Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1)

by Terri Wangard

  The dress from yesterday lay waiting, but an inner prompting led her to don Frau Hoffman’s donated clothing. Maybe it was the thought of leaving Germany. Surely they wouldn’t face anything worse than climbing down crumbling ruins again. She shoved away the foreboding mood. God is with us. Our times are in His hands. With everything carefully stowed in her backpack, she headed downstairs.

  She found Paul in the kitchen, listening intently to their host’s instructions on how to find their new river guide. He spared her a glance before turning back with a startled look. “Pants?”

  “I’m prepared for anything.” If she said it firmly enough and often enough, she might convince herself.

  Following Paul’s memorized instructions, they headed across the square to leave the city through the Porta Nigra. A man noticed them and began walking in their direction. Heidi dragged in a deep breath.

  “Oh, no. Not now. Do we need to take an evasive course?”

  But there was no evasive course. Any abrupt change of direction would be interpreted as guilt. Beside her, Paul murmured, “Act like we belong here.”

  The man parked himself right in front of them and practically clicked his heels. He wore a swastika tie pin. A Party member. “You are not residents of Trier. Your papers, please.”

  He held out his hand.

  Paul patted his pockets. He reached into his rucksack and pulled something out. “Soldbuch. Wrong one.”

  The Nazi snapped his fingers. “I will take that.”

  Paul let it go and rummaged for his ID. He withdrew it and glanced at her. Here was the test for how well his phony papers held up to scrutiny.

  “You are from Gross Tychow.”

  Paul’s brows rose. “You’ve heard of it?” He sounded surprised. “Not many around here are familiar with Pomeranian towns.”

  “That does not matter.” The man snatched Paul’s ID.

  Oily. The Nazi had a high, oily voice. A real slippery character. Heidi bit her lip. This was no time for hysterics. Konrad would have given Paul excellent forgeries, but what about her papers? What if Rudy…

  “Why are you in Trier? This is not on your way to Calais.”

  Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. The silly story they’d come up with wouldn’t satisfy this guy. Paul might pass, but Heidi wouldn’t. Would Paul be incriminated with her?

  He gave his spiel. “I’m using part of my convalescent leave to visit my comrades’ families. Peter Schilling’s wife should be here.” He turned to Heidi. “What did I say her name is?”

  “M, Marta?” He hadn’t said.

  The vile man returned Paul’s papers and faced her. “Your papers.”

  Heidi slid them out of her backpack. Breathe. Keep breathing.

  “Wetzel. Heidi Wetzel.” The man’s eyes drilled her. “You will come with me to the town hall.”

  Rudy must have thrown his net over all of northern and western Germany. Paul’s chest expanded. He understood the implications too.

  Before they could take a step or say a word, a low wail grew into a loud shriek. Air raid! All eyes turned to the clear blue sky. Not a plane was in sight. Maybe a bomber stream was spotted on radar headed elsewhere.

  Let them come here.

  The siren tone changed. No longer did it announce a possible attack, but a probable attack.

  “Everyone into the shelters.” The man reached for her arm.

  Paul plucked her papers from the man’s hand and slid them into his pocket. His theft went unnoticed.

  “Everyone into the air raid shelters.” The man pulled her along in the same direction as others hurried. More people hurried toward two other destinations.

  As a throng engulfed them, Paul shoved between Heidi and the Nazi. The grip on her arm broke. Paul led her away into another crowd.

  “Let’s go to that shelter.” Heidi pointed to their right. “We need to go there.”

  “I’m not going down into a shelter. Let’s get out of here, back down to the river.” Paul set off at a brisk pace.

  “Paul, being out in the open is dangerous. Bomb concussions, shrapnel, anti-aircraft shells.” Even as Heidi spoke, the thump of nearby guns joined the wail of the alarms. The siren changed a third time. She covered her ears. “Paul,” she screamed, “they’re over the city now. It’s too late to make it out.”

  “I won’t go down into a shelter, and besides, we don’t want to give that goon a chance to find you when this is over.”

  A new sound penetrated the cacophony of noise. Engines, lots of them. Paul’s head jerked up. “There they are.”

  He grabbed her hand and raced for an alleyway. In the narrow confines, they leaned against a wall. The constant firing of the anti-aircraft guns echoed back and forth. Heidi slid down the wall to a crouch. Wearing the pants today had been a very good decision.

  Paul inched his way back to the square. This may be a fool’s errand, but here was his chance to see the bombers in action. The formation flew too high to make out great detail, but the configuration didn’t look right. Must be Liberators rather than Flying Fortresses.

  A blinding flash at the far end of the market place heralded a detonating bomb. A building exploded, showering the square with debris. Even from this distance, a wave of heat battered Paul, trying to suck the air from his lungs. He ducked back into the alley as the roar of more and more explosions deafened him. Smoke billowed upward, hiding the sun. The square didn’t darken though. The blaze of fires kept the area bright.

  Another flash and another building erupted on the edge of the square. That building stood over the shelter the Nazi goon had gone into. Only a few people staggered out. The goon didn’t appear to be one of them.

  They would have been killed if they hadn’t gotten away from him. Staying outside was safer all around. As long as another bomb didn’t get them.

  Behind him, another mighty blast shook the ground. That was close. Heidi pressed against him and yelled in his ear. “If these buildings collapse, we’ll be buried.”

  They ran out into the square. Sparks and ash flew around them. “To the fountain,” he yelled. “We need to get to the water.”

  Glass shattered from windows and flames shot out, reaching for them. Shrill screams hung in the air. “Somebody help me. I’m burning. I’m burning.”

  The cry died abruptly. Despite the heat of the day and the fire, Paul convulsed with shivers. His skin prickled with the blast of another bomb. Grit peppered him. His nose tingled from the acrid odors of gas and sulfur.

  The fountain loomed in front of them. It was too high for them to reach. He yanked a shirt from his pack and, gripping one edge, flung it into the fountain. He pulled it back, dripping wet. Burying his face in it brought slight relief. If only he could get some to drink. He passed the shirt to Heidi.

  Shouts came from opposite the pharmacy. Lots of people hadn’t heeded the sirens and gone to the shelters. Someone’s apartment burned out of control. A man stood at the second floor window, tossing his furniture out. The wooden pieces splintered on the pavement.

  More blast waves pummeled them. The suction ripped off a woman’s dress. She barely broke stride as she continued running.

  Another woman raced up to them. “Have you seen my husband?”

  “Lady, I wouldn’t know your husband.” Paul turned to find Heidi. Someone thrust a child into his arms and scurried off. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  Heidi joined him, his shirt tied like a scarf around her head. “Where’d you get the little one?”

  The toddler, eyes dazed, uttered no sound.

  A teen-ager nearby said, “That’s my nephew Herman.”

  “Good.” Paul pressed the boy into his uncle’s arms. “He’s all yours.”

  Caustic smoke stung his eyes and throat. Thirst overwhelmed him. “We need to get to the river, Heidi. We have to get out of here.”

  He reached for her hand and they started again for the Porta Nigra. A building collapsed as they passed. Chunks of masonry, door frames, and piano keys spilled a
cross their path. The asphalt, softened by the heat, dragged their footsteps, slowing them as burning debris rained down around them.

  Above the crackling flames, another sound had disappeared. Paul raised his head. “I don’t hear the plane engines anymore. They’re gone.”

  No point in adding there may be more waves coming.

  Once outside the gate, they paused to catch their breath. Seething columns of fire surged into the sky, spilling soot everywhere. Heidi started laughing. “We made it. We made it.” A fit of coughing overwhelmed her. “I’m so thirsty. Oh, look.”

  Beyond her pointing finger, a crumpled airplane lay smoldering. Just as he thought. It was a B-24 Liberator. Paul started for it instinctively but halted his steps. No one could have survived that crash. Risking their lives to help someone beyond help made no sense. He turned his back.

  They joined the stream of people heading away from the burning city. A crowd was gathering and he craned his neck to see why. His blood ran cold. A group of American airmen had been rounded up. Luftwaffe personnel herded them toward a truck. A young woman hurled a rock, striking a prisoner. Another prisoner caught his eye, and Paul came to an abrupt halt. He knew this man. They’d been navigator classmates in Florida. Earl, his name was. Earl MacDonnell. From New Jersey.

  “Paul?” Heidi sounded apprehensive. She must suspect he would single-handedly try to free his countrymen.

  With a last look at his old classmate, he hurried on. They’d be lucky to find their contact in the mayhem of the attack on Trier.

  “Let’s get to the river. No one will think it odd if we jump in to wash away the smoke smell.” Tears stung his eyes. He started to rub them, but no, not if they were irritated by all the smoke.

  Or was it the sight of the captured crew that triggered the emotion? Had Earl spotted him? Wondered why he was there in civilian clothes?

  If he was captured now, out of uniform, he’d be executed as a spy. And Heidi with him.

  “Do you think that man will come looking for me?” Heidi’s face was smeared with soot, her shirt singed by embers. She was wringing her fingers, a sure sign of nerves.

  He glanced down at himself. His appearance wasn’t an improvement. The river looked better and better. “I don’t think we need to worry about him. Who would have thought deliverance would come from an air strike? That was too close for comfort.”

  They needed to get out of Germany now.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Nancy, France

  Wednesday, June 21, 1944

  The boat bumped against a private dock on the outskirts of Nancy, France. Wilhelm, their latest guide, hustled Heidi and Paul out and up to a nearby house. “Hurry. You must get out of sight.”

  His crewmen continued on into the city without making a complete stop.

  Wilhelm greeted the young couple inside, speaking in rapid French. Turning to the fugitives, he said, “My sister and her husband.” Heidi must have betrayed her surprise, for Wilhelm continued, “Our family has lived in Alsace for generations. Sometimes it is part of France, sometimes Germany. The people here seem like chameleons, no? We appear one way, then another.”

  As Wilhelm resumed his conversation with his brother-in-law, his sister offered a simple meal. Since names were not exchanged, they must not be staying here long. Heidi longed to lie down on an opened sofa bed when Wilhelm addressed them.

  “A British airman is nearby. I will go for him, and my brother-in-law will take you to the next stop. It is a house in town. They will pass the three of you along. We don’t know where to, and they will not know where you have been. The less everyone knows, the better.” With a nod, he was gone.

  The brother-in-law kissed his wife and led them out to several bicycles. The man set a brisk pace. Heidi trailed behind as Paul rode abreast with their guide so they could converse and appear as two Frenchmen going about their business. Heading into the heart of the city seemed risky, but the German soldiers they past paid no attention to them. The Gestapo must not have sent her description this far west.

  Their destination proved to be a townhouse on a quiet street. They entered through the back door and their hostess was introduced simply as Marie. Wilhelm’s brother-in-law cautioned them to stay away from the windows. “Wilhelm will come with the British airman to the front door, then he and I will go out the back and return together on the bicycles. Anyone watching the house will hopefully not notice we are not the same two men who arrived together. Marie will conduct the three of you on your way to the next safe house.”

  While their benefactor and Marie spoke in French, Heidi slumped on the sofa. Maybe this was her chance to nap. The hectic activity of the past week left her drained. Paul stood to the side of a window, gazing out at the city life. When he spotted two men striding down the street, he announced, “Here they come.”

  Heidi pulled herself up to peer over his shoulder. As she watched, a car pulled up and two German officers got out. Paul gasped, causing Wilhelm’s brother-in-law and Marie to look up sharply. “They’ve been stopped!”

  The man joined them by the window and cursed vehemently in French. The Germans had guns drawn and pushed Wilhelm and his companion into the car. The man beside Paul spoke rapidly to Marie. Heidi recognized one word. Gestapo. A flush of heat swept through her, leaving her light-headed.

  She gripped Paul’s arm. He put a hand over hers. Concern etched deep lines in his brow. Her stomach roiled and tears demanded release, but she blinked hard. They’d come this far. She had to hold together.

  A hand at her throat, Marie turned to her telephone and placed a call.

  “Come,” the brother-in-law said. “We must leave here at once. You will go to another safe house of which Wilhelm does not know.” His voice breaking, he added, “He is lost to us now.”

  Marie came to the door as they were about to pedal off. Handing Paul a small bundle, she spoke in a low voice to their benefactor, who responded with a curt retort. Marie nodded and stepped back into her home, giving them a sad smile before disappearing from view.

  They rode away at a fast pace. This was like being caught up in a scary dream from which there was no awakening. Heidi noticed their guide flex his jaw as though struggling for control. They and the Britisher were the cause of these people’s troubles. “What is happening now with Wilhelm, do you think?”

  “They will kill him.” The man’s tone offered no hope. “First they will demand answers. Wilhelm will tell them nothing. So they will torture him. How much he can withstand is anyone’s guess.” He breathed deeply. “Marie’s contact will meet us and take you on your way. I must return home. My wife and I must disappear for a while, until we can determine what Wilhelm may reveal.”

  Paul glanced back at her before voicing a question. “What about his contacts in Germany?”

  Heidi thought of all the people they’d met in the underground. The Hoffmans, the Schultzes, Konrad.

  The brother-in-law inhaled sharply again. “I will look for the boat. Warn them before they head back. They will not likely have set out yet, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Here we are.” They stopped in a small park. He led them to a bench beside a flowering bush. “Wait here. Keep the sack from Marie on display. Your next contact will look for you here and will have a similar sack. Good luck.”

  Paul sputtered a “Thank you.”

  Heidi gaped at the man’s retreating back. They were being left here? How long would it be before the contact arrived? What if a German came along asking questions?

  Leaning his bike against a tree, Paul sat down. “Act as if you belong here. That’s what the evaders always said in their lectures. None of them warned about there never being a dull moment.”

  He patted the bench and Heidi sat beside him. He fiddled with the sack, turning it over, pressing its lumps. Curiosity got the better of him and he loosened the thong to peek inside Marie’s bundle.

  “Huh!” He pulled out a child’s cloth storybook. He flipped through it. The pictures illustrated th
e story of Little Red Riding Hood. “Okay,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to watch out for the big bad wolf. I get it.”

  Reaching in again, he pulled out an apple. “Apparently we’ll be on our own for some time if a snack is necessary.” Still satisfied from the meal at the little house by the river, he set the apple aside and pulled out the last item, a beret. “Aah, time to go native.” He took off his fedora and tried on the French chapeau. Sitting back, he scanned their surroundings. “No one appears to be paying us any heed.”

  He was wrong. An elderly woman hobbled toward them quickly, the cane in her shaky hand tapping the pathway. Her other hand fluttered at them in time with her torrent of words. In French.

  Paul straightened up. The lady reached them. She snatched the beret off his head and threw it onto his lap, her hand still waving as she continued speaking. Paul’s wide eyes sought Heidi.

  “I think she’s saying the Germans don’t allow the wearing of berets in Alsace Lorraine. They’re too French. You’d be arrested and thrown in jail if they catch you wearing it.” Heidi stuffed the beret back into the sack.

  The old woman nodded her approval. Her tone gentled as she patted Paul’s cheek.

  Heidi pursed her lips to avoid smiling at his discomfiture. She touched the hand resting on the cane. “Merci.”

  The woman patted her hand, still chattering. She smiled when Paul echoed a thank you. A few final words, and she continued on her way.

  Paul remained in his stiff posture. “I’m twenty-four going on five.” He rubbed his cheek. “Why would Marie have given us contraband?”

  Heidi gave in to a laugh. “At least the lady didn’t pinch your cheek.” She resisted the urge to pat him herself when he scowled. “Maybe in the alarm over the arrest, Marie didn’t realize she was giving us a beret. Maybe they would have explained things better if we hadn’t been rushed.”