Otto could hear the frustration and anger in his daughter-in-law’s voice. “Ja, it’s going to be a very difficult time for the government to enforce rationing of food fairly, especially here in the country … Well, that is a challenge. Farmers like us are always the last to go hungry, as it should be. We do the work and grow the crops.”
“But, Papa, the people in the cities, the workers, like it says in the paper, they don’t have our advantage, the land and the animals.” She trailed off into silence.
Otto was also reading part of the paper.
“Look at these prices, Mama. At Opalstein’s shoe store in Munich … Why, I bought a pair of shoes just last year for a third of this price, and—”
“You bought those shoes before the war, dear. Now, as for the Kaiser, Kathi, you mustn’t be heard speaking out like that … even if we feel that something must be done to end this, this carnage. The Kaiser was right in feeling Germany was threatened by Russia on the east and France on the west, after all—”
“Ja, ja, I know the story, but he should have settled it diplomatically, not with the army!” Katherina’s voice rose in anger. “The army has my husband in East Africa … Africa!”
Freidl was disturbed by the tone of Kathi’s voice and put down her sewing. “Kathi, dear, I’m sure Levi is all right and Markus, too. When they’re together, they take care of each other. And we can make due here on the farm. Isn’t that right, Papa?”
“Ja, of course.” He knew it was best to reassure both women, even though he had heard the casualty numbers. Almost one million German troops killed or injured in two years of war. He continued, “And as I’ve said before, I think it’s best that the two of them are in Africa. The Brits and French have taken our other colonies in Africa, and from what I’ve read from the neutrals, our people are being humanely treated.”
Otto put down his newspaper as he had the women’s attention. “It’s hard to say if our last colony in Africa can hold out. We’ll have to wait and see.”
It was a depressing thought for everyone, but it was interrupted by a knock on the front door.
“I thought I heard someone on the gravel,” Katherina said as she jumped up. The two elder Levis waited and listened. They heard exaggerated welcomes and knew it was Markus’s sister, Anji. The two women walked arm in arm into the room in their light, summer dresses.
“Greetings, greetings, Anji, you’re just on time. Where is your mother, Frau Mathias?” Frau Levi inquired.
She gestured with her hand toward the door. “Mama is coming. She stopped to chat with your man, Willie. He’s quite a huntsman, always has a rabbit or two to sell. It’s awful in town … the lines, and then when you get to the butcher, he is either entirely out or the portion allowed is pitiful. And you, Frau Levi, you’ve always been so kind. Might you have any eggs to spare?” Anji asked in a slightly embarrassed tone.
“Of course, dear, we can spare a few. Ah, here is Frau Mathias now.”
“Fanny, do come in,” Otto spoke as he got up, smiling as she entered the parlor.
“Come sit by me,” Freidl offered.
“Thank you. My, the walk out here from the village train station seems to get longer every year, but it’s so beautiful and quiet in the woods.” Everyone smiled.
“The shopping in town is dreadful, and if you want a bargain, they want gold marks, gold!” She let out a cackle. “Ever since last year when the Kaiser asked everyone to trade in their gold coins for paper money, why, nobody’s got any gold left—well, mostly nobody.” Frau Mathias spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I’ve kept some, for special purchases, but at this rate, my few gold marks will be gone in no time.” She settled into the soft chair. “Then what am I going to do?”
Katherina was watching, as was Anji, and they loved the way Frau Mathias dramatized on occasion. They both smiled at her endearing ways.
The group moved to the kitchen alcove table for an informal dinner of cold fish in jellied brine; several salads of tomatoes, cucumbers, and cabbage; potato salad; and freshly baked bread. Most all the talk related to the war and food.
“Have you seen the airfield in the village? So many new aeroplanes and so big!” exclaimed Anji.
“Markus would be surprised and delighted and eager to pilot them. That one he was flying when he landed here at Kalvarianhof was so little and shaky!” Everyone smiled and nodded in agreement, particularly Otto, remembering that day vividly.
“And so many young, handsome men at the airfield,” Katherina laughingly joked, looking at Anji.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” began Frau Mathias. “She could have married that nice, young doctor, but—“
“Mama, please!” Anji declared. “Besides, I wasn’t in love with him.”
There was an awkward few moments of silence. Fanny changed the subject. “Anji is working in the Prince Ruperich Hospital in Munich.”
“Yes, yes, and its important work,” Anji. began. “There are so many wounded … hundreds! We get dozens every day. All the hospitals are over capacity. Wounded soldiers are in cots in the halls and even the waiting room.”
Her enthusiastic descriptions were infectious. “It’s so very tragic, but it’s important work … to help the ones we can. Everyone is bone tired, but each keeps going. Our boys appreciate every little thing we do for them. This war is so ghastly awful.” She was silent, as was everyone else, lost in thoughts of Markus and Levi. Everyone merely poked at the food.
Suddenly, the dinner was interrupted by the sound of a fusillade of pistol shots. With the guns ringing in their ears, Anji and her mother jerked up and stopped eating, their eyes wide with fear. They looked apprehensively to Otto.
“Now don’t be frightened. The shooting club across the meadow has a target range. The pilots come over for pistol practice.”
“Heavens! I was nearly scared to death,” Freidl said, sinking her teeth into a fork full of potato salad.
“I thought the French army was coming through the forest!” Everyone had to laugh at that absurd comment, and it broke the gloomy mood. Anji simply smiled and rolled her eyes at her mother.
“What? What?” Fanny asked.
German Airship L59
CHAPTER 45
Summer 1916: Riding with the Enemy
Since hearing Germany had declared war on Portugal last month, colonist noted the invasion of German East Africa from the south had begun. Using the same strategy as in the last two years, Vorbeck evaded the bulk of the invading British, South African, and Portuguese armies. The tactic: ambush unprepared enemy units, fight till nightfall, and then slip into the bush or jungle before dawn to avoid organized enemy counterattacks.
Markus had sent Vorbeck’s wireless message to Berlin through neutral Abyssinia, from Leopold’s trading company in Portuguese East Africa. He impatiently waited for a reply as weeks passed. Finally, also through Abyssinia, a coded reply arrived. He was sitting in Herr Leopold’s office in the port city of Palma, still in a Portuguese corporal’s uniform.
“Here’s the wireless you’ve been waiting for!” Leopold exclaimed, swinging around in his chair in front of his wireless set. “Intriguing, to say the least … I’ve never seen a more interesting message!”
He was genuinely taken aback by the remarkable contents in the brief Berlin note. He handed it to Markus.
FIRST MESSAGE TOP SECRET. STOP. BY MOST IMMEDIATE CONVEYANCE TO COL. VON VORBECK. STOP. GERMAN EAST AFRICA DANISH FLAGGED SUPPLY SHIP JELICO ARRIVING PORTUGUESE COAST LATE MAY. STOP. CODE NAME DANJEL. STOP. SECOND MESSAGE TOP SECRET. STOP. RESUPPLY ZEPPELIN #L59 ARRIVING SPRING 1917 ALONG CENTRAL RAIL LINE TABORA. STOP. DETAILS TO FOLLOW. STOP.
“The supply ship should be here in a month! The colonel has to see this!” Can you send it to him, Leo? I’ll give you the call sign. I’ll put it in code. Here, let me write it down for you.” He took the pencil offered by Leopold.
The merchant offered a warning: “I’ll send it, but I have to be very careful. You know the British can pic
k up every message sent by wireless. The air is free, no?” He chuckled at his own little joke. “But truly, the British, if they catch me …” he made a slitting sound and drew his finger across his neck.
“Yes, I know. You’re risking much just having me here. But I must inform the colonel about the supply ship, and I must inform Berlin that Tabora and the northern two-thirds of the colony are under British occupation, including most of the central railroad. That zeppelin would be in grave danger at Tabora.”
Leopold grunted, sent the messages, and repeated to himself, “A zeppelin!” He smiled and shook his head. “This calls for a drink.”
“Ja, I’ll drink to that as my mission is accomplished here!” Markus exclaimed with a big smile. “Now, I have to decide if I should return to my unit up north, or stay here till the supply ship arrives.”
Herr Leopold looked at his guest and grinned. “You leave here, for there? Ho, ho! You’ve been drinking too much of my poor schnapps! You’ll never find your colonel, and besides, the invasion is on! Don’t be stupid, my young friend. Stay here … at least for your supply ship.”
The next day, Markus rolled out of the makeshift bunk Leopold had made for him in an upper storage room. His host was brewing coffee, real coffee, one of the advantages of being in the trading business. Markus followed the pleasant aroma to Leo’s coffee pot and sat down.
“Business is booming for my little business,” Leopold announced. “The Arabs in Madagascar are selling everything they can get their hands on to the British—mostly food—and they need an importer. That’s me! Here, have some dates, or oranges, or a nice slice of melon.” He was jolly in his playfulness. “Wash it down with Turkish coffee. Yes, real Turkish coffee! From the enemy of the British! Ha!”
Markus was thoroughly content to share in Herr Leopold’s happiness. The shabby old man in his shabby office felt he was on top of the world.
What a wonderful place to be—what a wonderful mind set, Markus thought.
“I will, indeed, indulge in your ‘royal’ breakfast offerings,” Markus responded. They both sat there, melon juice dripping off their chins, enjoying the sweetness of life.
Markus finally returned to the reality of his present circumstances. He had made the decision late last night, staring into the future. “My dear friend, can you do something for me? One last thing?”
Leo looked sideways at his companion. “Ah oh, I don’t like it when someone says ‘one last thing.’”
“I need a horse … with a Portuguese military saddle, and your advice on the best place to ford the river.”
“You’re going back?” Leo sat up and threw a melon rind into an already overflowing basket. “What is it with you military men, so eager to be in harm’s way? Do they need you up there? No! Do they want you up there? Well, ja, your friend wants to see you again, but who else? Your colonel is too busy running from the invasion to care where you are. So why risk your life in the enemy’s uniform? You know what that means!”
He was silent for a few moments, as was Markus.
Leo finally began, “That horse is going to cost three times what we sold your other one for. It’s probably right off the boat and will be dead in six weeks, maybe sooner.”
“I only need it for a few weeks at most, till I get back to my unit.”
“Only a few weeks? Your colony is about one twenty-fifth of the entire African continent. You think you can find your unit in a few weeks?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How are you going to do that, Lieutenant?”
“I’m going to ride with the enemy.”
CHAPTER 46
Corporal Carlos Verdi
The horse took great leaps as he forged his way across the stirrup-deep Ruvuma River at a very wide and shallow spot. Markus studied the surface of the slow-streaming river, looking for any dark shapes or forms, the evidence of crocodiles lying in wait. He had seen these primeval beasts, some twenty feet long, snatch zebras, wildebeests, and other animals, dragging their prey to a watery death—and they had killed scores of soldiers too.
The newly washed and pressed Portuguese corporal’s uniform Herr Leopold prepared for Markus got a second washing in the muddy water. Leopold also secured for the German captain all the military equipment a Portuguese mounted dispatch rider would possess, including a map-dispatch pouch. It all came at considerable expense for the merchant, including the horse and saddle, but as he grandly stated, “It’s for the Fatherland, a place I shall never see again in my lifetime!”
Markus knew the invading army would pursue Vorbeck’s army. It was only a matter of time before he would be close enough to slip away and rejoin his German unit. He also knew two other things: soldiers get separated from their assigned units all the time. And, in a major military engagement like this one, individual soldiers are absorbed into whatever units they’re near. They all get sorted out later. This, Markus felt, gave him sufficient cover for his deception.
He did have to get his facts straight, however. Herr Leopold, warming to the intrigue, helped Markus create a cover story. Now, Markus was Corporal Carlos Verdi, attached to the brigade of General Joaquim Augusto Mouzinho de Albuquerque, stationed at the Newala garrison town.
As he reached the opposite bank of the Ruvuma River, he had accomplished one of his goals. He was back in German East Africa. Two days of hard riding since leaving Leopold brought Markus across the river and up to the rear guard of the enemy.
Portuguese, British, and South African army units were scattered miles apart in separate columns on a wide arc in front of him, looking for their German quarry.
Markus tried to stay away from the Portuguese units. He figured the British and South Africans would not be as apt to question a lone Portuguese dispatch rider.
One evening Markus attached himself to a British encampment for the night.
“We got several other Portuguese men in camp, lost as you are. You don’t want to join your own people?” The British soldier spoke with a strong Irish accent.
“I’m happy right here by your fire,” Markus answered. “I’ll see them later, and thanks for the food and blanket.”
“They call this food?” the Brit grumbled. “My old mother would feed this to our hogs back home.”
“And where is that?” Markus, alias Corporal Carlos Verdi, asked. Several more soldiers joined them. They all greeted each other and sat down around the fire. One of them, Sergeant William Gregory of the Royal Marines, stared for a long time at “Carlos Verdi” but said nothing. The troops ate their dinners in silence, out of the tin plates from their mess kits.
Finally, Sergeant Gregory said, “Hey, Portuguese, you look vaguely familiar. I know I’ve seen you some place before. I just can’t place it. Have you always been here in Africa?” Several other soldiers in the group casually looked over to Markus.
“You ever been to York or Plymouth, England?” he continued. Markus gave a chuckle and shook his head and concentrated on his food.
“Where’d you get those scars on your face?”
Markus was willing to tell that true story. “Ja, a leopard jumped out of a tree as I rode by.” As soon as he said that, he bit his tongue and thought, Christ, be careful with the language.
Gregory was silent for a while. “I never forget a face; I know I’ve seen you somewhere. It’s a game with me. I challenge myself. I’ll figure it out.”
Markus thought to himself, I’d better move on to a South African unit tomorrow.
The invasion troops roused early the next morning. By six o’clock, breakfast was boiling in large pots, and the latrines were in full use. Markus returned from there and was rolling up his bedroll, being conscious to do it the Portuguese military way, not the German army way. Sergeant Gregory was back and had a disturbing question for Markus.
“What did you say your name was?” The Royal Marine was smiling a sly smile.
Markus looked up and said casually, “Carl—that is, in English. Carlos Verdi.” He turned away and the t
hought raced through his mind, Christ! How could I make such a dumb mistake?
“So you’re Carl, Carlos Verdi, huh?” Gregory was eyeing Markus intently.
“You ever been to China? No, no there weren’t any Portuguese in Peking, as I recall.” He answered his own question, walking away toward the chow line.
Markus had to make a quick decision: Do I get fed this morning, or do I saddle up and get out of here right away? That British guy is way too interested in me.
He decided to get all his gear packed and on his horse, then make a quick trip to grab some food, and be gone.
“Hey, Portuguese!” Markus froze. He was standing third man in line for food when he got a rough slap on his shoulder. He slowly turned toward the voice. He vaguely recognized the face of one of the men around the fire from the night before. The man was smiling.
“That Sergeant Gregory! Ha! He’s saying he thinks he saw you in China! China!” The man laughed in a jolly way and shook his head. “I think I’d rather be in China than in this hell hole.” He laughed again. “How about you, Portuguese? You rather be in China?”
Markus’s face must have revealed some unpleasant sign because the man stopped smiling. They both were looking at each other, only several feet apart. Markus quickly gathered his wits.
“China? I don’t speak Chinese. I’d rather go home to Lisbon,” he added, “for some home cooking! Not this.” He gestured toward the food pots. The other man seemed to understand that idea completely.
“Yes, right you are. I could go for a good Irish stew right now myself, instead of this crap!” They both got a blob of what looked like oatmeal on their tins and a cup of very black, very over-brewed coffee. Markus and the man ate together, standing up. When they were finished, both knelt down and rubbed sand in their tins to clean them.
The Storm That Shook the World Page 26
