Rhineland Inheritance (10 page)

The Stores major was a banker in uniform, and wore an expression that remained constantly on the verge of saying no. He was singularly unimpressed with Sally's request for help. “Much as I'd like to help you, Miss Anders, I'm afraid storing your items here is absolutely out of the question.”

“It's just for a couple of days, Frank. For goodness' sake, you're bound to have some corner you're not using.”

“That's not the point. We simply can't set this sort of precedent. You're a bright girl, I'm sure you understand what I'm saying. We're talking about principle here.”

Sally leaned across the desk, her eyes flashing. “I'll give you principle, you pompous stuffed shirt. I've got sixteen loads of goods on requisition right now, just waiting for the
colonel's signature. It's a shame the paper work is about to get buried. For about ten years.”

“You can't do that,” the major protested.

“You just watch me.” She held his gaze long enough to drive the point home. “Now please march outside and find us a nice, dry corner. And keep it well separated from any of your own stuff. If I catch any of your sticky-fingered mutts nosing around our goods, I'll make sure your next shipment of cigarettes winds up in Siberia.”

While the goods were being unloaded, Sally went off and returned with two able-looking enlisted men, and posted them on either side of the supplies. She also made a hand-lettered sign and pinned it to the first stack of boxes. The sign read, “If you're found here tonight, you'll be found here in the morning.”

“What's all this?” Jake demanded.

“Insurance.” She turned to her two men, raised a finger, and said in a stern voice, “If anybody comes within fifteen paces, you are ordered to shoot.”

“Sure thing, Miss Anders,” said one of the men with a grin.

“I'll arrange for you to get some extra time off once we've got all this squared away,” Jake promised.

“No problem, Captain.”

“Yeah, sir,” the other agreed. “We think it's great the way you're helping these kids.”

Jake shot Sally a glance. She shrugged. “What can I say? Word gets around.”

“Come on,” Pierre said. “Let's go find the chaplain.”

They drove back to the base, found Chaplain Fox in his office, and explained the situation to him. But he refused to take charge. “You seem to be doing a fine job on your own,” he said.

“We haven't done anything but scare up a few supplies,” Jake protested. “You have the contact with the kids.”

“You have just as much influence with them as I do,” he
replied. “The colonel has been after me for shirking my base duties. I am afraid, my friends, that this is one ball you will have to run with yourselves.”

Once they were all back outside his office, Jake asked, “What do we do now?”

Sally was already putting on her coat. “Do what the chaplain says, what else? Let's go scare us up some kids.”

Jake managed to find his way back to the destroyed chocolate factory. Even though the gang had already received its first free meal, the greeting was no warmer than the last time. “What do you want,
Fremder?
We don't have anything for you yet.”

“That's not why I'm here,” Jake replied quietly. There was a fiercely pathetic air about the place. An air of defeat and impending death made their bravado all the more tragic. He worked at keeping his face blank.

“Brought a few of your little friends around?” Karl demanded. “Take them for a visit to your own private zoo?”

Servais stepped forward. “Perhaps I can help.”

“No!” Karl shouted. “Here you will speak the mother tongue and nothing else!”

“My friend speaks no German,” Jake said.

“Then he can leave! Him and the female too. We want nothing to do with you,
Fremder,
not you, not your friends, not your pity.”

But Servais was not to be put off. He murmured, “Pep talk.”

“I—” Jake stopped. “What?”

“Follow my lead,” Servais said swiftly, then stomped to the center of the room, threw his hands up in a dramatic gesture, and roared out a torrent of words. In French. Which Jake did not understand at all.

The boys and girls watched him open-mouthed. When Pierre paused for breath, Karl asked, “What is he saying?”

“He, ah, he is speaking of the future,” Jake managed. He was saved by another deluge of words from Servais, who had
adopted the regal manner of a general addressing his troops, and did it well. So well, in fact, that even Jake found himself drawing up a little straighter.

When Pierre stopped the next time, Jake was ready. “The French officer has taken time from his extremely busy schedule to come and personally pass on very important information,” he translated. “He wishes you to know that your bravery in the face of enormous difficulties has been brought to the attention of the highest authorities.”

Servais was off again, using the enormous voice of one accustomed to speaking to a division drawn up for formal inspection. It held the youngsters spellbound. At the next pause, Jake continued. “We come to you with a new mission. One which is dangerous, but which we are sure you are up to. If we did not have confidence in you, we would not have selected you for such a vital task.”

Again the hair-raising torrent, and then from Jake, “We want you to make contact with every gang in the center city. Tell them we wish to speak with all of them. Do not tell them of your investigation. First they must be judged as worthy. Have them and all their members gather at the staff headquarters on the outskirts of town—do you know where it is?”

“We know,” Karl replied, now without rancor. Doubtful but curious. Caught up and listening.

“Tell them that whether or not they are chosen, all will be rewarded just for appearing. Including yourselves. Especially yourselves. They are to come tomorrow at dawn, just after curfew has been lifted.”

Jake caught Pierre with a sideways glance, and the Frenchman stopped his verbal onslaught in midstream. “It is a perilous assignment, but one worthy of your skills.” Jake waited, then asked, “Do you agree?”

There was a long pause, then, “We will do it.”

Chapter Seven

Dawn came reluctantly. The sun remained hidden behind a motionless veil of frozen mist. It coated every surface with a fuzzy winter's scrawl, a written warning of the four harsh months yet to come. The little group of men that Jake, Pierre and Sally had gathered stomped around, blowing into mittened hands and speculating in muted tones about whether the kids were going to show.

A sixth sense must have alerted them, because Jake could detect no change to the frozen dawn. Whatever the reason, all sound died away as though on signal, all eyes turned to search the gathering light.

With the scarcest of sounds, gray-faced wraiths began to emerge from the freezing fog. They walked with the evident fear of mongrels not sure whether a cuff and a kick awaited them. Yet they came. It was one thing to run alongside a passing train or jeep or truck or marching convoy, to beg with words and gestures, to meet the conquering soldiers on turf they knew and understood; it was another thing altogether to walk toward a place that before had meant only beatings or shots fired in the dark. Yet they came. They stumbled from cold and from hunger, they tripped on the tattered footwear that scuffed and slapped softly with each step. Yet they came.

Still the gathered men could not move. It was a confrontation that no one was ready for, no matter what they might have been told. Here was war, the small faces said in silent agony. Here was the reality of battle. Here was the hidden cost of the fighting as armies struggled against each other. Here was need.

“Welcome,” Sally's voice rang out clear and bell-like in the silence. “Don't be afraid. We want to help you.”

She reached with frantic hands for something, anything, to
hold out, and came up with chocolate bars. She reached out with them and said in her hesitant German, “Look. For you.”

Into this frozen tableau they came, slowly, fearfully, with suspicion battling hunger on their faces. Finally a scarred and dirty hand was close enough to reach out and take trembling hold of Sally's offering. Then another, and another, and another still.

As the number of scrawny hands reaching up toward Sally increased, the first ray of sunlight forced its way through the fog. Its unexpected power startled them all. Eyes squinted, hands were lifted to shield faces, and in that moment the soldiers were suddenly able to move, to act, to serve. The scene sprang to hectic life.

Pierre took charge of the handouts. Each youngster received chocolate, tins of food, soap, a blanket, an item of warm clothing. Those with rags stuffed with newspapers tied up around scrawny ankles received shoes. Each gang received a bucket, a pot, a portable cookstove, a handful of utensils. Each child heard words spoken with warmth. It mattered little that few soldiers spoke German, and fewer children understood English. What was important were the smiles accompanying the words; a few children even managed to smile back.

The men found it less and less possible to meet the eyes of the soldiers with whom they worked. There was too much emotion in the moment, too much being brought up, too much on the surface exposed for all to see. Gazes were limited to those across the line, those who waited and searched with the frank honesty of the young and the injured, those who spoke so much without saying a word.

Sally was seated on a pair of stacked cases, writing at a table made from two crates. Each gang identified their leader. Carefully Sally took down the name, after explaining over and over and over that no, she did not work with the dreaded police, and no, the information would be given to no one else. She wanted it only for sending out more supplies. Still
the leaders would only give their first names. Sally accepted this condition, taking only what they would willingly give. When they saw that she was not ordering, not threatening, not insisting they answer or give back all this newfound wealth, most of them gave her everything she wanted.

Where was each gang's headquarters? In a cemetery; a bombed-out school; a bomb shelter; a cellar; a ruined bus. How many members? Ten; thirty; seven; four dozen. Did any have families with lodgings where they could have food and perhaps shelter in the worst weather? A few did, most did not. Identity cards? Almost none. To the authorities they did not exist. They were not part of the flimsy official structures, and therefore were simply not expected to survive. How old was the gang's youngest member? Fourteen; nine; twelve; seven; six; five; four.

Jake stood just beyond the fence of the supply center, assembling and addressing one gang at a time. Carefully he explained that he needed their help in an investigation. But whether or not they decided to help, they could keep the gifts. And if possible there would be more. And they were to take no risks, or no more than they were already taking. But yes, he needed their help. They could go where he could not. They could hear what his ears were deaf to. They could see into places closed to him and his men.

As he spoke, Jake caught sight of a change taking place in some of the youths—not all, but some. Their eyes caught a glimmer of something. Interest. The first shred of excitement. A shadow of pride. They were
needed.

The process consumed more time than anyone expected. No matter how many children they dealt with, there were always more. The sun gathered strength and burned away the remaining mist, leaving the gathering in full view of all the soldiers arriving for duty. Groups gathered and clustered and pointed and stared. Eventually the Stores major came out from his office to order his men back to work, but before his words were out, he too was riveted by the sight.

And still they came. Holding back until the soldier keeping order motioned for each new gang to move forward. Not really believing it was all happening, even when the gentle words had been spoken and the wares settled into their open grasp. Their eyes searched everything with fear and hunger and pain, and seared the souls of everyone who turned their way.

Jake finished with one group and motioned the next one over, only to turn and find a thoroughly uncomfortable Stores major standing by his elbow. The man harrumphed a few times, shuffled his feet, then said, “How are your supplies holding out, Captain?”

“I've been a little busy, sir—”

“Getting low,” Pierre called over. “Very low.”

“That's what I thought. Let me see,” he stammered, “that is, well, perhaps I might be able to find a few extra items around.”

Sally filled Jake's astonished silence with, “Whatever you can spare, Frank, I'm sure would be most helpful. We appreciate it.”

“Very much,” Jake managed.

“Good. Then I won't be a moment.” The major scurried off, barking for his men to follow. In a matter of seconds a steady stream of soldiers pushing trolleys loaded to the limit were headed their way.

Jake had scarcely begun with the next gang when a familiar voice stilled the entire procedure. “Is this your doing, Captain?”

“Tenhut!” shouted a voice about five minutes too late.

Jake snapped to attention with all the other soldiers. Suddenly the children were in a state of tense readiness for flight. “Yessir, I guess it is, sir.”

Colonel Beecham cast a frosty gaze over the proceedings. “How much longer do you expect to be?”

“We're processing them as fast as we can, sir.”

“See that you do, Captain. We can't have these kids blocking military traffic.”

“Yessir, fast as we can, sir.”

Beecham scanned the scene a moment longer, then tapped his cap and said, “Carry on, then.”

“Yessir, thank you, sir.”

Jake permitted himself a breath once the colonel had moved off. He returned his attention to the kids. They seemed to be watching him differently. As he finished with that group and started with the next, Jake tried to identify the change. Somehow the arrival of the colonel, his words, his salute, and his departure had validated Jake's mission. They listened more carefully, believed him more readily. He found them repeating questions less, no longer expecting some hidden price. The colonel had appeared and approved. They were being recruited for something
real.