Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2)

by Dan Walsh

  “Keep your voice down, Eva,” Mother scolded.

  Luther could feel their eyes looking in his direction. He put his finger on the left page, pretending to follow along with the words as he read.

  “With your eyes, Luther,” Mother said. “Read with your eyes, not your hands.”

  “Yes, Mother.” They continued to talk, but he could still hear their loud whispers.

  “The Americans and British,” Eva continued, “have reached the Rhine, and the Russians have already crossed into Germany. Everyone is saying it is just a matter of time before the war is completely lost.”

  “It’s already lost if you ask me,” Mother said. “The Fuhrer is a madman. He has brought all this destruction on Germany himself with his ambition and greed. I’ve seen this coming for years. I tried to tell your father.” She held her head in her hands. “If he does not return to me…” her voice trailed off.

  “Don’t say that, Mother. Father will return. One of these days he’ll come right through that door. Remember that accident at the cigarette factory before the war? Twelve men around him were hurt; only father escaped unharmed. He has luck on his side.”

  “God was watching over him,” Mother said. “But I think God has abandoned Germany now.” A look of dread came over her face. “We have done too many terrible things. Especially to the Jews. I never thought it was right. Never. Calling them Christ-haters. The Bible says they are God’s chosen people. Christ was a Jew. The apostles were Jews. He taught we should love our enemies. But what have we done?”

  “Our family has done nothing against the Jews. We were always kind to them when they were still here.”

  “Yes, when they were here. But where are they now? We stood by and said nothing when they were all taken away.”

  Eva sighed. “What could we have done? Nothing. How can God blame us for that?”

  A strong smell of baking bread wafted into the living room. Luther thought about how nice it would be to have some butter to put on that bread when it was done. Maybe after the war they would have butter again.

  There was silence for a moment. Luther looked over at his mother and Eva. Eva got up from her chair and walked to the window. She stood holding the edge of the drapes aside with one hand, just staring outside.

  “What is it, Eva?”

  Eva was still looking out the window. “It’s nothing.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “It’s just…I’ve been looking around the city lately, and I’ve noticed…” She halted again.

  “Noticed what?” Mother said.

  “I notice there are no young men left my age. Even among the refugees. They are all boys like Ernst, or else old men.”

  “But that is because the young men are at war.”

  “Is it?” Eva said with some anger.

  “But what else could it be?”

  “What if this war has taken away any chance for me, and I am to become an old maid?”

  Poor Eva, Luther thought. Two of the young men Eva courted before the war had been killed. One on the Russian front, the other in Belgium.

  “They cannot all be dead,” Mother said.

  “Haven’t you heard? They’ve come for Gerhard Hammel? They’ve put him into the war, straight from the Hitler Youth. He is only two years older than Ernst—a boy. What else can that mean, except that they have gone through all the young men?” Eva began to cry.

  Luther looked up again. Mother had her arm around her shoulder.

  “I wish I had left years ago…with Arthur.”

  “That boy from America?” Mother asked. “You hardly knew him.”

  “But we were in love, Mother. I know that now. It could have worked. Then maybe I could have sent for you all before America got into the war.”

  “Eva, do you think your father would ever have consented to such an idea? To leave Germany for America? Our family has always lived in Dresden…for more generations than I can count.”

  Eva sighed. “I know. It all just seems so hopeless now. You and father were married at nineteen. I am twenty-eight. There will be nothing for me but old men and cripples when this war is over.”

  “Oh Eva, don’t say that.” She looked over at Luther, noticed him paying attention. “Luther, it’s getting late. You need to start getting ready for bed.” She motioned for him to get up and pointed toward the hall.

  Luther obeyed.

  “Where is your brother?” Mother said.

  “Remember?” Eva said, “Ernst’s group went to that circus in town after their meeting. He told you about it at dinner.”

  Luther remembered. When they had picked up Eva at the bakery, Eva’s boss, Mr. Kleindeist, asked Ernst if he was going. He had taken his family the night before. Ernst told him he didn’t have the money. Mr. Kleindeist had offered to pay Ernst’s way if he would stop by after the circus ended to help him move some boxes into his storage room.

  “That circus should be over now, shouldn’t it?” Mother said.

  “It probably is,” Eva said. “I guess he’s still at the bakery.”

  His mother sighed. She entered the hallway. “I just wish there was some way to get Ernst out of the Hitler Youth altogether. You know they’ll come after him next.”

  A loud, frightening noise pierced the air outside.

  “Luther?” Mother called. “Into the cellar. Now! Eva? You too.”

  It was the air-raid sirens.

  Luther followed Mother and Eva through a narrow doorway in the dining area that led down to the cellar. “But the bombers never come here,” Luther protested.

  4

  Fifteen minutes had passed. Luther, Eva and their mother continued to sit in the cold, damp cellar, without making a sound. Finally, Luther spoke up. “Mother, can we get out of here now? It’s just like all the other times. No bombers are coming. Ernst told me this afternoon they’re never coming here.”

  His mother said nothing. It looked like she was thinking. Eva joined in. “I think Luther’s right. There’s no reason to stay down here.”

  Alright,” his mother said. “I suppose there’s no harm.”

  Luther got up and opened the cellar door. A few moments later, he was in the kitchen. He heard Eva’s footsteps right behind him, then his mother’s.

  “It’s still time for bed, young man,” she said.

  “Can’t I just go outside a moment? To get some fresh air? The cellar stinks.”

  “For a moment,” she said. “Then you get right back in here and get ready for bed.”

  “I will.”

  “I think I’ll join him,” Eva said. “He’s right about the smell down there.”

  “It’s not that bad. But go ahead. Make sure he comes in soon.”

  Eva joined Luther who was standing out on the sidewalk looking south toward the Altstadt, the Old Town area. The air was crisp and cool, the night sky a pleasant dark blue. Although most of the city lights had been dimmed because of the air raid, you could still see specks of light here and there downtown.

  “Smells much better out here,” Eva said.

  Luther nodded.

  “But you should be wearing a jacket.”

  “We’re only out here a minute.”

  Suddenly, Luther heard something, a deep droning sound up in the sky. At first, he didn’t know what it was.

  Eva said it before he could. “Those sound like planes.”

  “You think they are bombers?”

  “I don’t know,” Eva said. “It doesn’t sound like there are too many of them.”

  Then Luther saw something strange. “What is that?” He pointed to the sky above the downtown area, in the direction of the stadium. “What are those?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “But it doesn’t look good.”

  “They look like flying green Christmas trees, all lit up,” he said. “See? They’re falling from the sky. Some of the neighbors had come out from their houses and were also pointing to the green lights in the sky. The sound of planes faded. But he
noticed something else. “They’re coming down on little parachutes. See?” Luther also noticed, green light appeared to be dripping and falling to the ground in big drops.

  “Those aren’t Christmas trees,” Eva said. “I think they’re flares. I’ve heard about them. Those planes we heard must have dropped them. They’re here to light up the city.”

  “Light up the city…why?”

  “We need to get back in the cellar, right away.” She turned back toward the house.

  “Eva, what’s the matter? Light up the city for what?”

  Moments later, Luther had his answer. A new sound. Eva heard it, too. She stopped just before the front door and turned around, her head shot upward. It sounded like swarms of monster bees coming.

  “What is that, Eva? Are those…bombers? Are they coming here?”

  She reached out her hand. “C’mon. We have to get to the cellar. Now.”

  Every one who’d been outside began running back into their homes. Others ran down the street in the opposite direction.

  “But what about Ernst?” Luther said. “He’s right down where those green lights are falling.” Eva sighed. She looked up at the lights, the first few were close to reaching the ground. She looked toward the Altmarkt area, then back at Luther. He didn’t understand the expression on her face. The sound was getting louder.

  They didn’t sound like bees anymore.

  Luther knew exactly what they were.

  “I don’t know what to do about Ernst, Luther. I’m sure whoever’s in charge of their group will take them to a shelter. That’s what we have to do—now! Come on.”

  Mother appeared in the doorway. “That sounds like planes.” A frantic look on her face.

  “They are, Mother. And they’re coming here. We have to get back down to the cellar.”

  Luther came up behind her. “But what about Ernst? He’s still downtown.”

  Eva pulled Luther through the front door. “Don’t worry about Ernst. He’ll take shelter. Just follow Mother, quickly.”

  “Oh, Ernst,” Luther heard his mother say. “God, please take care of him.”

  “Ernst, what are those? Come here and see.”

  Ernst looked over at Albert. Albert was Mr. Kleindeist’s oldest son. A little younger than Luther, and the reason Mr. Kleindeist had offered to pay Ernst to come and move all these boxes into the storage room. Albert was frail. There was no way he could have lifted even a single box on his own. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come see. There are strange green lights coming down, all over the sky.”

  Ernst walked out of the storage room. About twenty minutes ago they had heard the air raid sirens go off, but since nothing had ever come of them, Mr. Kleindeist said they could keep working. Ernst looked up into the sky. He’d never seen anything like this before. “I don’t know.”

  People were coming out of buildings up and down the street, all of them looking up and pointing. The sky was becoming so bright.

  “What is happening?” Albert asked.

  Ernst had an idea, but he wasn’t sure. Before he could answer, he heard a sound he did recognize. Bombers off in the distance. Sounded like hundreds of them. Occasionally, they had flown near Dresden but always on their way someplace else. It almost sounded like they were getting closer. Between them and these strange green lights he became convinced—as hard as it was to believe—they were coming here!

  The back door of the bakery swung open. Mr. Kleindeist appeared. “Bombers,” he screamed. “They’re coming.” He ran out and grabbed hold of Albert’s hand. “We have to go. Quickly. I can’t leave my family alone at the house.”

  Ernst knew Mr. Kleindeist’s house was several blocks away. “What should I do?”

  “You can come with us or take shelter in the bakery cellar. I don’t think you have time to make it home. The planes are getting louder. The bombs will start falling any moment.”

  Ernst didn’t know which way to go. “I think I’ll stay here. It’s closer to my house. What should I do about the rest of the boxes?”

  “Leave them,” Mr. Kleindeist said, as he turned toward the direction of his house. “Get in the cellar. If I can, I’ll come back after to check on you.” He ran down the street, dragging Albert behind him. Albert looked back just once, his face full of terror.

  By now, everyone had begun to leave the street. Some ran back into the buildings they had come out of, others fled in different directions. No one ran toward bomb shelters. There were none in Dresden. No one imagined they’d ever need one. Ernst headed into the bakery and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t even sure where the cellar door was but quickly found it. After locating a small chain dangling from a lightbulb on the wall, he pulled it. It provided enough light to see the bottom of the stairs, but not much else. He had barely made it halfway down before he heard the first explosions. The whole building shook. He almost tripped.

  Then more explosions, one right after the other. The ground rumbled beneath him. He couldn’t see much beyond the stairs, but he made it to the nearest wall and slid down.

  The explosions were getting closer.

  One went off right outside. He crunched into a ball, as dirt and dust fell from the floorboards above. The light went out.

  It was pitch black.

  5

  For the last twenty minutes, Ernst sat curled up in the basement of the Kleindeist Bakery in that same position, eyes closed. Until moments ago, the ground had been shaking violently, nonstop like an earthquake. The explosions seemed to come from every direction. The noise was deafening. At any moment, he was certain the building above him would crumble and crush him to death.

  Now it sounded like the planes had gone. He became aware of a new sensation. The chilly cellar walls began to feel hot. The air, too. Like breathing in front of a large fireplace. He had to get out of there.

  He wondered what had become of Mr. Kleindeist. It sounded like a lot of bombs fell in his direction. What about his own house? Were Mother, Eva and Luther all right? Surely the bombs didn’t reach out that far from the town center. It had suddenly become even harder to breathe. He forced himself to stand.

  Feeling his way up the wall, he climbed the cellar steps. The wall was much hotter than it had been just moments ago. Smoke began to seep through the crack of the cellar door. Was the bakery on fire? He began to cough. When he reached the top, he put both hands on the door. It didn’t feel too hot. He tapped the brass doorknob. It was warm, but it didn’t hurt to touch it.

  As he opened the door, the intense heat in the hall almost forced him back a few steps. But he couldn’t stay in the cellar. He’d die there if he did. He remembered a pile of towels in a laundry basket by the bottom of the stairs. Hurrying down, he grabbed one. Right outside the cellar door was a bucket filled with dirty mop water. That’s what Mr. Kleindeist had been doing just before he left. Ernst dipped the towel in the bucket and wrapped it around his head and shoulders then took a few steps toward the front of the store.

  Everything was all wrong.

  He realized why. The ceiling had caved in, crushing all the displays. The Kleindeist Bakery had occupied the ground floor of a four-story building. He looked through a huge hole and could see at least three floors up. Suddenly, a flaming black object came hurtling down through the whole. Ernst backed out of the way, barely in time, as it thumped to the ground.

  He backed out further toward the rear doorway, in horror at the sight. It was the body of a woman, charred and smoldering. Out through the back door, he was soon standing on the sidewalk near the street. He almost stumbled over a heap of bricks and stones now piled up in front of the bakery. Half the buildings across the street were gone. He could actually see into the next block. Those buildings were on fire. In fact, most of the buildings were on fire. Everywhere he looked.

  He ran toward the end of the street and gazed out toward the Old Town area. The panorama before him shocked his senses. It was like a scene from Dante’s inferno, an image of he
ll itself. Flames leapt high into the sky from every direction, as if every building in the downtown area had been hit and was on fire. The air felt hotter than the cellar and seemed to grow even hotter by the second. Hundreds of sparks, like devilish snowflakes, swirled through the air all around him.

  Where had this sudden wind come from?

  He had to get home. Running toward the bridge, he stayed as close to the center of the street as possible. Still, he constantly dodged flaming debris falling from buildings. Everywhere he looked people were screaming and running in every direction.

  He turned at the last corner before the bridge and came to a three-story building totally engulfed in flames. The central beams of the structure burned through. The remnants of the roof fell onto the floor below; their combined weight crashed down upon the remaining two floors. An eruption of sparks and flames shot out through the openings that had once been windows. Horrific screams came from beneath the blazing mass. Ernst realized, people had taken refuge in the cellar below. There was no way to help them.

  Seconds later, the screams died out.

  Ernst turned and continued running toward the bridge. The wind grew more intense. Now he could tell it was coming from across the river moving directly toward the center of town. He became aware of a dull roaring sound behind him. It was getting louder. He was about to turn and look when suddenly, out of the corner of his right eye, he saw a ball of flame come out the front door of a bombed-out building. As he stepped out of the way, he could make out three figures holding hands, fully engulfed in flames. Was it a mother and two children? He gasped as the realization took hold. After a few more steps, the mother collapsed in the street, face first. The two flaming children fell on top of her.

  Ernst took the towel off and ran to them. Another man with a blanket helped him try to put out the flames. The three blackened figures didn’t move or make a sound. Ernst and the man, both coughing, stopped and looked at each other. “They’re dead,” the man said. “They are better off than we are.” He ran off.