The Hazards of War

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  15

  Gabrielle marched sullenly up the grand staircase, her thoughts a distant and detached muddle. She was barely aware of her feet moving as Springer prodded her down one of the second floor hallways. They stopped in front of a guard with whom Springer conversed in German before he gave her a slap on her bottom. The new soldier took her by the elbow and started to lead her toward a bedroom door. Gabrielle’s skin turned cold and she felt like she might vomit. Not again. Please, God, not again.

  They reached the bedroom. The guard turned the handle and pushed her into the center of the room. The next thing she knew, her father was there next to her and had his arm around her shoulder.

  “Gabrielle, sweetheart! Are you all right?”

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, my dear, yes. It is me.”

  Slowly, Gabrielle turned to look at her father. His face seemed so familiar and yet she had difficulty in feeling any emotion. She did the only thing that came to mind and stared at him with dull eyes.

  Papa was holding her awkwardly with his right arm. She sank against his chest and squeezed him as if she couldn’t believe that she was real. He winced, then she heard him start to sob. For a brief moment, the sudden warmth and security of the embrace brought tears to her cheeks. She was almost able to relax, to let go and start to become a human being again… but at that instant she felt her own father stiffen. He was staring at the door. Gabrielle turned head away from Papa’s chest to look.

  Springer was watching her.

  His eyes were far from polite as they went over her body. She absently met his gaze and he gave her a small smirk that made her skin crawl. After a few more agonizing moments, he finally wheeled around and pulled the door shut behind him.

  “Gabrielle!” Papa whispered sharply as soon as they were alone. “Look at me. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Tell me if you’re okay.”

  She gave a small nod in response to his question but could not bring herself to look at him. Her father seemed uncertain as to what to do. After a moment of indecision he hobbled back to his feet and led her back to the lone chair in the room. He sat her down and kneeled by her side.

  “Gabrielle, tell me where they took you. Tell me what they did to you. Can you do that?”

  She looked back at him blankly. The numbness was still there. It was as if the past hours had only been a dream, and Gabrielle had difficulty finding the words or thoughts around what had happened.

  “Gabrielle. Can you speak?”

  A moment passed before she finally managed, “Oui.” She thought her voice sounded tiny and weak.

  Papa breathed just a bit easier. “Please, girl, tell me what they did with you.”

  It was difficult to focus. Gabrielle couldn’t think of where to begin; her memory was a jumble of events with seemingly no chronological order. She scrunched her eyes shut and forced herself to pay attention. She thought back to earlier in the day. She had woken up, gotten out of bed after a fitful night’s sleep, then dressed. Been dragged to the Great Room. Questioned and beaten, then locked up in a bedroom by herself. Her recollection was starting to come back.

  “The Germans. They took Mama and me to the kitchen. We were told to cook for the Germans. We had to empty the pantry in order to have enough to work with. They ate everything, Papa, everything.”

  “That’s all right, my dear. Just relax. We’ll find food somewhere else after the Germans leave.” Papa draped his arm across her knees and sighed, as if he could only hope that they would be so lucky. “Tell me more.”

  “One of the soldiers escorted me around the house to the soldiers that couldn’t leave their posts. I had to carry the stewpot and a basket of bread. It was very heavy. I didn’t understand why they wanted me to carry it instead of just one of them doing it.”

  “Did you see mama or Philippe? Girard?”

  “I saw Stefan.”

  Her father stiffened. “Where?”

  “In the cellar,” Gabrielle replied. Her voice sounded to her like someone else was using it to speak. Her mind felt sterile. Was she dreaming all of this? It had to be a dream.

  “How did he look? Is he alive?”

  “Yes. He was sitting in the corner, all beaten up. I was looking at him as the soldiers ate. There was blood all over his face and clothes. He looked like he was in a lot of pain.”

  “But he’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s something, at least,” her father said. “They’re still keeping everyone alive. Different than the Russians. They still see us as human beings.”

  Gabrielle let out an inadvertent sob. Then another, and suddenly a deep well of emotion started to gush out. The detachment was gone. The sound of her father’s voice, his attempts at comforting her, his warm grasp, it was all too much. She didn’t feel tough any more. She felt like a child, a defenseless child at the hands of these terrible men who had taken over her family’s home. She started bawling. Papa brought her close and she struggled to hide her face in her hands. They stayed there for a while together, Gabrielle in the chair and her father kneeling beside her.

  A long time went by before the crying stopped. Gabrielle felt as if she had run out of tears. Her throat was sore and her nose had run so badly that she had used up her father’s entire handkerchief. The welcome detachment was coming back, but this time it was being fueled by exhaustion.

  Papa tried to touch her face. She jerked back. It felt too much like what had happened in the cellar.

  “Gabrielle,” her father said softly.

  She shook her head violently.

  “Tell me. Just… tell me.”

  It was clear her father suspected. That just made Gabrielle feel even worse. The injustice, the shame of it all. She wanted to run away. How could she tell Papa? He idolized her, and she didn’t want him to ever think that she had been treated that way. Her lips twisted around in revulsion at the thought of putting to words what had been done to her.

  “Herr Springer. In the cellar. He was watching Stefan, but then he saw me and said he’d take me to the last soldier. He led me away down the hall. He t-took me t-to… h-he t-took me t-to…”

  Gabrielle dropped her eyes to the floor. Papa reached toward her cheek again but she pushed his hands back. She took a deep breath and tried to steel her resolve.

  “Springer took me to the barrel cave. He raped me, Papa.”

  The room was deathly silent. Her father was still on his knees, pale, staring coldly at her face. His jaw was clenched tight, but she could still see the quiver in his cheeks from the strain of how hard he must have been biting down. How ashamed he must be, his darling daughter, debased and violated like an animal in the dirt of an underground hole. The only thing that kept Gabrielle from crying even more was that she had no more tears.

  Slowly, Papa put his hand gently on the back of her neck, and pulled their heads together until their foreheads touched.

  “Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry this happened to you. If only I could have protected you. My poor, sweet little Gabrielle.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa. I tried to fight back, I tried,” Gabrielle blurted out. She found herself clinging tightly to his shirt. She had to turn her head sideways to still breathe.

  “Hush, my dear. It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done differently. It’s not your fault.”

  Gabrielle held on to him for a few minutes. After a while her father asked, “So, then Springer brought you back up here to jeer at us?”

  “No,” Gabrielle said softly. “When he was… done with me… he took me to see the Germann captain. Tiedemann. They talked about me for a while. It was strange, though, Papa. The captain spoke to me directly right before we were dismissed. He just walked right up to me and spoke to me in German. He looked right at me with those pale blue eyes as if he fully expected me to understand what he was saying. And I had no idea. Why would he address me like that, Papa? It was so frightening. I thought they would kill me right there.”


  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.”

  Gabrielle sniffled some more. “Anyway, Springer sent me back to the kitchen to make sure all of his men had been fed. Mama was gone, but it was only a few more minutes before Springer took me back here, to you.”

  “He took you himself, did he?”

  “Yes. It was strange, when I was carrying the soup around it seemed like there were soldiers everywhere. But aside from the ones with Tiedemann, it’s like they’ve all disappeared.”

  Her father said nothing, but started to draw her into an embrace like he used to do when she was a little girl. That was long ago, when she was not so independent. Gabrielle put her arms out to stop him. Their eyes met and she saw that he was disappointed, but understood. She felt silently ashamed. But after being restrained against the packed dirt of the cave floor, there was a limit to how much she could let herself be held right now.

  The thought made her feel even more disgusted with herself. Here she was, pushing her own father away when she needed him more than ever.

  Gabrielle forced herself to reach into her pockets. “Look, Papa. “I brought some bread for you. Don’t let the guard know, I think the Germans mean to keep you hungry. But I had a chance to grab some when we were making lunch for the soldiers.”

  Her father took the bread. But there was a distracted look on his face that clearly indicated his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “Papa? What are you thinking about?”

  He took her hands in his and spoke with a low voice.

  “These Germans were on their way to the coast when they got sidelined here. If they aren’t sitting around the house anymore, it could mean they’re getting ready to pull out.”

  “That’s good. Isn’t it?”

  “This death of the German officer is still unresolved in their minds. If Tiedemann and his men are packing up to leave, it can mean one of only two things. It could be they’ve given up their investigation because of their timetables. If that’s the case, they might just line us all up and shoot us and be done with it.”

  “Oh, my God.” Gabrielle bit on her knuckle. “What else could it mean?”

  “It could be that they’ve found something we don’t want them to find. That would be far, far worse.”

  “Worse? What are you talking about? Papa, I don’t understand.”

  Papa started to stand. Gabrielle saw him rise into an awkward and huddled form, with a severe hunch over to his side. His left arm was drawn tightly against his abdomen. He walked painfully to the door and listened for a moment to verify their privacy, then turned back and shuffled to the chair. Her father’s face was very dark.

  “Papa. You’re hurt.”

  “No more than anyone else.”

  Gabrielle didn’t believe it for a second. The way her father stood—perhaps all of his ribs were broken, or just some, but the strong and vibrant man she so looked up to appeared anything but. He appeared weak. And it was heartbreaking.

  His eyes, however, still held the hard-headedness she shared as his daughter.

  “Sweetheart,” he started. “There are… things that you don’t know. Things your grandfather and I have kept secret from you. We wanted to protect you. We didn’t want to pollute your innocence.” He blanched on that last word, and Gabrielle felt another pang of shame.

  “What secrets? Tell me, Papa. You know you can trust me.”

  “I know I can, Gabrielle. I’m not worried about trust. I’m worried about lives—many more than our own.”

  Her father’s jaw clenched, as if some monumental decision had just been made in his mind.

  “We can’t ride this out anymore, Gabrielle. I fear the life as we’ve known it is gone forever. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Let me help, Papa.” Gabrielle was surprised at the strength in her own voice. But she was determined, now more than ever, to not be a victim.

  Papa smiled grimly and studied her with sadness in his eyes, as if he had given up on something important to his soul.

  “Then listen to me carefully. We’re running out of time and there will be no room for mistakes.”

  “Oui.”

  Her father swallowed. “First thing. In the far front-right bedroom, you know, the empty one where your Uncle Yves used to stay when he came to visit, before the war? There’s a red blanket in the armoire. Or at least there was. You know the one I’m talking about?”

  “Yes—the faded one with the patch in the corner.”

  “That’s the one. You need to get to that bedroom. Find a way to hang that blanket outside the window as if to dry.”

  Gabrielle managed to look up at her father’s face. “But it’s raining.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. Just hang it out. Pinch it shut with the window so that it doesn’t fall. Don’t let the Germans see you do this. This is very, very important, Gabrielle. We need to get this done as fast as possible. Do you think you can make it happen?”

  “I’ll find a way somehow.” She thought for a moment. “The Boches have let me play servant all morning. Maybe I can get it to last a little longer.”

  “That’s my girl. Next, I need you to—”

  “Why, Papa?”

  “What?”

  “Of all the things we could do to flee, why are you asking me to hang an old blanket out in the rain? What does that accomplish?”

  “It is something your grandfather arranged a long time ago. It’s a signal.”

  “A signal for what?

  Papa clenched his teeth grimly. “To send help.”

  16

  Gohler couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He wants me to report up to the house?”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier said. The intermittent rain was falling again and dripped off the rim of his helmet. “He was quite clear.”

  The first sergeant glared at the muddy road where the Opel was still stuck. Eight mud-caked soldiers had just finished tying lengths of rope between the capsized truck and Herr Tiedemann’s staff car. At least they weren’t in Russia. Everything would be frozen.

  Still, this was utter nonsense. Krauss was fast becoming the most disliked officer in the entire Kompanie. It somehow stood to reason that he would pull Gohler off one of their top priorities so that he could help with some stupid administrative task. But an order was an order. If there was fallout to be had, he would let it come from Herr Tiedemann.

  “Willinger!” Gohler shouted. If he was leaving, he had to put someone else in charge.

  A stocky trooper with close-set eyes perked up from the flooded ditch. He carefully trotted over until he stood soaking in front of Gohler. “Jawohl, Herr Sturmscharführer?”

  Gohler waved his hand at the rest of the soldiers congregating near the truck. “You’re in charge, and you’ve got practically all the spare manpower there is. Get that bitch out of the ditch. I’ve got to go deal with Krauss.”

  “Jawohl,” Willinger replied, looking relieved that he wasn’t being told to report to the lieutenant instead.

  The trudge up to the manor was slow going. Sheets of water slid downhill over the saturated ground that could not possibly absorb any more moisture. Once inside the front door he wiped his boots on the coarse rug—a force of habit—then shook the water off of his parka. He still left a trail of muddy footprints to the library. Krauss was standing in the far corner and eagerly snooping through shelves of hardbound books that stretched from floor to ceiling. He was totally oblivious to everything around him, including the maps that lay out on the large oak table. They were all but forgotten now. So much for their navigator.

  Gohler put a fist to his mouth and coughed to get his attention.

  Krauss looked up, surprised. “You’re wet.”

  “Yes, Herr Obersturmführer. It’s raining.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed behind his round-rimmed glasses. “I know it’s raining. What were you doing out in it?”

  “If you recall, Herr Tiedemann instructed us to get the trucks back on th
e road.”

  Krauss looked around nervously, as if the Hautpsturmführer were about to walk in at any moment. Quickly he regained his composure. “Ah, very well. Any success?”

  “Not yet, Herr Obersturmführer.”

  “Just as well, then. I have another assignment for you.” Krauss theatrically rubbed his hands together. “Herr Tiedemann wants you to draft a letter home to Hoffman’s wife for him to send his regrets. Of course, he may need to edit some of it to get the feel right for the letter to be from him, so we want time for an additional draft. You’ll need to… why do you have that look on your face?”

  Gohler blinked. He hadn’t realized that he was frowning. “The Hauptsturmführer wants to send a letter to Hoffman’s wife?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m surprised by the request.”

  “You’re surprised? That your commanding officer wants your help in offering condolences? You were a friend of his.”

  “Permission to speak, Herr Obersturmführer.”

  “Go on.”

  “Hoffman and his wife were getting divorced.”

  “Why?”

  “He was quite the ladies’ man. Frau Hoffman didn’t much appreciate that he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

  “Really,” Krauss said. He struggled through this new information before circling back to beginning. “The man is dead, Herr Gohler. You don’t think his wife would want to know? Cheating isn’t on the same level as death in most couples’ lives.”

  “For most people, yes,” Gohler agreed. “But not for Sabine Hoffman.”

  “Please explain.”

  Gohler sighed. Why did he have to explain his friend’s personal life to this idiot?

  “Hoffman and I have known each other since we were kids. We’re both from Bad Tölz and we both served in Russia. We were both enlisted men, too, before he got a field promotion. I know his family practically better than my own. So I can speak with certainty about the state of Hoffman’s marriage after years of him chasing skirts. Frau Hoffman will probably throw a celebration if we send her a letter like you’re suggesting.”