In that, Peter couldn’t have agreed more.
Like a pair of foxes trying to sneak their way into a chicken coop, the two German soldiers moved carefully and quietly as they skirted the edge of town, looking for something to eat or a means to further their escape. The town wasn’t much; there were a couple dozen buildings clumped together, with the depot in the center of it all, just as he had suspected. There weren’t any outlying farms, either; the land was too hilly, the soil too rocky. But there were a few houses that were far enough away from the others to be worth checking; unfortunately, at each there were people at home or dogs that barked when they neared. After a couple of hours, they gave up and climbed to a small outcropping on a hillside that provided them with both cover and a view of town. They both plopped down, exhausted.
“We’ll sneak onto another train once it’s dark,” Otto explained, “then move on to somewhere else.”
“And then what?” Peter asked, fatigue loosening his tongue. “We’re in the middle of the United States. What do you think we’re going to do, keep hiding ourselves in freight cars until we reach the coast, slip onto a boat heading to Germany, and then go back to fighting again?”
This was the argument that Peter had thought about ever since he and Otto had escaped from the wrecked train. Even though they were no longer prisoners of the United States Army, they were far from free; the truth was that they were thousands of miles from home, without any food or shelter, still shackled together, and with no idea where they should go. Deep down, Peter knew that the best course of action was to turn themselves in. The war in Europe would soon be over; it didn’t matter how hard Hitler’s most fanatical supporters fought, they’d be overwhelmed soon enough. Peter wanted no part of their suicidal plans; for him, even if he spent his days locked up behind barbed wire, watched day and night, at least he’d be safe. Unfortunately for him, he doubted that Otto felt the same.
“What would you have us do, march back to the Amerikaners and surrender?” the brutish man snapped. “We will continue to serve the Fatherland and our Führer until we draw our last breath!”
“We won’t be able to for long if we keep running,” Peter argued.
“That is why we will soon stop.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are right to say that we cannot hope to make it all the way to Germany,” Otto admitted. “It would be pointless even to try. We would be captured for certain.” He paused, his eyes boring holes at Peter. “That is why we will fight.”
“With what?” Peter asked incredulously, holding up his still-cuffed hand so that the chain rattled between them. “We have no food, no weapons, and only the clothing on our backs, nothing more.”
Otto nodded slowly. “For now,” he answered. “But soon we will have everything we need to stay alive, all of the things you speak of. We can quit running. With only a rifle, we can hurt them. We will do what those damn Jews did in Mother Russia, fighting them from our hiding spots, picking them off one at a time, making their fear and frustration grow.” Otto smiled cruelly. “Hitler will give us medals once the Amerikaners are defeated.”
Listening to the hatred and venom that Otto was spewing, Peter knew without a shadow of a doubt that it had been a mistake to leave the prison train with him. But he had been rattled, shaken by the crash and the destruction it had wrought, unable to think straight. For Otto, death wasn’t something to avoid, but rather to embrace; nothing would please the man more than to die for Hitler and his ridiculous cause, but not before he’d killed plenty of his enemies first. If he continued on his chosen path, he wouldn’t survive; if Peter was still beside him, he, too, would perish.
He had to get away, and quickly. But until the chain that bound them was broken, he’d have to go along with Otto’s nefarious plans.
Peter nodded, trying to act as if he saw the truth in the other man’s words. “So we keep heading east?”
“Once it’s dark, we’ll make our way back down to the trains,” he explained. “Until then, rest.”
Leaning back against a tree’s trunk, Otto folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Even though Peter was tired, as much from a lack of food as from exhaustion, he found it hard to do as Otto had suggested. The man he was chained to was dangerous, the sort who had to be watched closely. Peter knew he had to be smart and to take a chance to get away only when the time was right.
His very life depended on his making the right decision.
Once night fell, they made their way to the depot. There were lights on in some of the houses but they didn’t see anyone. The locomotive hissed at the head of the tracks; it wouldn’t be long before it departed. But then, just as Peter was taking his first step toward the open door of a freight car, he was grabbed hard from behind and hauled backward as a hand clamped down over his mouth. Shocked and surprised, he began to struggle; a sliver of fear raced through him that Otto had decided he was no longer worth the trouble and intended to kill him.
“Quiet!” Otto hissed in his ear.
Peter stopped struggling. A couple of moments later, he understood why Otto had taken hold of him. A lone guard made his way up the line of track, swinging his flashlight slowly up one side of the train and then back across the platform. Otto had pulled them between a couple of crates, out of sight. No more than ten feet away, the man stopped, fished out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one before inhaling a deep drag and blowing smoke into the sky. Behind him, Peter felt Otto’s body tense; he knew that if the guard noticed them, Otto would attack like a wild animal, trying to kill him before any alarm could be raised. But after a while, the man moved off, whistling a tuneless tune. Finally, once the guard was far enough away, they cautiously entered the dark freight car.
Eventually, the train began to roll. Under a blanket of stars, it traveled farther east. Peter tried to sleep, but found it too difficult, not because of his concern about Otto or what they were doing, but because of hunger. More than a day had passed since he’d last eaten and he felt as weak as a kitten. With every rumbling of his belly, pain filled him. By morning, the feeling had become unbearable. One look at Otto told Peter that the other man felt the same. It was decided that they had to get off the train and forage for food, no matter the risk.
As they had the day before, they jumped off the train just before they reached a town. Unlike then, they soon had better luck. In the hills north of the rail line was a cabin with a couple of outbuildings. They watched quietly for a long time, listening to the squirrels chatter and the wind gently rustle the boughs of the evergreen under which they hid. Nothing happened. Finally, they decided that they’d waited long enough. Breaking out one of the windowpanes, they forced their way inside.
The cabin looked to have been unoccupied for some time. Dust covered every surface and there was a musty smell in the air, as if it had been shut up for months. Immediately, they rushed to the cupboards in the small kitchen and rifled through them. They found a tin of sardines and a can of beans that they forced open and ate ravenously. Peter’s stomach was so empty that it hurt to put something in it, but he ignored the ache and kept eating. Checking the rest of the cabin, they found some clothes in the bedroom and a couple of dollars in the back of a drawer.
“Too small for me,” Otto said, holding up one of the shirts.
“I could wear it,” Peter replied.
Otto nodded. “We’ve got to get out of these first,” he said, rattling his cuffs.
“Let’s look outside.”
The first outbuilding they checked was empty, but the second had been used to store tools. A scarred workbench stood against one wall, littered with nails, a paintbrush missing half its bristles, and a bucket with a hole in the bottom. Tools hung between nails pounded into the wall. Most of them were covered in rust, untouched for far longer than the cabin; Peter hoped they were still solid enough to gain them their freedom.
From the wall, Otto snatched a weathered hatchet. Gauging its heft in his hand, he cleared
a space, spread out the chain, and began to hack away at it. Over and over he swung, the clangs loud in the small space. Occasionally, sparks flew, but Peter couldn’t see any damage being inflicted.
“Damn it all!” Otto barked, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
“That won’t work,” Peter said. “It’s not strong enough.”
“The hell it isn’t,” the other man argued, doubling his efforts. After only a couple more blows, the handle suddenly snapped, worn through with rot, causing the hatchet’s head to fall onto the ground.
Otto was just about to retrieve it when Peter stopped him.
“Let’s try something else.”
Peter grabbed a metal rod leaning against the wall. It was a couple of feet long and about as big around as his thumb.
“That won’t fit though the chain links,” Otto observed.
“It doesn’t have to.”
Peter slid the length of metal between his wrist and his one remaining cuff. The restraint had been damaged during the crash and he was able to squeeze it through. Fortunately, the rod wasn’t rusty like the other tools; his wrist was still bloodied from the crash, so he was glad that he didn’t have much risk of infection. Placing his wrist on the workbench, Peter grabbed the edge with his manacled hand, tightly gripped the metal rod with the other, and took a deep breath. Straining with all of the strength he had left, Peter began to push the bar to the side, prying against the broken clasp of the handcuff. The pain was tremendous. Soon, the wound reopened, staining his hand with blood, but he didn’t let up, desperate to be free. Slowly, he felt the metal begin to bend. The tendons on his arms stood out, his muscles burned, and sweat beaded his brow. Finally, just as he began to fear that he would break before his bonds did, he yanked his hand out of the contorted steel. He’d done it.
“My turn,” Otto growled.
Unfortunately, the same trick wasn’t going to work twice. Because Peter’s restraints had been loose, there was room to insert the bar; Otto’s were clasped too tightly around his wrists. They’d have to find another way to get him out.
“Damn it!” Otto hissed angrily. “Let’s make another handle for the hatchet,” he suggested. “If we keep at it long enough, it’ll give.”
Peter shook his head. “Right now, we’ve got bigger worries. That little bit of food wasn’t enough. We need more.”
Otto reluctantly agreed, shaking the chain in frustration. Peter understood; if he was the one still bound to it, he imagined that he’d feel the same.
“So what do we do?” Otto asked.
“I’ll put on those old clothes and take the money into town,” Peter explained. “With my English, I can pass for an American. Hopefully we’re far enough away from the crash that no one’s looking for us. Once we have more to eat, we can figure out how to get you free.”
“Make it fast!” Otto snapped. “The sooner I’m out of these damn chains, the sooner we can get about striking fear into these weak Amerikaners’ hearts!” Flashing a sadistic smile, he added, “It won’t take long to show them just how superior we Germans are!”
Peter nodded. The truth was that he had no intention of coming back for Otto, at least not in the way the other man expected. He was going to march to town, find the nearest lawman, and turn himself in. Peter knew that running from the train had been a mistake. He was done fighting. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to get killed. If necessary, he would lead them to the cabin himself, anything to keep this murderous psychotic from causing any more harm.
Their war would soon be over. This time, for good.
Chapter Six
I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE getting married!”
Olivia only had time to smile weakly before Sally Albright embraced her tightly, jumping up and down in her arms. Standing on the street corner in front of her house beneath the bright morning sun, a dented wagon on the sidewalk behind her, Olivia could only imagine what the two of them must look like to anyone watching.
“And to Billy!” Sally continued, pulling back to look at Olivia but not letting her go. “I never would’ve imagined he would propose!”
That makes two of us…
Besides Billy and Grace, there was no one whom Olivia had ever been closer to than Sally. Since they were the same age, they’d been together for as long as she could remember, sharing a desk at school, singing in the church choir, and taking long walks beside the creek, whispering about boys. They’d always confided in each other and that trust had never been broken.
Sally took Olivia by the hand and held her ring up to the light. Unlike her mother, her friend didn’t see anything wrong with the simplicity of the golden band; instead, she saw it as romantic.
“I’m so happy that I’m going to start crying!” Sally gushed.
Watching her friend wipe a tear from the corner of her eye, Olivia understood why Sally had always been considered one of the prettiest girls in all of Miller’s Creek. She was full figured and tall, and her curly red hair fell down across her shoulders. Her green eyes were wide with long lashes. When she smiled or pursed her lips, most men behaved as if they’d just met a movie starlet, either clamming up or talking so fast you couldn’t understand a word they said. She was even more beautiful on the inside. But for all the attention she received, Sally had always had eyes for only one man; Chuck Albright. Four years ago, they’d been married; Olivia had never seen Sally happier than that day. But it was that love for Chuck, that desire to be forever by his side, that had aged her friend, causing many a sleepless night.
“Tell me everything!” Sally demanded, her own problems forgotten because of Olivia’s engagement.
“We can talk while we walk,” Olivia answered, grabbing the handle of the wagon and starting down the sidewalk.
“Come on, Olivia! Stop holding out on me!”
“More working means more talking.”
For more than a year now, Olivia and Sally had spent one day a week walking up and down the streets of Miller’s Creek collecting anything that could be recycled for the war effort. They picked up newspapers, toothpaste tubes, tubs of cooking fat, and glass bottles. They scrounged up tinfoil and whatever pieces of scrap metal happened to be lying around. When they were doing their rubber drive, they’d taken everything from children’s tire swings to women’s girdles. With the men off fighting, they’d wanted to do their part, so they trudged all over town, dragging their wagon in the sun, rain, and even snow.
While they walked, Olivia told Sally about Billy’s proposal. With every telling, it seemed to get a little easier, if no less believable. For her part, Sally peppered her with questions, trying to squeeze out every last detail.
“How do you feel about Billy going off to the Navy?” Sally asked.
“I’m worried,” Olivia admitted.
Sally took a deep breath. “You have good reason to be,” she said.
Ever since Chuck headed off for basic training, Sally had been living with the fear that he would die in combat. He was a Navy Seabee, operating a bulldozer as his unit cleared jungles in the South Pacific, making roads and airstrips for the march to Japan. Each time there was a knock on her door, she was terrified, certain that it was someone from the military coming to tell her of her husband’s death, to offer condolences that wouldn’t begin to fill the void in her heart. Every night, she said her prayers for his safety. Every morning, she wrote him a letter, trying to stay positive, to not show her fear. In public, she maintained a smile, but Olivia knew her friend was hurting. Unfortunately, she’d soon know just how much.
“When does Billy leave for his training?” Sally asked.
“Five weeks.”
Olivia’s friend gave her an encouraging smile. “Maybe the war will be over by then,” she said. “In his last letter, Chuck said it wouldn’t be much longer.”
“I hope not, for all of our sakes.”
“So when’s the big day?”
“I don’t know,” Olivia answered. “We didn’t set a date.”
“Well, you’re going to have to hurry,” Sally said. “There isn’t much time if we’re going to do this right.” She then began to talk about engagement announcements, invitations, what type of decorations they could have, dresses, music, food, and even whether she and Billy should try to make time for a honeymoon; strangely, listening to Sally talk about such things wasn’t as upsetting to Olivia as when her mother did so; still, there was so much said so fast that it made Olivia’s head spin.
Because of Sally’s excitement, Olivia didn’t have the heart to tell her about her doubts. The night before, as she had stared at the ceiling above her bed, the hours slowly crawling past, Olivia had thought about everything she wanted to say to Sally; that she was afraid she’d committed a terrible mistake in accepting Billy’s proposal, one she had no idea how to fix. She worried that admitting such things would make her look foolish, as if she didn’t take the institution of marriage seriously, something that she feared would insult Sally, to whom it was her whole life.
So instead she held her tongue.
Besides, just as when she’d told her family, Olivia knew that it was too late to change anything. No one in all of Miller’s Creek, friend or otherwise, would ever understand why she’d be reluctant to marry a man like Billy Tate.
So she would become his wife. Like Sally, she would just have to hope for the best. Her path had been chosen, and nothing, and no one, could change it now.
Peter made his way down the gently sloping hill and away from the cabin. Though there was still a chill in the early spring air, the sunlight on his skin was enough to keep him warm. The clothes that he’d put on, a blue button-down shirt and a pair of dark work pants, smelled just as musty as the place in which they’d been left, but he was happy to get out of his prisoner garb all the same.
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