice. “He was leading a mortar squad on D-Day. They were coming off the boat ramp onto the beach at Normandy. A German ’88 round hit the ramp and took out the whole squad.”
The colonel said softly, “I lost a son on the beaches.”
Both men gazed at a spot somewhere between them for a moment of pained and silent remembering. The colonel was the first to speak again. “Sounds as if the only family you’ve got left is the army.”
If you could call a group that had tried its level best to get him killed for two solid years a family. “Guess that’s about it, sir.”
“Well, we’ll see if we can’t bring you around to our way of thinking. We’ve got seven weeks to soften you up.” Colonel Beecham leaned back and hefted a pair of size thirteens onto the corner of his desk. “Am I to assume that Colonel Connors did a thorough job of briefing you on your new responsibilities?”
“All I know,” Jake replied, “is that right now I’m sitting in a squad room in what I hope is Badenburg. Sir.”
“Okay, here’s the scoop. As you may know, the Allies are in the process of splitting Germany into four sections, each to be governed by a different occupying force. France has been given responsibility for two portions extending out from their border. One of the sections is right here, the other is up on the other side of Karlsruhe.
“For the past few months, the French have been too busy taking care of business at home to worry much about this region, so we’ve been holding the fort for them. Sort of, anyway. Temporary measures tend not to hold too well in the army. But that’s almost over now. The French are due in here the week after Christmas. The only American base that will remain in this area is Karlsruhe, which is where we are planning to consolidate. There and Stuttgart and Pforzheim, which remain in the American zone. Are you with me?”
“So far, yessir.”
“Right.” Without turning around, Beecham pointed toward the map on the wall behind him. “That red line you see there is the border between France and Germany. That’s our responsibility. The place is like a sieve right now. We’ve got upwards of a thousand refugees pouring through there every night. I don’t know where they’re hoping to go, ’cause the French sure don’t want them. Now that it’s getting cold, the morning patrols are
coming across bodies. It’s a bad business, Captain. We didn’t fight this dang war to have civilians dying in the bushes. Not in my area. The way I see it, we’ve got a responsibility to these people. If the war’s over, then it’s over, and we’ve got to start treating them like the human beings they are. Have you got any problems with that?”
“None at all, sir.”
“Okay. Now, I’ve got seventeen hundred men under my command right now, but like all these places around here, we’re losing them fast. The border area isn’t as high up on the brass’s list of priorities as I think it should be. As far as they’re concerned, if these Eastern European refugees want to keep running until they drop, that’s their business. But not for me. Nossir. They need to be properly cared for in the camps until we can get some kind of permanent billet sorted out. Am I getting through?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
“As I said, there’s an American contingent up here at Karlsruhe. They’re supposed to be helping out, at least until the French are settled in and up to snuff. But they’re so tied up trying to find space for all the incoming personnel and equipment, they’re busier than a one-legged man in a polka contest.”
The colonel pointed a finger the size of a large-caliber gun barrel directly at Jake’s chest. “That’s your job, son. I want a concerted effort by all the military in this region, both those here now and those coming in, to help us close that border. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll sure give it a try, sir.”
“Good man. Our responsibility runs all the way from Karlsruhe right down to the Swiss border below Mulhouse. Almost exactly one hundred miles, a lot of which is heavily forested. What isn’t covered in woodland, well, this war has made to look like something dragged up from hell.”
“A tough job,” Burnes said.
“An impossible job, with the men I’ve got right now,” Beecham corrected. Which means it is positively vital that you get the other forces to help us out.”
“From the sound of your voice I guess they’re not all that interested.”
“Some are, some aren’t. Some of our commanders are still too busy fighting an enemy that has already surrendered to worry about civilian casualties. Others just don’t care.”
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