Rhineland Inheritance

by T. Davis Bunn

  Perhaps the greatest surprise was when the big-bellied, cigar-chewing Sergeant Morrows turned up at Jake’s quarters late one evening. “What say, Captain.”

  “Sergeant.” Jake assumed the sergeant was bringing a reprimand from the colonel for having shirked his duties, but he was too tired to care. He scrubbed a fatigue-numbed face with his towel, and slumped down on his bed.

  The sergeant scuffed his boots on the doorjamb and said, “Quite a little operation you’ve got going here.”

  Jake closed his eyes with a long, deep sigh. The problem with such nights was that while his body begged for sleep, his mind had lost its ability to slow down.

  “Me and the boys, well, we’ve been talking.” Morrows seemed to be finding his speech hard going, but he plugged on. “See, the thing is, sir, my specialty in the war was sort of being able to find things.”

  Jake rolled his head on the pillow and opened one eye.

  “Not steal, you understand. Nothing like that. Just sort of find them. And, well, like I said, me and the boys were just talking, and—”

  “Disinfectant,” Jake said.

  “We, ah, what was that, sir?”

  “We need disinfectant,” Jake repeated. “Urgently. Gallons of it. Enough to scrub down the floors and walls of maybe a hundred rooms.”

  “Disinfectant. Right.” From a pocket the sergeant produced a grubby envelope and a two-inch stub of a pencil. “Twenty gallons ought to do it? How about brushes and buckets?”

  “Transport,” Jake said wearily to the ceiling. “We’re having problems getting the kids to the hospital, and the doctors to the kids, and the kids to the feeding center, and supplies everywhere.”

  “Don’t see much problem there,” Morrows said, scribbling busily. “One of my buddies runs the mechanics over at the motor pool. Either the commander lets them have some time off or he’ll have to try to drive around on four flat tires.”

  “And drivers,” Jake said. “And more strong backs. And building materials. We’ve got to make these rooms where they’re living dry. And warm.”

  “Blankets and bedding too, right?” Morrows seemed undaunted by the growing list. “How about more clothes?”

  “And food,” Jake said. “Those kids eat more than a brigade coming out of battle. There’s never enough food.”

  “You leave it with me, Captain. And get yourself some rest. You look done in.” Morrows closed the door and stomped off.

  Jake closed his eyes, sighed again, and rolled over on his side. Maybe tonight would be different.

  * * *

  Just when it appeared that they were almost on top of the most urgent needs, Jake was blindsided once again. And from the most unexpected direction.

  He stopped by the kitchen to make certain Chaplain Fox had enough food and fuel for the day, before working through the Matterhorn of paper work accumulating on his desk. But while Jake was talking to the chaplain, a voice behind him said, “Entschuldigen Sie mir, bitte, Herr Kapitän.”

  Jake turned to find a woman wrapped in rags. A young girl stood by her feet, clutching onto her skirt, and peering fearfully up at Jake. Another child was in the woman’s arms, a boy of perhaps four or five. Painfully thin. And inert. Jake did not need to look closer. Not anymore. The smell lingering around the boy was all the information he needed.

  “You must take him to the Red Cross center,” Jake told the woman. “Immediately.”

  “Please, Herr Kapitän,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “My name is Friedrichs. I am a poor woman. My husband was a Nazi. SS. They see me and read my papers and they spit on me. But my boy, my only boy, he is sick. He is dying. Please, please, I beg you, a poor weak woman who has nothing and no one. I hear what you do for the children. All the city hears. Please help me, Captain. Save my boy from death.”

  Jake started to turn to the chaplain, only to be stopped by the most unexpected of sounds. Under his breath, the chaplain was singing. Singing. Jake sighed and shook his head. He reached for the boy.

  “I will do what I can,” Jake told her.

  At that the woman broke down completely.

  “You and your daughter must stay and eat with us,” he said. “And we will try to find some warmer clothes for you.” Jake started for the jeep. “And disinfectant for your home. You must take care that you and the other children do not also become ill.”

  After that, the sad little lines began to form each day long before Jake arrived. The women refused to speak with anyone save the captain. They would relinquish their children to no one but the captain. Jake began to arrive at the feeding station earlier and earlier, knowing that even an hour in the fierce winter weather would be enough to doom the weakest of the children. And still they were there before he arrived.

  New squads were formed to hand out clothing, disinfectant, brushes and pails to each family. They came and deposited their precious, stinking bundles and were sent on their way weeping with pathetic thanks. Addresses were recorded. Notices were printed up in German, so that neighbors could be warned. Jake made the signs as official as possible, ordering the cowed populace to take no measure against the families with sickness, ordering the neighbors to come in for disinfectant and blankets and food, ordering them to take every possible measure to keep their families healthy, ordering them to report any sign of illness as soon as it appeared.

  But despite their best efforts, the cholera spread. Surely not as quickly as it would otherwise have done, maybe not as rapidly as in other regions. But Jake did not afford himself the luxury of a yardstick. All he saw was the growing number of kids sick and on the borderland of death. And some over the border.

  Grudgingly, the clinic gave them an entire ward, which they swiftly filled with so many mattresses that doctors and nurses and volunteers had to pick their way between them gingerly. Even so, it was not enough.

  Finally, a delegation headed by Jake approached Colonel Beecham. The colonel replied that he could not go against explicit orders and allow civilians into the military hospital, especially those suffering from a highly contagious disease. But he then ordered a pair of heated Quonset huts, formerly used as warehouse space for kitchen perishables, to be given over to the relief effort. In less than a week, both were filled with moaning, crying, wailing, and sometimes dying children.

  The extra space was enough. Barely, but enough.

  * * *

  Slowly, so gradually that at first no one was willing to believe it, the tide turned.

  The number of incoming children began to drop. Then drop farther still. Then diminish to a trickle. And those in care began to improve—most of them, anyway.

  The exhausted worry lines that had creased the faces of those who had given of their time and energy and love began to disappear. Smiles reemerged. People who had taken part in the effort found themselves bonded together in the joy of shared achievement, of having given without heed to self or selfish gain. Without self-congratulations, they felt a kind of pride. And for some, their efforts brought a healing of their own internal wounds. They could not have said why, nor where it came from. Yet these war-scarred men and women found themselves walking taller, their own burdens somehow lightened. They discovered that by helping the helpless, they too had been gifted the invisible hand of peace.

  Even Jake managed a few nights of uninterrupted sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jake himself decided they might actually have rounded the corner the day he took Karl home.

  The boy was sunken-eyed and silent as the jeep wound its way through littered, bomb-pitted streets. But when they pulled up in front of the chocolate factory, Karl announced in German, “I will find what you are seeking.”

  It took a moment for Jake to realize what Karl was talking about. The last thing on his mind for weeks had been the possibility of unearthing lost Nazi treasure. “Have your team look all you want,” Jake replied. “But you concentrate on getting well.”

  “Yes, I get well, so I can work for you,” Karl repl
ied. “But others will not do this work. Me. I work. And not just look. I find.”

  Jake understood him perfectly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No, nothing at all, just life. Is my life not worth something, Captain?”

  Jake found himself admiring the boy’s spirit. “You’re going to be okay.”

  As he lifted himself from the jeep, Karl’s eyes burned with renewed determination. He nodded once to Jake. “I find.”

  ****

  That afternoon Jake and Pierre returned to their liaison duties with heavy hearts. After weeks of neglect, they could only expect to find their fledgling border patrols in total disarray. Not to mention the state of their personal contacts with the chain of command.

  Yet when they stopped at the main gate of the Karlsruhe base, the guard threw them a parade-ground salute and motioned for the gate to be swung open.

  “Captain Burnes and Captain Servais to see Major Hobbs,” Jake said, eyeing the open gate.

  “Sure, sir. I know you. I brought a truck down your way a couple of weeks ago.” The corporal motioned them forward. “You know the way, sir.”

  “Ah,” Jake hesitated. “Maybe you’d better call ahead, soldier. Major Hobbs isn’t expecting us.”

  “No problem, sir,” the corporal replied. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

  Jake glanced at Pierre, but found only a mirror for his own confusion. He turned back. “You are?”

  “Oh, yessir. Matter of fact, the major’s started his own project to help the kids around here. I’m involved. It’s great being able to do something for them, isn’t it, sir?”

  “Yes,” Jake murmured. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “I’ll call the major and let him know you’re on your way, Captain. And thanks. You’ve been a real inspiration to a lot of us around here. Other bases, too, from the sound of things.” He snapped out another salute, and waved them on through.

  Once beyond the gate, Jake asked, “Did I hear what I thought I heard?”

  Pierre shook his head. “My friend, I shall reserve judgment on that one.”

  Major Hobbs met them with a wry smile. “Do you have any idea how tough you’ve made it for guys like me?”

  “Sir?”

  “Oh, drop the sirs and siddown, both of you.” Hobbs settled back in his chair, cranked it back, and propped up his feet. “I mean, if I’m going to be the model to my men that the general’s always going on about, I now have to live up to the examples of Captains Jake Burnes and Pierre Servais. Did I get your name right, Captain?”

  “Close enough,” Pierre said distractedly.

  “The general?” Jake asked dully.

  “You’d think you two had found the end of the rainbow, the way Command’s been going on recently.” Despite his words, the major did not appear the least bit put out. “Yeah, Colonel Beecham’s report must have really caught their attention.”

  “Colonel Beecham wrote a report to Command?” Jake asked.

  “Hard to believe, I admit. Seeing the pair of you sitting there so dog-tired you can barely talk, I have trouble understanding what all the hullabaloo is about. But the colonel obviously disagreed. Had some nice things to say about you two. Haven’t seen it myself, but from what I hear he really laid it on thick.”

  “He didn’t tell us about any report,” Jake said.

  “No?”

  “Not a word,” Pierre confirmed.

  Hobbs did not bother to hide his grin. “Probably figured a pair of swollen heads would just get in the way. But there you are. The brass are talking about the little miracle you’ve worked. Burnes and Servais, those’re the words of the month.”

  “We didn’t work any miracle,” Jake protested weakly.

  “It’s not enough that I’ve got to spend all my free time prying goods loose from Stores, so I can send it down to you guys,” Hobbs went on. “Nossir. Now I’ve got to go out and get my own hands dirty.”

  “This is the first we’ve heard about any of this,” Jake stammered. “We just came up to find out how the patrols—”

  “Oh, that’s all taken care of,” the major said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got two full platoons assigned to it round the clock. Border’s not tight as a corked jug, mind you, not by a long shot. But we’re bringing in our share of would-be smugglers and refugees. Enough to make you two shine in your own reports.”

  “That’s good news,” Pierre said, as stunned as Jake. “Very good.”

  “Yeah, had to cover you boys while you were out making the world healthy and safe for democracy.” The grin broadened. “Interesting how I still don’t lack for patrol duty volunteers, seeing as how it’s cold as the backside of beyond out there. I guess the treasure hounds are still hungry, even though they haven’t come across any pack trains of diamond-studded gold bars or whatever you guys stumbled over.”

  “A cross,” Jake corrected. “Just one cross.”

  “Just, the man says. Anyway, I got patrol volunteers running outta my ears.”

  “This is, well . . .” Jake turned to Pierre for help.

  “Incredible,” Servais finished for him. “We are deeply grateful.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Major Hobbs dropped his feet to the floor with a resounding thump. “Seeing as how you two are now in my debt, I’d like you gents to come give my boys a little pep talk.”

  “A what?”

  “Lay it all out. Describe what needs to be done and how to go about doing it. Cholera’s appeared in three districts of this town already. The cellar kids are supposed to be dropping like flies. We heard you got it pretty much licked down your way. Is that right?”

  “It appears so,” Pierre replied. “But it’s too early to tell for sure.”

  “Well, at this stage we’re ready to try anything. So how about you two coming back tomorrow around eighteen-hundred hours, and telling my boys where to start and what to do next.”

  “I’m not much of a speaker,” Jake protested.

  The major waved it aside. “We asked for volunteers the day before yesterday, and got more offers than we can handle. They’ve heard about what you’ve been doing, I guess from the guys trucking down supplies, and now everybody and his cousin wants to get on the bandwagon. We’ll use today to get the word out to be ready in time for your talk tomorrow. Okay?”

  “I suppose—”

  “Great. Anyway, it’ll give you a chance to polish your act before laying it on for the general staff.” The major was on his feet, hand outstretched. “Sure is good to know I can count on you guys.”

  * * *

  Jake dropped Servais off at the headquarters building in Badenburg and headed toward the center of town. He found Chaplain Fox surrounded by helpers at the feeding station, preparing the day’s meal. They had long since found it necessary to declare the lot off limits until the chaplain had blessed the meal and serving had begun; as a result, a crowd was already gathering just outside the lot’s perimeters. If he had not been so distracted, Jake would have taken great comfort from the fact that a few of the kids had actually had enough energy to start a game of tag down the street.

  Jake pulled the chaplain over to one side and told him about all the fuss being made over the relief effort. He finished with the complaint, “I’m not a hero. I don’t even feel like a hero.”

  “Not many honest people do, Jake.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Most heroics are built on tragedy,” Chaplain Fox replied. “And most heroes do not act alone. If a man is honest with himself, he can take little pleasure in gaining from someone else’s misery. And he will always feel uncomfortable if people make him into a symbol for the noble actions of many.”

  Jake kicked at a loose stone, sending it spinning across the rubble-strewn lot. “So what is the answer?”

  “Allow God to use you for His glory, not for your own,” he answered simply. “When your moment of honor comes, remember David’s prayer. Who am I, David asks of God, that you
would call me by name? And what have I done that causes you to give such greatness to your servant’s house?” The chaplain paused to smile at the little girl whose mother was tending the cooking fire, then continued. “Here at the moment when David is being crowned king of all Israel, he humbles himself before God and declares himself a servant. That to me is the only sane way to approach recognition and honor. To dedicate it to the Lord and seek to do His will.”

  Jake was still mulling over the chaplain’s words when a voice behind him called out, “Excuse me please, Herr Kapitän.”

  He turned and saw Frau Friedrichs, the first woman who had brought her sick child to him. The memory of most faces were blurred by hurry and fatigue. But as she had been the first, Jake recognized her immediately. He walked over and asked in German, “How is your son?”

  “Weak,” she replied, her voice long since drained of all emotion. It was as flat and as hollow as her features. “Very weak. But he lives.”

  Jake nodded. He had seen too many of the children hanging on by the slenderest of threads. Too many. “Is he taking any food?”

  “Your priest gives me what he can,” she replied. “I make a soup. He drinks some when he wakes up.”

  He noted the darkened rings surrounding her sunken eyes, the hollowed cheeks. “Then he should live.”

  She nodded. “You are a good man. You did all you could.”

  “Not enough,” Jake replied. The wound of seeing so many little bodies buried was with him still. “And your daughter?”

  “She is well, thanks to you and your men. And thanks to your orders to clean and disinfect, only one other child in the block was ill. And because of your signs, the neighbors don’t scream for us to leave anymore, to get out from our home, when we have no place else to go.”