Finally, the day arrived when she could wait no longer. She decided to bring the Reichsmarks with her just in case. There was a chance that if she was detained by the police, she could bribe her way out of the situation with the money. It was also possible the captain would need the notes back if he had secured them passage on a ship. She dressed herself carefully and applied makeup, wanting to look perfect. It wasn’t that she needed to feel beautiful for the captain or that she sensed that her attractiveness was important to him. She simply felt in some small way that he deserved her very best and that today could well be a momentous occasion.
The time came to depart. She embraced Johannes and Britta, clinging to her daughter for a moment. She stepped cautiously outside for the trip to the captain’s home. The journey seemed much easier this time, and while the dangers were just as real, they felt less so. She traveled the familiar kilometers to the captain’s home without incident. She kept her head down and walked with a brisk but casual pace. There was one frightening moment at a busy intersection where she encountered a police officer directing traffic, but he was intent on his duties and uninterested in the pedestrians crossing this way and that in the frosty evening.
Soon she was at the captain’s home and again knocking at his front door. Franz answered, all smiles this time, and directed her to Dutt’s study, where the captain soon joined her.
Captain Dutt seemed just as stern as the last time, but he did awkwardly pat her on the shoulder when he came in. He was dressed in a severe navy-blue suit, and he helped himself along with a long black cane topped by a silver handle. He wore highly polished jackboots that clomped methodically along the hardwood floors until muffled by a silk rug that dominated the center of the room.
“Well, Frau Bensheim, I see you’ve made it back here safely. I did not know if I would ever see you again. I’d hoped perhaps the money I’ve given you was sufficient for you and your family to make your getaway.”
She shook her head. “We’ve heard nothing from Gunther,” she said. “Not for ages. I don’t know that we will ever hear from him again. I think he just took our money and went his way.”
“That might be for the best,” said the captain. “I do not know the man, but I trust no Nazi, particularly SS, and neither should you.”
“I never wanted to,” she explained. “He was Johannes’s contact. A last resort really. He’s crude and a letch. Nothing like you.”
The captain blushed slightly. “Kind words. Oh yes, I’m glad I decided to help you. Although I must say with great disappointment I’ve not been able to do everything I had hoped.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Try as I might, I cannot secure passage on a ship for you. I contacted several of my partners and friends. Not, I must admit, without a little risk to myself. None of them are willing to run that kind of danger for a Jewish family.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on out there, but they are truly cracking down on anyone who helps the Jews. The war has made everything much worse. The Gestapo is arresting people now for the most trivial of reasons. People are disappearing in the middle of the night and not coming back.” He wagged a finger at her. “Not just Jews, mind you, but gentiles, too. I hear tell of neighbors reporting neighbors. Children turning in parents for making an unpatriotic statement or listening to foreign radio transmissions.” Dutt shook his head. “These are terrible times.”
Her heart sank a little, but she knew she mustn’t be rude. This man had already placed himself in danger on their behalf. “Thank you so much for trying,” she said. “You did so much for us, giving us the food and the money.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the stack of bank notes. “I have it here, if you would like it back?”
He put both hands in the air, pushing away from her. “Oh no, you keep those and I’ll double the amount for the bargain.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a thick envelope, extending his arm out to her. “A hundred thousand Reichsmarks should get you a long way on the black market, one way or another. I only wish there was more I could do for you.”
She tried to resist, but he opened her hand and placed the envelope into it, forcing her fingers around it. “No time to be stubborn,” he boomed. “Like I said, I only wish I could do more. I will keep trying, and if I find anything more out, I will come to you. That reminds me,” he said, hobbling back to his desk to retrieve a pen. “What is your address?”
She hesitated for a moment, afraid to tell him for fear he might turn her in. But how could she deny this after everything he had done for them? She called out the numbers and the street while he scribbled down the information and read the address back to her.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” he said. “If I learn anything else, I will come to you. Do not put too much hope in me, however; I’ve already exhausted my best contacts. I do not hold out hope that others I know less well will be more accommodating, but perhaps Gott will send us a miracle.”
She squeezed his hand tightly. Here was a real man. Somebody who did not owe anything to them. Here was a true German who was risking his own life to try to help. She rose and turned to leave, but he stopped her, calling for Franz and making arrangements for another load of groceries for her to take. They stood silently in the study for a few more minutes while the staff collected the food. Then she thanked him again.
“Go with Gott. And remember, do not trust this Gunther. No matter what he promises, he is your enemy.”
She nodded silently in reply and turned to leave. She took a few steps down the hallway before she paused. Some force within her drew her back. She returned quietly to the entryway of the study and saw him, face buried in his hands, slumped over his desk weeping. Her heart was torn to see such a brave, wonderful man crying on their behalf. She raised fingers to her lips, blowing a silent kiss before she departed for home.
The trip back was the same as before, although her arms ached under the weight of the food. She didn’t mind. She knew they would have something to eat. Their precious daughter would not go hungry, at least for a little longer. She worried that she might seem suspicious carrying sacks of groceries kilometer after kilometer through the darkened streets, but nobody seemed to notice. She reached the house, fumbling for the keys in the dark, but the door opened on its own, and she walked in excited to tell Johannes the news. She froze in the doorway. Gunther stood at the entrance. He had opened the door for her.
“Come on in,” he said, grinning. “I was wondering where you had wandered off to. Johannes has been very evasive.” He reached out to take the groceries from her hands, keeping contact with her body for a moment longer than was necessary.
He reached his hand up and pulled back the top of the bag, peering in with a show of interest. “What do we have here?” he asked. “Such a clever girl. You must tell me how you get groceries without a ration card. But then these are not grocery bags. Tsk, tsk, it looks like someone has a friend. Who might that be?” he asked, drawing his face even closer to her.
“Nobody of importance,” she answered, looking quickly to Johannes, who was sitting in his chair watching the two of them impassively.
Gunther laughed, taking a step back, his eyes wandering up and down her figure. “Such a smart girl. I’ll let you keep your secrets for now, but not forever, mind you.” He stepped farther into the house, motioning for her to follow. “Come on in, please. Perhaps you can use your new-found bounty to make us a fine meal. I have important news for you. I was just about to tell your husband when you so pleasantly arrived.”
Gunther took the bags out of her hands and carried the groceries into the kitchen. She stayed for a moment at the threshold, trying to communicate silently with Johannes. He looked past her, and she felt the sharp claws of fear piercing her again. What if he collapsed back into himself again?
“Are you coming?” Gunther called from the
kitchen. She took a step toward Johannes, finally catching his attention. She nodded toward the kitchen, silently pleading with him to focus. To her relief he shook his head and took a deep breath. He nodded, rose out of the chair, squared his shoulders, and moved into the kitchen.
Gunther was busy putting the groceries away as if he lived there. He had rolled up his sleeves, and he was whistling contentedly to himself. He finished quickly, putting aside some sausages, sauerkraut, and a bottle of white wine. He sliced the sausages with a deft hand, chatting away about inconsequential matters as if they were all just old friends having dinner together on a Saturday evening. He poured wine and handed them glasses, clinking his own with them and then taking a deep drink.
“Well, my friends, I told you I have news for you, and the news is good.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a packet. “Brand-new ration cards and identification papers.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how difficult these were to obtain. You would think the Gestapo could get anything they want, but times have changed.” He set the package on the table and looked up at them, frowning. “What’s wrong with the two of you?” he asked. He reached over and placed his fingers on the bottom of Trude’s glass, pushing it up toward her lips. “Drink, drink. When you’ve finished the toast, come help me with the sausages. Johannes, butter the bread. We must celebrate.”
Trude willed herself to move around the counter, starting the stove and pulling out an iron skillet. Soon the sausages were crackling in the pan as Gunther chatted away about the difficult job of obtaining the ration cards and the false identifications.
“These documents will get you by for now,” he said. “You’ll be able to obtain food, and if you’re stopped on the street, these papers will identify you as good little Germans just like me.” He looked at them and paused for dramatic effect. “That’s not even the best news,” he said, moving around the table to Trude. He stood close to her, making her skin crawl. “I’ll tell you the rest, although you could show some more appreciation.”
She stood frozen, waiting for him to touch her again. Thankfully he stepped back and turned to the table, reaching out to pour himself another full glass of wine. He shrugged slightly. “Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said almost to himself. “I can understand the difficulty of thanking someone who has done so much for you.” He snapped his fingers. “Where was I? Oh yes, the biggest surprise of all.” He rang his hands together. “I have the best news. I will be able to secure you a spot on a ship soon. If you think the ration cards and ID were difficult, this was almost impossible. I’ve worked many days, but I have a captain who’s willing to play . . . for a price, of course.” Trude saw Johannes’s face light up at this, and she felt even greater relief. He almost looked himself.
Her husband rose from the table. “Thank you, Gunther,” he said. “Thank you so much.” He grasped Gunther’s hand with both of his, shaking it profusely.
The German warmed at this and smiled, taking another deep drink. He looked up at Trude. “What about you, my dear? Don’t I get a proper thank-you?” He moved toward her again, but this time Johannes stepped between them. Her husband reached his arms out and grabbed Gunther by both wrists. The men struggled together for a moment, but Johannes held him firmly.
“That’s enough of that,” he said. “That’s my wife you’re speaking to.”
Gunther’s face flashed fire, and he stepped back violently, ripping his hands away. His hands clenched into fists, and Trude feared he would strike her husband. The German closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths, and seemed to relax. He unclenched his fingers, raised his hands into the air as if in surrender, and laughed. “Fine, fine,” he said jovially. “I’ll knock it off. It was always just a little fun, mind you. You have a beautiful wife. I don’t have to tell you that,” he said, winking at Johannes.
Trude felt the gratitude washing over her. This was her husband, the man she had fallen in love with, risking his life for her. Afraid of no one. The sausages were done, and she quickly served each of them a plate, cutting up some bread with butter and refilling their glasses with wine. They took their meal in relative silence, although Johannes, out of politeness, inquired for more detail about the ration cards. He thanked Gunther again for everything he’d done for them. They clinked glasses with him in a toast to their future. After some time, the meal was over and Gunther rose to leave.
“How soon can we expect passage on a ship?” asked Johannes.
Gunther turned to them. “As soon as you’re able to make the payment.”
“What payment?” asked Johannes. “We’ve already given you everything we have.”
“We used that money for strategies that unfortunately didn’t work out,” said Gunther, shrugging. “What can I say, my friend? This is war. I will need a bit more to make this new deal work.”
“How much more?” asked Trude.
“Unfortunately, it’s quite a sum,” he said. “The price is one million Reichsmarks.”
“That’s impossible,” stammered Johannes. He took a step toward Gunther.
The Gestapo agent raised his arms. “I’d be careful, my friend,” he said. “I let the moment in the kitchen pass, but I won’t let another. Don’t forget who I am and who you are. I know it’s a lot of money, but I don’t need it all now. The ship will be there when you’ve raised the funds. Don’t tell me you’re not capable of doing it; you’re the smartest little Jew I’ve ever seen. I know you’ll get the money. I obtained the ration cards for you so you can take the time you need, but mind you,” he said, pointing his finger, “it won’t be a pfennig less.”
He exhaled deeply, as if he had just relieved a tremendous burden. He bowed to them slightly. “Trude, thank you for another charming evening.” He winked at her then purposely looked her up and down again before returning his stare to Johannes. Her husband said nothing. Gunther smiled as if satisfied, then turned to the door, whistling as he stepped into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
Belgium
May 10, 1940
Erik and his group broke into a loose jog in the darkness. It was not yet dawn. Low-hanging branches clawed at his face, and he could hear muffled swearing behind him. He commanded them to silence in the lowest whisper he could manage, then turned and continued.
In the distance the rat-a-tat of an MG 42 broke the silence, echoing through the forest like staccato thunder. Erik almost mistook the booming thuds of his heart for the pounding percussion of artillery. He hadn’t fought in eight months. A lifetime. An eternity. All the fears were here. An old enemy returning home.
The hot whistle of bullets flickered through the trees. The enemy was out there somewhere. He wasn’t sure whether they were here in force or if this was some lonely outpost delivering a parting embrace before retreat.
His group spilled out of the forest and into a field, now semi-illuminated by the ever-lightening sky. In the distance a farmhouse loomed, a lonely sentinel in a field of hay. He gestured for his men to follow him. They spread out and sprinted in a wild zigzag fashion. He waited for the bullets to come. Expected them as always, but they didn’t arrive. The farmhouse filled up the horizon. Thirty meters out, then less. Soon just a few footsteps. He finally slammed against it. Too hard. Erik’s shoulder flared in pain, but he didn’t care. He hugged the protective shield that would hold back the bullets, at least for a little while.
He counted heads. Everyone had made it. A surge of relief. Where had the gunshots gone? The Belgians must have retreated. If they were Belgian. They could be British or even French. They’d been told not to expect any of the primary allies here, but intelligence was often faulty. He crept along the wall of the farmhouse until he was near the edge. He motioned for his men to remain where they were. He peered cautiously around the corner. Fragments of stone and dust exploded around him, long before he heard the crackle of a machine gun. He sputtered and pulled back, throwing himself against the wall. He sat for a moment trying to catch his heart. He ran
his hands up and down searching for wounds. There were none. He was safe for now, but the machine gun was still out there.
More of his men were coming up now through the field. The farmhouse must have blocked the gunners’ view, he realized—as no shots were coming his way. He traced the angle in his mind, calculating the rough trajectory and location of the gun entrenchment. An officer landed hard next to him. He looked over and was surprised to see Captain Vogel. The whole company must be here.
“Sergeant, what do you know?” he asked.
“Not much, sir, but there’s a gun entrenchment out there. Automatic. Likely something like our MG 42.”
“Did you see it?” he asked.
“No, sir. I think it might be about there,” he reported, gesturing at an invisible line through the farmhouse wall.
“Any idea of the distance?”
Mueller shook his head.
“Where is Sauer?” the captain asked. A hand flew up a few meters down the farmhouse wall. It was the lieutenant. Vogel motioned for him, and Sauer moved mechanically toward them—cool in combat as ever, his Stahlhelm clutched under his arm and his sun-bleached hair a burning match in the dawn.
“Jawohl?”
“Sauer. There’s a gun out there in a fixed position. Mueller thinks it’s about there,” said the captain, echoing Erik’s gesture through the wall. “It’s not going anywhere and neither are we. I need your platoon to take it.”
Sauer nodded and paused for a moment, considering the situation. Finally, he looked up at Mueller.
“Sergeant. Move your group out and take that position. I want Messer and two others to lay covering fire from that corner. You lead the assault with the rest. Go on now.”
Erik absorbed the order from the lieutenant. One of their few interactions these last eight months. They’d never spoken of the train or the promotion. Why the lieutenant selected him for this now, he didn’t know. Perhaps to give him a chance to redeem himself. Or maybe to get rid of him. It didn’t matter. An order was an order.
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