For it was terror.
His mind was racing with every decision he had ever made that had brought him to this moment. From his earliest memories of running away from his first fight, to his decision to enlist at his parents’ urging.
You must serve, boy!
He frowned.
Well, Father, are you happy now? Your boy is going to die because you wanted him to serve.
Someone sniffed behind him and his heart leaped into his throat as he spun toward the sound. It was Joachim, the eldest son, still in his Hitler Youth uniform, tears streaking his face, his nose runny.
Griese forgot his own troubles. “What’s wrong, young man?”
“Y-you’re what’s wrong!” cried Joachim as he reached into his pocket, producing a small pistol. “It’s all your fault!”
A wave of cowardice swept over him as he desperately wanted to run away, yet his legs refused to cooperate, and he instead felt faint. He raised his hands slowly, the only movement he could muster. “Be-be careful with that. You don’t want to hurt anyone, now, do you?”
Joachim slowly circled him, the weapon now aimed directly at Griese’s chest, though the arm holding it shook furiously. “You deserve to die for what you did!”
Griese backed away slowly then nearly cried out when he bumped into the wall of the house, his back pressed against the stone, his head against the sill. “What did I do?”
“You embarrassed me, and you embarrassed my father!”
The gun shook even more and Griese’s eyes focused on the finger tucked into the trigger guard—it could go off accidentally at any moment. “Look, I’m not sure what you think I did, but why don’t you put that gun down, and we’ll go talk to your father.”
The weapon steadied at the mention of the colonel.
“Or perhaps your mother? Perhaps we can talk to her, so your father doesn’t need to know?”
He was grasping now. It was a small-caliber weapon, one he wasn’t familiar with, but a lucky shot could kill him.
Thank God for small favors.
Death at the hands of this young boy might deliver him from his current predicament, though it would leave Joachim scarred for life. No sixteen-year-old should be forced to live with such a memory.
The weapon danced again at the mention of his mother, lowering slightly as a renewed eruption of tears flowed.
“My mother…”
Griese’s eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “What about your mother?”
“She…she…” He glared at him. “No! I can’t tell you! No one can know!”
Griese’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening.
The boy knew.
He knew the secret. He knew what Griese had discovered earlier in the evening, and had likely just discovered it himself.
He must not know what to think!
And that meant he was dangerous. His entire world was tearing apart, his indoctrination demanding he react in a way completely contrary to how a boy should when it came to his mother.
Empathize.
“I know her secret. Everything is going to be fine.”
Joachim’s eyes bulged. “Y-you know?”
“Yes, and it doesn’t matter.”
Joachim raised the weapon again and fired.
10 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
A crack from outside was immediately followed by the shattering of glass, the large window behind Konrad’s chair disintegrating. Someone screamed, Graf’s companion, breaking the hushed silence that had fallen over the table, every woman at the table besides his wife erupting in panic.
She merely sat there and reached for her wine.
Konrad leaped to his feet, his chair tipping as the soldiers at the table rose in response, and though he was by no means the senior officer there, this was his house, and these were his guests.
They were all his responsibility. He pointed toward General Graf as his personal guard rushed into the room. “Protect the general! Get everyone to the shelter!”
“Yes, sir!”
He grabbed Renata and led her out of the room, pushing her into the crowd heading for the bomb shelter, then ran to the window to see if the assassin was still in the yard, though he suspected they were long gone, almost a minute having passed. Yet he was wrong. He spotted his corporal, Griese, standing near the remnants of the window.
“What have you done?”
Griese spun, staring up at him, blood running down his face, probably from a cut received when the glass collapsed from its frame. His eyes bulged, his jaw dropped, and he gulped several times, as if trying to find the words to explain the unexplainable.
“Guards, he’s outside! Grab him!”
Konrad’s head swiveled to see General Graf beside him, pointing at Griese. Heavy footfalls echoed through the hall as the orders were obeyed.
Griese bolted.
And Konrad cursed, one of his own who had already caused trouble tonight confirming his guilt.
He leaped through the open window to pursue when his wife screamed upstairs.
11 |
Palisaden Straße Berlin, Nazi Germany
Griese sprinted into the darkness, his pulse pounding as the blood flowed from his ear and down the side of his face. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, but in the dark, it was merely a deeper shade of the gray that surrounded him. He heard footfalls to his left and was about to turn away when he realized it must be Joachim.
He turned left.
He had to catch the boy. His life depended on it. Right now, it was clear his commanding officer, and the terrifying SS general, believed he was the shooter. They had no reason to think otherwise. The shot had been fired, and he was the only one there moments later. Joachim had bolted immediately upon squeezing the trigger, and likely had no idea he had missed.
Mostly.
His ear was beginning to sting now, the adrenaline fueling those moments waning, the pain signals reaching his brain, no longer washed away by the stress of the situation.
He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt as the air raid sirens wailed around him. They were early tonight, perhaps a favorable tailwind bringing the Allied bombers here a little faster than usual. It might not bode well for them, as the sun had just set on the horizon, backlighting any bombers coming from that direction against the twilight sky.
The anti-aircraft fire pounded in the distance, the black smudges on the sky quickly blacking out any natural light, the harsh beams of the searchlights slicing through the chaos, crisscrossing the airspace in a bid to find targets for the gunners below.
The streets filled with civilians, rushing from their homes and toward their designated shelters, children wailing, mothers comforting, and fathers demanding everyone move faster.
He would never find Joachim in this cacophony of humanity.
He made his way through the crowds that were consolidating around the sandbagged entrances to the underground shelters, heading in the general direction he assumed Joachim would go—directly away from the house.
The boy was confused. He knew the secret kept from him, he knew the secret Griese had discovered earlier, a secret so stunning he had no idea how he would react if he were in Joachim’s position.
Probably exactly as he is now.
The boy had tried to kill him, and had nearly succeeded, however he felt no malice toward the poor child. He simply wanted to find him and bring him back to his parents so he could explain what had happened. Perhaps together, with everyone aware of the secret the family had been hiding, he might escape the firing squad in his future should the course of this evening’s events not change.
Someone darted into an alleyway to his right, away from the shelter, and he took a chance, running toward the shadow as the crowds rapidly dwindled, even the stragglers now in the shrinking lines to the shelters as the ground shook under his feet from the pounding of bombs in the distance.
A window shattered to his right and he spun toward t
he sound, then cursed as he spotted two men climbing into a now-empty house.
Looters.
The scum of society taking advantage of the war to enrich themselves. There was a rapidly growing black market in goods, and cash and items of value to trade were king. If he had the time, he’d shoot them both with his sidearm, but they weren’t his concern.
“What are you looking at?”
He had been spotted. He opened his mouth to at least toss an admonishment their way, when he saw something move in the shadows, two more men emerging.
Get your ass out of here.
A gun was brandished and he sprinted after Joachim, laughter pursuing him rather than bullets. He arrived at the end of the alleyway and looked in both directions, seeing no one.
He could be anywhere.
He picked a direction, away from the residence, and continued at a slow jog, his head on a swivel. No one out now should be, and the boy still had the gun unless he had tossed it away during his flight from the scene.
Shouts behind him, in the distance, sounded more organized, more authoritative.
He tensed.
Were they after the looters?
Or were they after him, the man suspected in an assassination attempt only minutes ago.
No matter who they were, it wouldn’t do him any good to be found roaming the streets, away from his post, with no explanation beyond a futile search for the real shooter.
He shuddered from the evening chill and his predicament.
At this very moment, every single person he might encounter had reason to harm him.
Or worse.
12 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
“Why aren’t you downstairs with the others?”
Konrad’s wife spun toward him, her face pale, her hands trembling. Her eyes darted toward her vanity and he spotted the open drawer, a forbidden photo visible. His heart leaped into his throat and he turned, holding out his arms as two of his staff rushed into the room, responding to her cry.
“Everybody out!” He ushered them back into the hallway then pointed to the stairs. “Secure the grounds, and make certain my guests are safe in the shelter.” They both snapped to attention then sprinted down the hallway. “And report the incident! We need to find Corporal Griese!”
“Yes, sir!”
He retreated to the bedroom, locking the outer door behind him, then headed quickly to the inner chambers, his wife now sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What’s going on? Quickly now, we don’t have much time before more arrive.”
She pointed at the drawer. “It’s gone.”
A lump forced its way up his throat and he rushed to the desk, everything appearing in order, though what was currently visible could pose trouble should it be seen by the wrong people.
“Was it open like this when you came in here?”
She nodded.
“What’s missing? Everything looks in order to me.”
“My pistol.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your pistol?” He paused, not certain as to what she was speaking of. Then he remembered. “Oh. I had forgotten about that. You kept it here?”
“Yes.”
He rifled through the drawer, not finding it. “You’re sure you kept it in this drawer?”
“Yes.”
The air raid sirens tore through the calm of the capital and he rushed to the balcony, cursing at the sight in the distance, his beloved city once again under bombardment from planes the Luftwaffe had promised could never reach here. He clasped his hands behind his back, staring as the battle raged in the distance, explosions tearing into the night sky as the Allied bombs found their marks.
“Rudy!”
He snapped out of his soldier persona, returning to that of husband. He stepped inside and shut the doors to the balcony, drawing closed the blackout drapes. Something occurred to him and he turned to his wife.
“Why did you come up here?”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I recognized the sound.”
“What?”
“The gunshot. I recognized it from when I practiced shooting.”
He smiled slightly, impressed. “You never cease to amaze me. It hadn’t even occurred to me, but you’re right.” He scratched his chin. “Why would Griese use a weapon like that?” He sat beside her. “And why would he come and get yours?” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, how would he ever have known it was there?”
Renata sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging. “There is a way, but it wasn’t him.”
Konrad put his arm over her shoulders. “What do you mean? Who was it?”
She pointed to their left and he turned his head and gasped.
It was Joachim’s Hitler Youth dagger, lying on the floor.
“Oh no!” He jumped to his feet, rushing toward it then snatched it. There was no doubt what it was, the insignia unmistakable, and there would only be one in the house—Maximilian was too young to have been issued a dagger as he was still classified as a ‘youngster’ in the organization. He turned slowly toward his wife, the implications still a disorganized mess of thoughts. Griese had been at the window, he hadn’t had a weapon in his hand, despite wearing his sidearm, and he had been bleeding.
Could he have been shot?
Could he have been shot by Joachim?
He refused to believe it.
He charged from the room and out into the hallway, his feet pounding on the floor as he headed for Joachim’s room. He tore open the door and switched on the light, then cursed at the empty bed.
“Joachim!”
“He went outside.”
He spun to see Maximilian, peering out from behind the door of his room. “What?”
“He went outside. I think he had a gun.” Maximilian rushed from the room and hugged his father’s legs. “Father, what’s going on?”
Konrad wasn’t certain, but he couldn’t let his son know that. “Nothing that concerns you. And why aren’t you in the shelter? Can’t you hear the sirens?”
“You’re not there.”
Konrad gave his son a look and pointed toward the stairs. “To the shelter. Now.”
Maximilian let go of Konrad’s legs then headed down the hall, Konrad watching after him as his worst fears had been confirmed. His son had fired the shot, and he had fired it at Griese. But why? And did anyone else know?
He stared at the retreating figure of his son and tensed.
“Maximilian?”
His son turned. “Yes, Father?”
“If anyone asks, you never saw your brother. Understood?”
“You want me to lie?”
“I want you to protect your brother, and the Reich.”
Maximilian sucked in a quick breath at the mention of the Reich, his shoulders squaring. “Yes, sir!”
Konrad flicked his wrist toward the stairs. “To the shelter.”
“Yes, Father.”
He disappeared around the corner, his tiny footfalls echoing down the stairs, and Konrad returned to his bedchambers, his wife pacing in front of the bed.
“Joachim?”
“Gone. Maximilian says he saw him leave with the gun.”
She collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her chest. “What are we going to do?”
“We have to find him and Griese before they do.”
She paled. “There’s something you need to know about Griese.”
Her tone had his entire body taut. “What?”
“I think he knows.”
13 |
Strausberger Straße Berlin, Nazi Germany
Griese flinched then froze, tilting his head slightly and cocking an ear. He had heard something. He was certain of it. Yet was he? The Allied bombers were hammering the western outskirts of the city, and between the Luftwaffe’s response and the air defenses firing at anything with the misfortune of having been caught in the searchlights, he could be forgiven for being uncertain.
His heart was pounding n
ow, and he committed, turning around and peering into the darkness. It was partially overcast, though perhaps it was smoke from the fires now burning in the west rather than clouds, and the moon was a quarter at best. The city was blacked out, the streetlights dark, and the citizenry hidden away in public or private bomb shelters.
No one should be on the street.
Though he was, and shouldn’t be.
He needed time to think. Too much was happening all at once. He had seen something he should never have seen. He had humiliated an SS general. He had embarrassed his commanding officer. He had been shot at by his commanding officer’s eldest son, who also had seen what he shouldn’t.
It was all too much, though there might be a way out of it.
He had seen something he shouldn’t have seen, and that knowledge gave him leverage, should he be willing to use it.
Yet he couldn’t.
Could he? Right now, he was certain he was marked for death. He had technically left his post, disobeyed an order, and was likely about to be reassigned to the Eastern Front if not featuring prominently in the next line of executions.
His duty as a soldier of the Third Reich was clear. He should report what he had seen to his superior. But his superior officer was involved, so that was out of the question. He could report it outside of his chain of command, though that would mean the certain death of at least one innocent person, perhaps more.
Is your life worth any more than theirs?
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, deciding to abandon his search for the boy and return to the colonel’s residence to face what was to come.
Though he wasn’t in a hurry to do so.
The bombers never reached this part of the city, content to deliver their payload over the primary targets to the west, every drop of fuel precious at these ranges. There was a better chance of being hit by a car driving without lights than a stray bomb.
Though none of that mattered.
He was dead regardless if he didn’t report what he had seen. Konrad couldn’t risk him knowing. If Mrs. Konrad had seen him, and had told her husband, then they would act quickly, perhaps even tonight. He paused in mid-step, one foot in front of him hovering.
The Colonel's Wife Page 3