Corridor of Darkness

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  “Where’s your guy?” René looked questioningly at Erika, seeing only a bruised cheek and smeared blood, but no other damage to her face.

  “Got off unexpectedly,” Ryan said, finally unclenching his fists.

  Erika took the whimpering Leo in her arms. “My baby, it’s all right,” the words of comfort as much for herself as for the child, “it’s going to be fine, I’ve got you now.” The child forced his head into the crook of his mother’s neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her collar. She smiled at the two men and tears filled her eyes.

  “Let’s move,” said René, “there’s no time to waste, and this place will be swarming. Up front, quickly!” They could now hear the shrill whistles of trainmen outside, moving alongside the tracks and approaching their car. The conductor pushed his way past the fugitives without a glance, ordering them to make way on the vestibule platform. He opened the heavy door, barely touching the steps as he swung down to the graveled rail bed to join the others shining lanterns and flashlight up at the gore-smeared windows. The rhythmic throb of the resting locomotive reached them through the open doorway.

  “One moment,” Erika said, handing the quietly protesting Leo to Ryan. In the tiny restroom she rinsed her mouth, even though she knew the water wasn’t potable. She drenched her handkerchief and took fierce swipes at her face. “Your turn,” she said as she stepped back out and gently wiped at Ryan’s battered nose before taking her son back in her arms.

  “We have to separate,” René said. “It’s my weak leg, I wrenched it back there.”

  “We’re stronger as a team, René, let’s give it a try.” Ryan protested.

  “I know my own strength—I’ll only slow you down. You’ve got the map and Hugo’s waiting for you. Get to the dock and you’ll be safe in France before you know it. I’ll catch up when I can. Now go!”

  “Then here, take this,” Ryan unhooked the gold chain with the warrant badge and handed it to his friend. “They’re on to me, but others won’t know you yet.”

  René pocketed the disc. “Best hide the pin, though.” He tapped Ryan’s lapel. “You may need it later, but probably best not wear it for hitching a ride right now.” Ryan grasped his friend’s shoulders in a quick hug of thanks, then turned to the open door. “No, this side,” René gestured to the opposite door. “Circle forward around the engine. You’ll be hidden in the fog.” He lifted the handle, and Ryan saw his friend wince as he put weight on his right leg.

  Ryan took Leo from Erika and they climbed down to the roadbed. He turned to wave good-bye, but René was no longer in the vestibule. Through the windows he saw his friend limping back down the corridor at a rapid pace.

  All the commotion was on the far side of the train. The locomotive headlamps cast parallel beams forward into the swirling mist, and the glow from the firebox warmed the ground outside the cab with a half-circle of light. The engineer and fireman were on the far side, watching the activity alongside the train. The fugitives stayed close to the wheels of the towering locomotive, feeling the heat from its boiler, and ducked around the front of the engine, keeping a low profile. Ryan noted Erika’s difficulty negotiating the tracks in heeled shoes and he took her hand, and they moved tentatively down the incline and passed unseen into the blackness of a furrowed field.

  From behind the animated shouts of the train crew drifted through the fog. Ahead in the distance lay a roadway, its path marked by an occasional vehicle passing through the shroud coming off the Rhine. Ryan felt blood flow from his nose once again, and missing his handkerchief, he removed his necktie and wrapped it around his head, putting pressure over his nose to serve as a tourniquet.

  The soil lay broken from a recent plowing and clung heavily to their shoes where rain had turned the dirt to mud. Several times they stumbled and nearly fell as he carried the boy in his arms. The fog occasionally revealed the road and just as quickly obscured it. He wished for a flashlight, but knew it would betray their escape. Reaching the roadway at last, he pulled his makeshift bandage down around his neck and suggested Erika take shelter with Leo in a small copse of trees just off the road.

  It was nearing ten and vehicles were rare. Every so often headlamps pierced the dense fog and a vehicle passed, its driver ignoring the man waving both arms from the side of the road. At that point he remembered the bloody tie hanging like a noose above his collar and tossed it aside. Better a bleeding fool and a ride than no ride at all. There was little to be done about mud-caked shoes and trousers and the dried blood splattered across shirt collar and coat. The air was biting, and he wished for his hat, lost in the confrontation and quick escape.

  For over an hour he stood by as an occasional automobile floated past in the drifting mist. No one braked for the lone figure caught in their headlamps. Erika and Leo shivered in the darkness, huddling beneath a tree.

  DIE ABRECHNUNG

  The Reckoning

  10-11 November 1938

  CHAPTER ONE

  The truck announced its arrival long before its headlamps penetrated the fog. The lumbering Ford with canvas-covered bed had suffered questionable maintenance, one cylinder firing irregularly and the muffler overtaxed. Exhaust swirled acridly about Ryan’s head as the driver downshifted, then braked to a screeching halt. The man at the wheel cranked down the window and Ryan moved around toward the driver’s side. “Guten Abend,” he said, exhausted, forgetting his Heil Hitler.

  “Move back into the headlamps to give me a better look at you,” the driver’s voice gruff, and Ryan obeyed, hoping charm and politeness would atone for his disreputable appearance. “Looks like you’ve had a bad day.” He sounded middle-aged or older, his German thick with local dialect.

  “You’ve got that right; a very rough day,” said Ryan. “Our car ended up in a ditch. I was driving exhausted, and there was a deer. My wife and boy are with me, and we’d sure appreciate a lift.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Just bloodied and bruised, nothing serious.”

  “And that deer?” Ryan suspected the man was not buying his story.

  “Never made contact, so I’d say it came out just fine.”

  A little warmth now tempered the voice. “Where you headed?”

  “Mannheim or thereabouts, anywhere south. We can always catch a train from there.”

  “Why don’t we pull that car of yours out of the ditch? It may not look that way, but this old truck of mine still has some strength in her, and I do carry a chain.”

  Ryan hesitated, pretending to consider the idea. “Thanks for the offer, but the car’s pretty well banged up, so probably not worth the effort. The nearest train station would be a big help, though.”

  The driver got out and joined Ryan in the glare of the headlamps. He was in his sixties, his hair white, his face creased by life. Thick, wire-rimmed lenses made his eyes appear overly large. Ryan could see by the size of shoulders and arms that the man had done some heavy lifting. “Seriously, young man,” he reached out to shake Ryan’s extended hand, “as much as I’d like to believe your story—and it is a good one—I do believe there’s something you’re not telling me.” He eyed the damaged nose and swollen cheek, already beginning to darken. Ryan started to protest. “No, no, it’s not important. You’d be surprised at the ‘accidents’ I’ve seen today, and you’re not the worst off by a long shot. So let’s put this day behind us all.” He smiled. “Go get your wife and child and find some room in the back. I’m going close to Karlsruhe; that’s the best I can do with the load I’ve got to deliver.”

  “Thank you, sir, we’ll gratefully take it.” Ryan smiled in relief, flinching slightly from the pull on his swollen face. He waved toward the wood and Erika emerged into the headlamps with Leo and shook the older man’s hand in gratitude. From force of habit she started to give her name, but quickly went still.

  Noting her embarrassment, he chuckled. “No need for introductions on a night like this. Best we get moving.” They headed to the back of the truck and the driver lifted
the canvas at the tailgate and helped Erika climb into the bed. Ryan handed up Leo and pulled himself into the darkness. “I’ll give a knock when we’re close,” the driver said. “Meanwhile, make yourself as comfortable as you can. I recommend up front behind the cab.”

  Ryan thanked the driver again as he secured the flap, then moved cautiously into the black interior. A flickering match revealed large wooden crates stacked to the ceiling, with barely space enough to stand between the cargo and the rear gate. A narrow passage ran alongside the load, just wide enough to slip through toward the front. He blew out the match as the flame reached his fingertips and lit another, just as the truck ground into gear and lurched forward. Erika grabbed for a crate with her free hand, and as they accelerated the canvas began a steady rumble.

  “Mutti?” Leo wrapped both arms around his mother’s neck.

  “It’s okay, love,” she hugged him closer, “we’re fine, no worries. The bad stuff’s behind us now.”

  Ryan struck a third match. “I’ll find us a spot forward.” He squeezed down the narrow passageway, his back scraping against the wooden staves lining the bed. The truck smelled of old hay, motor oil, exhaust, sweat. They were not alone.

  A family sat huddled against the front wall of the truck bed, all eyes watching him warily. One man lit a shielded kerosene lantern to help the new arrivals find a cramped spot, while the others obligingly moved closer together on the filthy floor. “Welcome to our little family,” said the man with the lantern.” No greetings, no introductions, just an unspoken understanding that they were all in the same boat.

  Ryan recognized the same fear and disorientation that troubled Leo in the eyes of the Jewish children. They had all seen too much this day. Two mothers held the smallest children in their arms. A teenaged girl, her head covered with a scarf, stroked the dark hair of her smaller sister. The younger of the two men had an angry welt running from forehead to chin and crudely shorn hair extending beneath a rumpled hat. Once all were settled in, the man extinguished his lantern.

  Erika leaned against Ryan with Leo on her lap. The old straw on the bed of the truck did little to cushion contact with the worn planks, and she tensed in response to the bumpy ride. The darkness was broken only by an occasional coursing band of light at the rim of the bed when they encountered another vehicle. The cold became increasingly bitter, and they huddled to share warmth. With every braking of the truck, with every town entered, the tension rose under the canvas shelter. Time passed to the steady rhythm of road noise, the creaking truck bed, the rumble of the engine, the thrumming of canvas in the wind.

  A bottle of water and another of red wine moved from hand to hand. “Mutti,” Leo’s voice a whisper, “I have chocolate.” He tore open the bar and took a square for himself before passing the remainder on to the little girl beside him. It made the rounds.

  The truck rattled across a long bridge to enter a larger town, and all the fugitives fell still. A group of drunken revelers left a noisy inn, a car horn gave a brief honk, then a distant siren, and the clip-clop of a horse-drawn vehicle, odd for the late hour. They passed a couple laughing, a rare sound of genuine happiness after that troubled day. The driver downshifted to a halt, and voices rose just outside, the driver answering stern questions, demands. His door creaked as he got down from the cab. There was muffled talk of papers and destination.

  Ryan peered down through the narrow gap between canvas and truck and glimpsed jackboots moving toward the rear. Everyone tensed as someone stepped up onto the rear bumper and raised the tailgate flap. A beam of light crossed over the cargo to illuminate the roof above the huddled group. “All clear,” came the shout. The man dropped the canvas and jumped down from the bumper. There was a collective release of breath, a momentary relief. The driver came back around to secure the flap before climbing up behind the wheel, gears grumbled in protest, and the truck lurched on its way.

  An hour later they slowed for a series of tight turns, the roadbed now uneven and rocking the truck from side to side until they lumbered to a halt again. A triple knock came on the window separating cab from the enclosed bed, and the rumble of the engine ceased. The children now all slept. The adults listened for sounds, voices, anything that would reveal what was happening outside. Only silence greeted them. Seconds passed, then minutes. Ryan watched the slow march of time on the radium dial at his wrist. Another quarter hour dragged by.

  Somewhere an owl hooted and then let loose a screech. Moments later they heard the muted thump of wings as a large bird swooped over the truck canopy. The hair on his neck rose at the piercing squeal of the prey as talons sank home. Erika pressed herself to his chest. Ryan squinted through the tight opening in the canvas and surveyed the darkness but saw nothing. The silence had returned.

  Abruptly headlamps flashed on and off in a rapid three-beat staccato, silhouetting barren woods a short distance away. He tensed and waited, peering into the gloom. They flashed once again, and their driver responded in kind. The engine turned over and they rolled forward along the rutted track, every joint of the truck creaking with the shifting surface. The headlamps remained off. Meter by meter they worked their way in the direction of the signaling vehicle.

  The stop came with a squeal of brakes. Almost immediately the rear gate of the truck dropped and the canvas was drawn back. “Hurry up, schnell, schnell,” a female voice called in over the cargo barrier. “We’ve little time! Quickly, now.” She urged quiet and caution. The children, roused from their sleep, were guided forward by the adults. One by one they scooted alongside the wall of crates and were helped down by the two new-comers and the white-haired driver.

  In the soft glow of his lantern the spokesman for the family reached out his free hand to Ryan and gave a nod of respect to Erika. Leo was in her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist. “Shalom,” he said.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” Ryan asked.

  “No, thank you. What you see is what’s left of our family, but we’ll find a way out, thanks to these folks.” He gestured to the couple and the driver guiding his group toward the other vehicle with the aid of a flashlight. “There are still many good people here—it’s just getting harder to find them.”

  Erika shifted drowsy Leo to her right arm, pulled Reichsmark from her handbag. She pressed them into the man’s hand. “Here, we have enough; this may help you on your way.” The man protested briefly before accepting the gift. He blessed her for the godsend.

  The driver rejoined them. The Jew handed him the lantern and made his way in the darkness toward the other vehicle. Across the clearing the dome light glowed briefly as nine people sought space in an old sedan meant for six. Erika offered the driver money, as well. “For your help and trouble,” she said.

  “Save it for those truly in need.” He smiled. “My pay comes from sticking my thumb in the eye of those morons who run this country.”

  “We are eternally grateful.” Ryan offered his hand.

  “Happy to be in the right place at the right time, and sorry I can’t take you the rest of the way, wherever that’s taking you. As you see, we weren’t prepared for so many passengers on such short notice. But for now I’ve just about reached the end of my route, so I’ll have to say good-bye.”

  “Is there a train station close by we can walk to?”

  “That load I’m carrying is for the SS garrison just up the road. Don’t think you’ll want to be hitching thereabouts. Let me show you on a map exactly where we are.” He moved off toward the cab.

  “No, wait,” Ryan called him back and reached into his jacket, “I’ve what we need here.” He spread out on the bumper the pages ripped from the road atlas and adjusted the lantern light. The driver pointed to the closest village with a local train connection, about a kilometer distant. Ryan was relieved to see they were now only about a hundred kilometers from Kehl, an hour or so by train.

  “I head now directly to the caserne, as usual, or someone might get suspicious. Sorry, a detour to the train s
tation is just too risky—people seem to remember my trusty Ford here.” He patted the bumper.

  “No, that’s fine; you’ve done more than enough already,” said Ryan.

  “Tell you what—there’s an inn just up the road, nothing fancy, but clean enough. Use your ‘auto in the ditch’ story. It’s so good I almost fell for it. Get some rest and clean up a bit. It’s getting late now, but I’ve seen an early morning bus out front of the place, heads right to the station.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The dull-gray Zündapp KS600 with sidecar sat unattended before the village Gasthaus, the driver and his partner taking a break to wash down a beer or two before curfew. By all rights it was nothing extraordinary, a military vehicle seen almost daily in the Reich. For Ryan it was an open invitation. After all, he thought, once you’ve stolen a police car, why not a Waffen-SS motorcycle?

  Through the curtained window he surveyed the pub and its last patrons before returning to propose his new plan to Erika. She waited with Leo in the deep shadows of an elm on the lower end of the graveled lot. “We’re barely an hour from Kehl,” Ryan said, “so there’s little risk of Gestapo checkpoints—unlike the train stations—and the way those two are hoisting them in there, we’ll be on the Rhine before they miss their machine.”

  “And roadblocks?”

  “Who knows? But we’re much farther south now, so less likely than before. And that motorbike can use open fields or forest paths if needed, plus the sidecar’s made to order for the two of you.”

  “Okay, I’m game, let’s do it.” Nothing to be gained by indecision. “The sooner we get there, the better.” She knelt down to speak with Leo. “Would you like to ride the motorcycle?”