The Enemy Above

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Excuse me?”

  Von Duesen took a deep breath. He felt like his career with the gestapo was crashing right before him, here in the middle of a potato field in this godforsaken country. The next words he spoke must be cautious.

  “We know the militias are low on supplies. We believe they sabotaged our half-track, then when we were on foot, they hurled stones at us.”

  “I’m sorry?” The general raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said stones.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  General Steuben said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the bodies of the woman and her child. Von Duesen found it impossible to read his impassive face, even when the general completed his inspection and came to stand directly in front of Karl.

  “Sergeant Eberhardt,” General Steuben called. “You and your squad will return to Borta, where you will file your reports and await my return.”

  The sergeant came to attention and saluted. “Heil Hitler,” he said. Turning, he ordered his men toward one of the half-tracks. “Mach schnell! Mach schnell!” he said. The men marched away from the two officers in double time.

  The general was quiet for a moment.

  “What to do with you, Major? What to do with you …” the general muttered.

  “Sir …”

  The general held up a gloved hand. “I do not need to tell you that you have made innumerable mistakes in the last several days. I’m sure someone of your intelligence and ability understands that.”

  Von Duesen sensed it would be best to remain silent.

  “If the Juden hear that an old woman has eluded you, it will raise their spirits. We must get our hands on her. And you will lead the search. You will find this woman and bring her to Borta. If you do not …” the general’s words trailed off.

  “Thank you, mein general,” Von Duesen said. He could not believe his luck. It was still possible for him to salvage this mess and restore the general’s fine opinion of him.

  The general turned on his heel and headed toward his car. Von Duesen followed sheepishly behind. As he walked he thought about the “attack.” His hand went to the swollen spot on his head, where he had been clubbed to the ground. He had barely seen the face of his attacker, but he could have sworn it belonged to a child. No, he did not think a militia had attacked them. It was a single person, two at most. That boy and perhaps another. His fury grew as he pondered how they had outwitted him.

  They had made an enemy last night.

  One they would regret.

  In his sleepy stupor, Anton thought the far-off buzzing that roused him was an insect. He sneezed as he sat up in his makeshift bed. Hay stuck to his clothing and his face. Dust tickled his nose. A few hours of sleep had not erased the exhaustion in his bones.

  The buzzing grew louder. As he came fully awake, he realized it was not the sound of insects, but engines.

  Anton leapt to his feet, ran to the barn door, and moved the hoe and shovel aside. Then, cracking the door open, he peered outside. A fingernail of sun had just cleared the horizon in the east, but the dawn light was not yet bright enough to see anything. The engines—and there had to be many of them—rumbled from the south. Anton recognized the grinding of the half-tracks. That could mean only one thing. The gestapo was coming.

  He raced back to the hay pile where Bubbe still slept. He knew she was drained and he wished he could let her sleep longer, but he did not think that would be wise.

  “Bubbe! Bubbe!” He shook her gently by the shoulder. She awoke with a start.

  “What is it, my child?” Unlike Anton, she was instantly alert.

  “The gestapo. Coming up the road. We need to hide.”

  Bubbe struggled to her feet. She shook the hay from her hair and clutched her walking stick.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Very little,” Anton said. “I couldn’t see the half-tracks, but I could hear them coming.”

  “If only we could reach the forest before they arrive,” she said.

  Anton shook his head. “We don’t have time. We’re going to have to find a place to hide here.” He glanced up at the loft. There was a ladder on the far wall. “Can you climb, Bubbe?”

  “I can try,” she said.

  She hurried her tired body to the ladder. He heard her groan in pain as she raised her left foot and placed it on the first rung. Next, she tried to pull herself up. From the sharp intake of breath, Anton knew that he had asked the impossible. They would never make it to the loft in time.

  What will we do? Anton’s eyes darted around the barn. When they settled on the hay pile, he realized there was one task that could not wait.

  “Bubbe, help me, please!” he called as he raked the hay back and forth. They needed to remove the outlines their bodies had made when they slept. Bubbe used her walking stick to stir the hay, making it look as natural as possible. As they worked, Anton struggled to think of a place they could hide. Uncle Dmitri had thought the cave perfect because it kept them safe even though they were right beneath the gestapo’s feet.

  That’s it! Anton thought. Trust Uncle Dmitri to inspire an idea that might actually work.

  “Come, Bubbe!” he said. “We must hurry.”

  “Where will we hide, my child?”

  “Trust me,” he said, taking her by the arm. “There is no time to lose.”

  They scurried into the spot Anton had thought of, moments before a Mercedes led three gestapo half-tracks and a troop truck into the yard.

  “Spread out,” a familiar voice shouted. “Find them. Schnell, schnell!”

  The soldiers leapt from the back of the truck and the half-tracks. Several of them took the barn. The rest spread out over the grounds. All of them carried submachine guns.

  Six of the men strode toward the house. A small staircase led to the front door. Before even checking to see if it was locked, they kicked it open with a crash.

  It’s a good thing the people who lived here have cleared out, thought Anton. Watching the gestapo break into their home would have been terrifying.

  If he and Bubbe were going to survive, they needed to endure the next few minutes. It appeared the major was determined to leave no part of the farm unsearched. The soldiers disappeared into the house, their boots thundering across the wooden floors. Anton could hear them shout, “Klar! Klar!” as they cleared each room.

  Bubbe sat with her eyes closed, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought she might crush his fingers. She whispered prayers, and though her voice didn’t carry much, Anton wished he could convince her to be silent. He knew that in this moment of peril, Bubbe needed to speak to God. Her faith strengthened her will to fight. But Anton was not convinced that prayers alone would save them from the guns of the gestapo. Rina had been devout, and her prayers had gone unanswered.

  When the soldiers entered the barn, Anton’s pulse thudded at his temples. The men searched the loft and the stalls. Cold morning air blew through the wide open doorway and swirled pieces of hay around their legs. Two of the soldiers had rifles with bayonets attached to the barrels. The major gave a command and the two men advanced on the pile of straw. Their bayonets gleamed.

  Anton held his breath.

  Major Von Duesen was frustrated. His men had searched the area for the last few hours, looking behind every rock, inspecting every ditch and the branches of every tree. And now as they searched this farm, it looked like once again they would come up short. He would come up short. That would not do.

  Ransacking the barn was proving fruitless. The old woman was not in the hayloft or hidden under the tractor. But there was still one place left to investigate, one last hope for vindication. A large pile of hay in the stall. It was more than big enough to hide two or even three people.

  “Lieutenant Hinkel,” Von Duesen said. “Have your squad fix bayonets.” He pointed to the pile of hay, and the lieutenant understood immediately. As he barked a command, two privates removed their bayonets from their belts and att
ached them to their rifle barrels. They strode quietly to the hay pile. The major held up his hand.

  “If you are hiding now and surrender,” he said in a loud voice, “I promise you will not be harmed. If you do not, well, my men will begin stabbing the hay pile at random. You have ten seconds to comply.”

  As the major counted, time seemed to slow down. His voice was impossibly loud. “Eins, Zwei, Drei …” he said, giving himself a second between each number. The two privates stood poised to strike at his command.

  “Your last chance,” Von Duesen warned. From the corner of his eye, he saw a slight frown cross the lieutenant’s face. As if his hesitancy was a sign of weakness. He had no doubt Hinkel would report this moment to the general when they returned to headquarters.

  When he reached ten, he nodded and the two men drove their bayonets into the hay, once, twice, three times. But all they struck was the dirt below.

  “Halten,” he said. The men stopped. The major walked into the stall and kicked the hay out onto the barn floor. He cursed as he stomped his way through the pile of hay. When he had emptied the stall, he punched the wooden wall in frustration. It was empty. The pile of hay hid nothing. Another waste of time.

  If anyone had been there, they were long gone by now.

  “Anton, are we safe?” Bubbe whispered.

  The German soldiers had returned to the troop truck and the half-tracks. The roar of the engines was deafening as they rolled out of the yard.

  “Not yet, Bubbe,” Anton said. The gestapo was famous for faking a departure and then abruptly doubling back or leaving a few hidden soldiers behind to surprise and capture anyone whom they had not been able to find in their search.

  Anton knew that Bubbe was uncomfortable, but only his quick thinking had managed to save them so far. He would not let his efforts be undone by impatience.

  “Just a little longer, Bubbe,” he said. “I promise.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. Anton studied her tired, wrinkled face. Just enough light crept into their hiding place that he could see the fierce determination in her eyes. He remembered her standing in front of the gestapo major in the cave. How she had refused to allow him to gain the upper hand, or to intimidate her. It was impossible to know how many lives her stubborn willpower had saved.

  And now the survival of his family depended on keeping her alive. Dmitri and Pavel were fine men. Good uncles who had done their best to teach him, raise him, and keep him from thinking too much about his father’s fate. But even they were not made of steel like Bubbe. She was the rock of the family. And if she did not live through this crisis, then neither would they. Though of course, Anton could not be sure that Pavel was alive now. But he did know that Bubbe was the glue holding them together. And the responsibility of reuniting her with the family was his now. He could not fail.

  “I think it is safe now,” Anton said after a few very long minutes. He removed the trellis from the side of the small set of steps leading to the front door of the farmhouse. They had hidden there, huddled in the shadows while the soldiers had ransacked the house and the barn. He’d taken a gamble that the search party would be so preoccupied with the obvious hiding places, they would not think to look beneath the stairs. He and Bubbe had barely had enough time to make it from the barn, pull the trellis free, and replace it behind them before the vehicles arrived. Anton was glad the gestapo did not have dogs with them, or he and Bubbe would surely have been discovered.

  Anton helped his grandmother lumber from the small, dark space and winced at the guttural groan that slipped from her lips as she straightened up.

  He was torn about what they should do next. On one hand, the gestapo had already searched the farm and found nothing. It was unlikely they would return. Earlier, he had seen smoke rising on the horizon and assumed they were burning the buildings they had searched so they wouldn’t have to examine them again. But they had not burned this one. Perhaps the major was so angry he had forgotten to give the order. If that was the case, he and Bubbe might remain on the farm in relative comfort while they figured out what to do next.

  But on the other hand, the longer they remained in one spot, the more likely it was that someone would discover them.

  Still, Bubbe needed rest, and Anton thought he might look for supplies they could use.

  “Come, Bubbe,” he said, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We are going to wait here until nightfall. We will rest. Perhaps sleep on a real bed.”

  “Are you sure, Anton? What if the gestapo return?”

  He led her to a bedroom off the kitchen. The bed looked like a cloud from heaven. Anton helped his grandmother sit down and smiled when he saw the worry on her face disappear, even if only for the moment.

  “Do not worry, Bubbe,” Anton said. “I will keep watch. If the gestapo return, we will hide as we did before. They will not find us. When it is dark and you are rested, we will head north to the rendezvous point and find the others. The Germans will not find us. God has made us invisible, Bubbe! He has made us undetectable in the night. The darkness will protect us. You need not worry. Rest, Bubbe. We have a long journey ahead of us this evening.”

  As his grandmother looked up at him, he saw tears in her eyes.

  “Bubbe!” he said. “Is something wrong? Are you ill?”

  “No. I am not sick. It’s just that you remind me so much of your father,” she said as she brought her hand to his face. “You are a good boy, Anton. Brave and strong, like your papa. Soon, you will be a man. I am very proud of you.”

  Anton felt that his chest might burst with pride. He smiled at her. “Come,” he said, helping her into bed. “You rest. I will keep watch.”

  “Thank you, my child.” She closed her eyes while he pulled a quilt over her.

  He left the bedroom and walked the first floor of the house, glancing out each window. For a moment he considered venturing outside to find some wood to build a fire in the stove. He still had the potatoes. With a little boiling water he could fix a feast. But the smoke would be visible for kilometers. No, when Bubbe woke up they would eat the potatoes raw. It was better than nothing. He would not lose his grandmother for something so careless.

  He checked the windows again. There was no sign of life on the road in either direction. Then he began opening the cupboards and closets. They may not have had a feast, but that did not mean they could not find a treasure left behind. As he searched he remembered the touch of Bubbe’s hand on his face.

  He would not let her down.

  Not ever.

  Major Von Duesen stood at attention in front of General Steuben’s desk. The general was taking his time reviewing the report Karl had made. Steuben was clearly happy to let him stew in his own juices.

  It was nearly impossible for Karl to contain his anger. To think he had been outwitted by an old woman and her protectors. It left him furious. At least he could claim the deaths of the young woman and her child. He and his men had rid the world of two useless Jews. The area was two bodies closer to becoming Judenfrei. And he had exposed their hiding place, which they could no longer use as a safe haven. That had to count for something. But allowing the old woman to escape had cast all of his accomplishments in a negative light.

  When he first entered headquarters—the Borta courthouse that the gestapo had taken over—he saw a few of his fellow officers smile and turn away, trying to hide their laughter. Word of his failure had spread quickly. He marched toward the general’s office. He was on his way to the door when the voice of a man he’d known his entire career forced him to turn around.

  “Major Von Duesen,” Colonel Mehringer called out. “I have a mission for you.”

  Karl stopped and saluted the colonel, who continued. “There is a convent nearby that needs to be guarded. General Steuben would like to know if you would need two or three battalions to make sure they do not escape.”

  All the officers broke out into lau
ghter. Von Duesen tried to maintain a good-natured smile, but inside he burned with resentment. He took note of who was laughing. He would get them. He would get them all.

  They could think him a fool, but Karl was cunning. He would undoubtedly be reassigned as punishment for his failure. He’d be stuck overseeing a supply station or prisoner transport, or some other tedious duty. That was fine. Let them think he was humiliated. He would take the assignment without complaint, but he would find a way to use it to his advantage. He would look for any information on the Juden who’d escaped that unlucky cave. If they had not yet been caught, they must have another hiding place. He would find it. That would redeem him in the eyes of his commanding officer. He had focused on that goal as he turned away from the laughter and approached whatever fate awaited him in Steuben’s office.

  The general had finally finished with the report and placed it on the desk in front of him. He straightened the papers and tidied his pens, anything to make Von Duesen wait. It was infuriating, but Karl kept his face as still as if it had been carved from stone. No matter what happened, he would show no emotion.

  “Do you have anything to say, Major?”

  “Nein, mein general. Everything is in my report.”

  “You still believe you were attacked by partisans?”

  “Yes, mein general. Now more than ever,” Von Duesen said.

  The general leaned back in his chair and studied him.

  “Why?”

  “Intelligence reports,” Von Duesen replied.

  “Explain.”

  “I have read the reports from our infantry units in the field as well as the after-action bulletins from SS interrogations, as I am sure you have. We know the militias in this area are short of supplies, low on ammunition, food, everything. So why would they risk an attack on an armed gestapo squad if they had no ammunition?”