Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (52 page)

“Justyn, I want to tell you . . . about . . . your father,” he whispered.

Justyn stiffened. He clenched his fi sts.

“He was very brave, Justyn.”

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The image at the train station came back, and Justyn felt his father’s hand running through his hair. He remembered the feel of his father’s hand on his shoulder on his fi rst day of school. He slumped into a chair. “How did . . . ?”

He swallowed and wiped his eyes. He didn’t want to cry.

“An air raid . . . in the Kampinos Forest. Your father was leading a squadron.

We never saw the planes.”

Jan reached out.

Justyn took his hand. “My mother . . .”

“I know, Justyn.” Jan’s grip tightened. “Anna and I are your family now.”

Justyn’s eyes fell to the fl oor. “Anna’s gone . . . she’s . . .”

“We’ll fi nd her, Justyn. We’ll never stop looking until we fi nd her.”

Justyn looked at the man lying in the bed, so familiar, yet it had been so long. So much had happened. Jan’s eyes closed and he drifted off, but Justyn sat for a long time, holding his hand.

Chapter 74

Captain Peter Daley was ready for a fi ght. Like everyone else in the Ninth Infantry Division of the American First Army, he wanted to get this mess over with and get back home.

They had been chasing the retreating Germans through Belgium since the beginning of September, crossing the Meuse River near Liege, and were now somewhere in the middle of an area where Belgium, Holland and Germany all came together. Their objective was the German border city of Aachen.

They had just passed through a Belgian town called Eupen and entered a densely forested area, when Daley received a message from Major Andersen.

They were stopping to wait for artillery units.

Two hours later, Daley was summoned by Major Andersen.

The major and one of the scouts had a map spread out on the hood of a Jeep.

As Daley approached, Andersen called him over and pointed to their location on the map. “This is the road we’re on now,” he said. Then his fi nger traced a thin, barely legible line that intersected the road and headed northeast.

“The scouts have just found another road, about a kilometer ahead. It could be a shortcut into Aachen.” Major Andersen looked at Daley. “I want you to lead a patrol four or fi ve kilometers up this road and make sure it’s secure.”

It was exactly the type of assignment Daley hated. Going off with a few Jeeps and a half-track in unknown territory wasn’t his idea of excitement.

Doing it just a few kilometers from the German border was nuts.

They set off a half hour later. The dirt road was narrow and bumpy with thick pine forests on either side. Four scouts were on foot a kilometer ahead to give them advance warning if anything came down the road. Sitting in the lead Night of Flames

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Jeep, with the machine gunner standing behind him, bouncing along at less than ten kilometers per hour, Daley did not fi nd that very comforting.

Anna’s heart was in her throat as they approached the guardhouse at the German-Belgian border in Aachen. It was different from the checkpoint she had passed through going into Germany. There was no tunnel and the terrain on either side was fl at. The concrete bunkers, anti-tank ditches and fencing came right up to the side of the road. Wehrmacht soldiers were everywhere.

She was certain they were all looking for her.

She closed her eyes to shut it out, but then the vision of Mueller and the other SS offi cer lying in the gravel came back. They hadn’t taken the time to bury the bodies, just dragged them into the barn, closed the door and drove off.

Anna had never fi red a gun before, never even held one in her hand. But she felt nothing. Not regret, not sorrow, not elation. She didn’t feel anything.

She was numb.

The city of Aachen was busy, the streets clogged with soldiers, tanks and trucks. Windows were boarded up, and civilians carrying trunks and suitcases trudged out of the central city. It reminded her of Poland in 1939.

During the drive, she and Otto had discussed what name she should use in the event they were stopped or if she eventually met up with Allied soldiers.

They fi nally agreed that sticking with “Jeanne Laurent” was best. If Anna made it to Belgium she would want to identify herself as a Belgian woman rather than Polish since she needed to stay in Belgium. If she was arrested in Germany, she was in trouble no matter what.

They sat behind a truck at the barricade. A Wehrmacht soldier talked with the driver and checked his papers. Off in the distance, Anna heard the thumping sounds of artillery fi re.

They were the only other vehicle heading west, into Belgium. Heading east, into Germany, was a stream of military vehicles at least a kilometer long.

Trucks laden with Wehrmacht troops, automobiles carrying offi cers, armored cars and fl atbeds loaded with artillery pieces, all retreating behind the West Wall for the fi nal struggle to save the Fatherland.

The truck moved off, and Otto pulled up to the barricade. Anna stared straight ahead, praying she wouldn’t have to say anything. Just a few hours ago she had murdered two SS offi cers . . . and now she was sitting at a German 364

Douglas W. Jacobson

checkpoint with no papers. How could she have been so stupid?

Otto rolled down the window and handed his identifi cation to the Wehrmacht offi cer who peered into the car. He gave it a cursory glance and handed it back.

“And your companion’s?” the offi cer asked.

“She would rather not show her identifi cation,” Otto replied.

The remark caught the offi cer by surprise, and it took him a few seconds to respond. “
Nein,
that’s not possible. I must see her identifi cation.”

The noise from the artillery shelling and the trucks passing through the other side of the checkpoint made it diffi cult to hear. Otto motioned for the offi cer to lean toward the window so he could speak without shouting. “I am a special aide to SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Dieter Koenig, and this lady is his mistress.”

The offi cer leaned in but didn’t respond. Anna could feel his eyes looking her over.

“The hauptsturmfuhrer has entrusted me to escort her safely out of the country,” Otto continued, his deep voice as calm as if he were ordering lunch. “He would prefer that she not have to produce her identifi cation.
Verstehen Sie?
”

Anna glanced at the offi cer with a quick smile then stared straight ahead.

She wore one of the slinky dresses, her hair was made up, her cheeks red with rouge and her lips glossy with lipstick. She felt like a whore . . . Koenig’s whore. If they didn’t move on quickly she was certain she’d vomit.

The offi cer cleared his throat. “This is highly irregular . . . I’m not sure . . .”

Otto leaned out the window. “
Was ist Ihr Name?
I will pass it along to the hauptsturmfuhrer. I’m certain he will be grateful for your discretion.”

The young offi cer hesitated. He glanced around then leaned in and said,

“Herzog . . . Leutnant Karl Herzog.” He stared at Anna for a moment then stood erect and saluted. “Tell the hauptsturmfuhrer I am pleased to be of service.” He waved to the gatekeeper to raise the barricade.

Otto rolled up the window and accelerated away from the checkpoint.

They drove for several kilometers before Otto pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. There were still German military vehicles heading in the opposite direction, but they were farther apart now. Otto stared straight ahead, breathing deeply, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Anna closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her forehead. Her temples were throbbing. “A brilliant performance,” she whispered, “although I could hardly breathe.”

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“Fortunately he was young—and they were busy.”

“Now what?”

Otto produced a map and unfolded it. “Koenig had this. I took some time to study it last night. We should come to a crossroad in another kilometer or so that heads to the southwest.” He pointed it out to her. “It doesn’t look like much on the map, probably a dirt road, but it cuts through a wooded area and leads to a town called Eupen. You should be able to fi nd help there. I’ll take you that far. Hopefully we won’t encounter troops from either side.”

Anna touched the big man’s arm. “What will you do, Otto?”

“I’ll return to Germany.”

Anna expected that might be his answer. The prospect sickened her. “But you’ve been involved in the murders of three SS offi cers. You can’t just go back.”

“
Nein,
I can’t go back as a Feldgendarme, or a soldier of any kind. I’d either be shot for desertion or tried for murder.”

“Then what . . . ?”

“Once I get back across the border I’ll continue on into the interior of the country. Germany is doomed, Anna. Russia is attacking from the east and the Americans and British from the west.
Der Führer
will demand a fi ght to the fi nish, but it can’t last much longer. Germany will be in chaos. I’ll just fi nd a way to blend into the population. It’s the best chance I have.”

“Why not surrender to the Americans or the British, whomever we meet fi rst? I’ll vouch for you, Otto. I’ll tell them how you’ve saved my life.”

“I know you would, Anna. And I’m grateful, but it would never work.”

“Yes, it could. Otto, please—”

“Anna, listen,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Sooner or later, the Allied armies will discover Auschwitz—and the other camps. The world will be out-raged.” He gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “Believe me, Anna, I was there; I saw what happened. We Germans keep very good re-cords, especially the SS. The Allies will fi nd out I was there. My only chance is to melt back into Germany and hope for the best.”

Anna stared at him through her tears. The man had saved her life. He was still putting himself at risk on her behalf. Yet, his own prospects were bleak.

She knew he was right, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Otto put the map away and they continued on in silence. A kilometer farther 366

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on they came to the crossroads and, darting between two eastbound trucks, Otto turned down the narrow dirt road.

The radio operator sitting in the backseat of the Jeep tapped Daley on the shoulder and handed him the headset. Daley took it and put his hand up to halt the patrol.

It was one of the scouts. “A car is approaching from the east, sir.”

“A car? Only one?” Daley questioned.

“Yes, sir. It appears to be alone. It just passed our position. We heard it coming and got off the road in time. I’m sure they didn’t spot us. The driver is wearing a German uniform. It should be approaching you in just a few minutes.”

“Understood. Two of you get on the road and head back this way to block them if they turn around. Leave the other two there to cover your backside.”

“Roger, that. Out.”

Daley waved for his lieutenant to come up alongside the Jeep. “A car is approaching. Get your men out of the half-track and into the ditch on each side of the road.”

The soldiers scrambled out of the half-track and took up positions on either side of the narrow road. The machine gunner in the Jeep readied his weapon, and they waited.

Two minutes later the car appeared. The driver slammed on the brakes.

Daley heard the gears grind as the driver threw the gearshift into reverse and started backing up.

“Fire!” he yelled.

The machine gunner fi red off a burst that ripped through the car’s radiator and front tires.

The car careened to the left and skidded to a stop. The infantrymen charged forward with their weapons pointed and ordered the passengers out.

Daley was surprised to see a very attractive redheaded woman emerge from the passenger side of the car.

Major Andersen took Captain Daley by the arm, and they walked off by themselves to discuss the fate of their unusual prisoners. For the last half hour, they had been listening to the articulate, strong-willed woman as she Night of Flames

367

pleaded her case for the German Feldgendarme.

Daley was convinced she was telling the truth. If it was up to him, he’d give the big guy a medal and let them both go. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Andersen was a by-the-book career offi cer.

“It’s all bullshit,” Andersen said. “This guy is a German Feldgendarme. The woman has no identifi cation, dressed like a streetwalker. What the hell were they doing out here all by themselves in a fuckin’ car? For all we know, they’re both German spies.”

“She says she’s Belgian,” Daley said. He knew it was stupid the instant it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, right. It’s bullshit and we don’t have time to fuck around with it.”

Andersen took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

“So, what do we do with them?” Daley asked.

“The only thing we can do. You found ’em so you get to take the big hulk and his girlfriend back to Liege. Tell the MPs they’re German spies and let them sort it out from there.”

Chapter 75

In the fi

nal assault on Merksem, the Second Canadian Division overpowered the German garrison holding the last remaining bridge over the Albert Canal and attacked from the east. The Royal Hamilton Light Infantry Division and the White Brigade attacked from the west, over the Groenendallaan. And from the south, under the cover of an intense artillery barrage, the Fourth Canadian Infantry Brigade managed to get a pontoon bridge across the canal.

By the second day of the battle, the Germans were in a panic and their of-fi cers lost control. Trucks overfl owing with Wehrmacht troops roared through the streets, maneuvering around bomb craters and abandoned cars, retreating out of the city. German soldiers ran for their lives, stealing bicycles and ransacking homes for food as they fl ed.

By dawn on the third day it was over. Allied tanks rolled across the Albert Canal and down the Bredabaan, restoring order. The citizens of Merksem emerged from the cellars and poured onto the streets, cheering their liberators.