The beggar stared with wide eyes. His mind raced, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He braced himself against the wall as he studied the military map, then lifted a trembling hand and touched it, moving his fingers east toward the Russians and then west toward the fleeing German army. He briefly moved his hand north, and then he hesitated.
He remembered something he had heard a couple of nights before. A rumor. Whispers in the shadows. Impossible to believe. But he was going to die if he didn’t come up with something and it was the only thing he had.
“I hear rumors,” he said.
“Of course you do, my little spy.”
“There is supposed to be a train,” he stammered quickly. “A refugee train on Christmas morning.”
“And where could we find this train on Christmas morning?”
“Brzeg,” the old man said.
Lucas stopped and looked around. Aron was on his shoulders, and Lucas kept his hands on the boy’s legs to hold him in place. Cela walked up behind him, following in his tracks. The snow was six inches deep, and her little legs struggled to keep up. “Why did you stop?” she huffed as she came to rest beside him.
Lucas glanced down at her. “I just wanted to look around.”
“You don’t have to stop for me,” she shot back. “I can keep up.”
Lucas wiped a bead of cold sweat off his brow, then looked down at her again. “I wasn’t stopping for you. I just want to make sure I know where we’re going.” He stomped his feet in the snow and took a look around. The forest was thick with high pines and low maples. The rolling terrain descended to his right. Beyond the tree line, he knew the hills dropped down to flat terrain. Villages there. Farms. Retreating Germans along the narrow roads. In front of him, beyond the forest, was the Oder River. Beyond that, Brzeg.
After two days of walking, they were almost there.
Lucas pointed to a clearing under the trees. “Let’s take a rest.”
“You don’t need to rest for me,” Cela answered tartly. Lucas couldn’t help but smile.
“I want to get down,” Aron said, kicking off of Lucas’s shoulders and dropping into the snow. He ran to the clearing. Lucas and Cela followed.
The trees broke in front of them, the terrain dropping steeply toward the flat. Lucas studied the valley before him. Two black ribbons ran through the snow-dirt roads. He observed occasional columns of soldiers walking west, with military vehicles here and there, the tail end of the humiliating German defeat. On the other side of the trees, he could hear explosions as the Russians chased them toward the German border. He turned to face the children, then nodded to the bare ground under the nearest tree and sat down. Cela sat beside him, and he shook off his pack and started pulling out what remained of their rations. Behind the tree, a white rabbit appeared, moving cautiously toward them.
Aron saw the rabbit. “Shhh…” he whispered as he slowly started inching toward it. The rabbit backed away but didn’t run. Aron moved so slowly it was almost impossible to detect. He crouched, his hands extended, ready to snatch the rabbit. Lucas smiled, knowing it was hopeless. “Get him, Aron,” he whispered.
Cela watched her brother and whispered to Lucas, “I’ve seen him do it before.”
Lucas glanced at her, not believing.
“No, he can,” Cela said. Her voice was barely audible. “I don’t know how he does it. It’s like magic. But he’s fed us more than once.”
Lucas seemed impressed, his eyes opening wide in admiration. Whether he was sincere or not, Cela couldn’t tell. Aron took another step through the snow. The rabbit ran. Aron continued stalking. The rabbit came to a stop twenty feet away. Aron stalked. Lucas watched him, then glanced awkwardly to the little girl beside him.
“Cela, right?” he asked.
Cela looked disgusted. “You don’t know my name yet?” she scolded.
“No, I do. I’m just…you know, making sure. So, Cela. That’s a pretty name.”
“Cela Danielle,” she added while staring at the food Lucas had shaken out of his pack and spread across a patch of bare ground. They had made the rations last, but barely, and the food was nearly gone.
Lucas watched her hesitate, then reached down and took one of the remaining crackers. He peeled away the brown wrapper and considered it. Dark brown. Thick. Grain pulp and flour paste. He took a large bite. It tasted like glue and paper. But he didn’t care. He was famished. All of them were.
Cela watched him, then reached down and took a cracker too, unwrapped it quickly, and put it to her lips.
“How old are you, Cela Danielle?” Lucas asked.
“How old do you think I am?” she challenged as she took a small bite.
“Please don’t make me do this.”
Cela was smiling now. “How old do you think?”
Lucas hesitated. He didn’t like the game. “I don’t know. Somewhere between five and fifteen. I’m not good at this kind of thing.”
“I’ll give you a hint. I’m older than five.”
“I could have got that much, Cela.”
She smiled at him, then took another nibble at her cracker.
Lucas glanced over his shoulder to check on Aron. The chase with the rabbit went on. “All right,” he said. “I’ll guess eleven.”
Cela suddenly looked very proud. “You really mean that?”
“Sure, why not.”
Cela started laughing. “Because you’re wrong! I’m eight. But I’ll be nine next month.”
Lucas looked surprised. “Eight? Really? That seems so young.”
“I don’t feel young,” she said. Her voice was suddenly very serious. She took another tiny bite of her cracker but kept her eyes focused on the ground.
“You’ve done a good job taking care of Aron,” Lucas said.
“He’s my brother.”
Lucas watched her nibble. “You don’t have to do that, Cela. You don’t have to be so careful. We have enough to eat.”
Cela shook her head. “There’s never enough to eat.”
“There is now. We’ve made good progress. We should make it to the Oder River by tonight. Brzeg is just on the other side.” Lucas hesitated as he thought. “Of course, we have to figure out how to get across the lowland and the roads without being seen. And how to cross the river. That could be a bit of a problem.” He turned and smiled at her. “But we’ll figure it out.”
Both of them turned to watch Aron sneaking up on the rabbit. He moved slowly through the snow, then gave sudden chase. The rabbit easily hopped away and stopped. It was almost as if they were playing a game. Aron started sneaking up on it again.
Cela absently fingered a silver locket around her neck. Lucas turned to her and saw it. He leaned over and touched it with his finger. “That’s very pretty.”
Cela pulled away. “I found it,” she said defensively. “In the church. I didn’t take it.”
“I know you didn’t, Cela. In fact, I think I might know who it belonged to.”
Cela looked disappointed as she reached up and started to unlock the chain.
“No, Cela. You keep it. I’m sure she would want you to have it anyway.”
Cela smiled at him weakly. They ate in silence until Cela finished her cracker. She reached out toward a can of meat, looked at Lucas as if waiting for his disapproval, then took the can, opened it, and started eating hungrily. Lucas watched. She ate as if she were starving, which of course she was. Cela turned to him, her mouth crammed with food. “You seem kind of sad,” she said.
Lucas smiled at her. “I’m not sad. I’m just careful. I want to make sure we get there safely.”
“No. I think you’re sad.” When he didn’t answer, she took the lid of her canned meat and licked it clean, then ran her finger around the inside of the can and licked it as well. She wiped her lips, then glanced at Lucas, embarrassed.
She nodded eagerly and leaned back against a tree. “Tomorrow is Christmas,” she said.
“Yes. I guess we’re catching a Christmas train out of Poland.”
Cela studied him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you believe in Christmas?”
Lucas’s brow furrowed without him knowing it. “I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Do you believe in…you know…Christmas?”
“I don’t know, Cela Danielle,” he answered carefully. “That’s kind of like asking if I believe in September. Sure, I believe in Christmas. I know it’s coming. Tomorrow will be Christmas Day.”
“That’s not what I meant. But you knew that. What I meant is, do you believe in, you know, all of the things about Christmas Day?”
Lucas shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“What you really mean is no.”
“No, Cela, that’s not what I meant.”
She smiled at him sadly, as if they had just shared an unhappy secret. “It’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t believe it either.”
Lucas leaned toward her, staring into her eyes. “You’re too young to think that way.”
“If you had seen the things that I’ve seen, you might not say that.”
They fell silent, both of them thinking. Lucas picked up a stick and examined it nervously, then took the knife and started sharpening one end. Cela watched him a moment. “I trust you,” she said. “If you’re saying…”
“I’m not saying anything, Cela.”
“So you think I should believe?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. Most people do.”
She squared her shoulders as if she had just made an important decision. “Okay then. For now, we’ll both believe in Christmas.”
Lucas jabbed the stick into the ground. “Tell me about your family.”
Cela motioned toward her little brother. “That’s my family.”
“What about your mom and dad?”
Cela shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What do you mean?”
“We stopped getting letters,” she answered simply, as if that explained everything.
Lucas waited. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he finally said.
Cela took a deep breath, her eyes seeming to focus on nothing. “My dad was in the army. He wrote us every chance he could. But then we just stopped getting letters. That was it. No explanation. No word from the war ministry. Nothing. It was like he just disappeared. Then when the Germans came, they sent all of us young ones out to the country. We didn’t have any choice, they just sent us away. Every day our mother would write us. Every single day. But then . . . her letters just stopped coming too.”
“I’m very sorry,” Lucas answered.
“Lots of people are sorry about a lot of things.”
Lucas stared ahead, then jabbed the stick into the snow again. “There’s no one else in your family?”
Cela took a breath and seemed to hold it, then let it out with a sigh. “I had an older brother and sister, but I really don’t remember them. My sister died of pneumonia right after the Germans invaded. I never really knew her. My only memory of my brother was one year he was supposed to come home for Christmas. I was so excited. I remember waiting on Christmas Eve, staring out the window. But he never came.”
Lucas watched her a moment, then took his pack and started to gather their gear, packing up the few remnants of food. “We need to go,” he said.
Cela didn’t move. “We’re just trying to get home,” she said.
Lucas kept on working. “That’s all any of us are trying to do.”
Cela reached out for his hand. “But we’re going to be okay now, right? You’re going to take us to the train? We’ll be safe there. Someone will be able to help me take care of my little brother. You’re going to help us, right?”
Lucas touched her gently on the head. “Yes, Cela. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Müller stood on the shabby porch of the old farmhouse. “Come on, let’s move!” he commanded his men. They scrambled urgently around him, loading gear and ammunition, checking weapons, taking the last of their supplies from the farmhouse and brick barn they had occupied for the night. Knowing they were the last of the German army within at least twenty miles, all of them were nervous. The Russian advance squads were so close the German soldiers could almost smell the fire from their artillery, but only a few of them realized that the war had almost leapfrogged over them, much of the rocket fire passing over their heads.
Four German SdKfz 6 half-track transports were lined up on the dirt road that led to the farmhouse. Forty soldiers were busy getting ready to move out. A few of them, the leaders, were SS officers, but the others were regular army soldiers: younger, softer, less determined, less violent, far less battle hardened.
Zarek cowered at the side of the broken porch, trying as hard as he could to appear invisible to the German soldiers. He kept his head down, his eyes avoiding their suspicious stares as he waited like an obedient dog for his master to call his name. Every moment, he thought of his hut, his warm wood stove, his blind daughter, and the angel he called dzeiko.
If I cast my soul to hell for what I’ve done, then I go there with a heart as good as any man’s, he thought.
Müller leaned against one of the pillars holding up the slanted roof and smoked as he watched his men work. His black leather coat reached down to the top of his boots, and he held black leather gloves in one hand. The death skull on his officer’s cap and silver colonel rank were the only patches of silver on his uniform. He called out again, yelling at his men, “Let’s go! Move! Move!”
Sergeant Fisser approached him from behind, walking through the old wooden door that had protected the entrance to the farmhouse for more than a hundred years. Seeing Fisser, the other soldiers stopped their work and looked at him, their faces expectant. Hopeful. More than a hint of frustration showed in their expressions. They knew they were on a suicide mission. The sergeant was their only hope.
A young German lieutenant worked among his soldiers, hoisting metal boxes of ammunition into the back of the lead vehicle. He wore lieutenant rank, but he looked older than most, with light skin and determined eyes. When the war had started, he was barely out of high school; now he’d seen enough blood and anguish to fill a lifetime. He stopped and stole a glance at Fisser as the SS sergeant walked across the porch. Fisser looked at him and shook his head. Lieutenant Acker frowned and quickly looked away.
Hearing Fisser’s footsteps, Müller scowled. The command sergeant came to a stop directly behind him. Müller didn’t turn around.
“Sir, General Werner is on the line,” Fisser announced as quietly as he could. He didn’t want the other men to hear. It would only invite more fear and discouragement if they knew.
Müller ignored him while motioning to his men. “Keep it moving!” he shouted. “We’ve got a mission to complete!”
The soldiers turned and got back to their work.
“Sir, General Werner…” Fisser said again.
“I heard you,” Müller answered coldly.
Fisser took another step toward him, but Müller lifted a hand to stop him. “Sergeant Fisser, what do you expect General Werner is going to tell me?”
“Sir, I suppose he’s going to repeat his instructions from last night.”
“I suspect that is correct. Now, I don’t suppose the tactical situation has either changed or improved. It would seem, then, that the general and I are having a disagreement on our combat priorities.”
“Sir…”
“Mount up! Let’s go!” Müller shouted to his men.
The soldiers reluctantly started climbing into the open backs of the gangly transports.
Müller glared at them, then finally turned to Fisser. He took an angry step toward him and lowered his voice. “Let me ask you something,” he hissed. “Do you think for one moment that I would hesitate to expend my life in defense of the Fatherland?”
“Sir, I know you would not.”
“Indeed, I would not. My commitment is not in doubt. So let me be clear. If you ever challenge me again, I’ll string you up and light you on fire. Do you understand me, Command Sergeant?”
Fisser stared straight ahead. “Yes, sir, I do.”
Five minutes later, the loaded German SdKfz 6 half-tracks tracked down the muddy farm lane that connected with the main road. Müller stood in the open cabin of the lead transport, and the small convoy came to a stop. Just beyond the farm lane, the road split. Müller hesitated, then pushed the metal door back, stepped out of the half-track, and walked across the frozen mud, stopping at the fork in the road. Fisser got out of the second vehicle and walked to his side, a folded map in hand. Zarek walked behind him, blowing into his clenched fists.
Müller studied what lay before him. A thick forest. Rising terrain. One of the roads led toward the forest, then turned abruptly to avoid the high ground and heavy trees. A narrow dirt road split off, winding up the side of the gentle hill. To his right, far in the distance, he could see the outlines of a small village, the black steeple of a rock church rising above the cluster of houses. An ancient rock fence surrounded the unnamed village. Beyond that, so far in the distance that it was barely visible, he could see a silver ribbon run down from the north. The nearly frozen Oder River glinted in the sun. Müller pointed beyond the river. “It’s more than eleven miles to Brzeg.”
Fisser unfolded his map and studied it. “Yes, sir. Seventeen, to be exact.”
Müller thought as he stared at the forest. “He won’t follow the road. He’ll cut across the high ground, staying in the cover of the trees.”
Fisser nodded agreement. “What do you make of the reports that he’s with two children?”
Winter Sky Page 9