The Hazards of War

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  She froze. The thought was so tempting, to run away from danger, hide and be safe. To run from Springer.

  But then her family would die.

  Gabrielle shook her head to snap out of it. While Papa might have told her to jump at the chance, there was no way she was going to abandon her family. And she would be damned if she let that beast Springer gloat over Stefan’s body as he died slowly on the cold, stone floor. Instead, she turned one last time and opened the small wooden chest that held the silver serving ware. Forks and spoons lay nestled in the red velvet. So did the long carving knife. Gabrielle stared at it, at the wide, flat blade used to filet wild game on special occasions. And she reached out and slipped it under her dress and into the waistband of her underwear.

  Springer was waiting impatiently near Stefan’s unconscious body when she walked back into the cellar.

  “What are you doing, girl? Can you be any slower? I’m glad you’re not tending to German soldiers!”

  The other SS guards snorted and laughed caustically. Gabrielle quickly dropped to her knees and began ripping off what remained of the poor man’s trouser leg. Once the skin was bare, she took one of the dishrags and gently patted the insides of the wound to soak up the blood. It was an ugly, gaping hole where the Englishman’s knee had once been, and it was very bloody and swollen.

  The good thing about bleeding, Gabrielle knew, was that it helped clean the wounded area of germs and debris. As long as the blood was then washed or padded away it was almost as good as flushing an infection with water. She went through three dishtowels in that very activity and left them in a red-soaked pile to her left. Once the joint was relatively dry Gabrielle took another rag, wadded it up, and packed it into the hole, then began dressing the Englishman’s knee with the linens by wrapping them around his leg and tying them tightly in place. Stefan let out a soft moan and shifted his head slightly against the wall while she worked. The poor man. No one deserved to be tortured in such a way. Except, perhaps, the monsters who had done this.

  After finishing with the leg, Gabrielle tried to wipe some of the sweat and filth from the Englishman’s face. Stefan remained out cold but he subconsciously moved his head away from her touch. Gabrielle found herself gently shushing him as she dabbed the cloth against his skin. If only she had had some sort of painkiller she could slip him without the Nazis watching, if only there was something that she could really do to take the suffering away. What pain he must have endured for him to pass out. It was a fearsome thought that filled her with loathing for anyone and anything German.

  “Stand up,” Springer said.

  Gabrielle stiffened. Slowly, she put down her cloth and turned to face her captor.

  “My dear, it seems it’s time for you to be somewhere else. I have instructions to send you to the courtyard this very moment.”

  Gabrielle saw another German, presumably a messenger, standing in the archway entrance. He was glaring at her with a very hard look. She had not even heard him enter the room.

  “The courtyard?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  The randomness of the location seemed too unusual to make sense out of it. She had to think of a way to stay and tend to Stefan. “This man’s condition is very serious. He looks to be in deep shock and requires close attention. It would be best if I remained here with him to look after him.”

  Springer glanced over the Englishman’s body. “You’ve done what I’ve asked of you. That’s that. Let’s go, my pretty one.”

  “Herr Springer, look at him! Why would you have gone to fetch me if you didn’t think his condition was dire? Please, let me stay with him!”

  For a split second, the blond German’s eyes actually seemed to soften. The narrow glimpse of humanity was so foreign that Gabrielle’s skin ran cold.

  “It seems we’ve progressed beyond that now.” His voice was no longer harsh. “Let’s go.”

  Gabrielle squirmed in the grasp of the SS trooper who grabbed her arm but his grip was too strong. She couldn’t even resist being pulled towards the corridor. Gabrielle fought to keep the panic down. Apparently she had an unavoidable date with the courtyard, though as to why, she had no idea.

  22

  The door swung open and two large SS soldiers swept into the room. Robert didn’t even have time to react. The men grabbed him by the arms and hauled him from his chair so roughly that the explosion of agony in his ribcage left him in tatters.

  “To the courtyard, with the others,” a third soldier standing out in the hallway said in German.

  Robert was forcibly carried through the house until they exited the back kitchen door. His head was spinning with such a degree of suffering he barely noticed it had stopped raining. The soldiers dragged him to the middle of the courtyard between the house and the wine barn before throwing him down onto the flagstones. He caught a brief glimpse of Girard, Philippe, and his father-in-law Marc before he smacked face first into the wet stone.

  “On your knees,” one of the soldiers barked.

  Slowly, Robert sat back on his heels. The sky was very dark. The aftermath of the storm was everywhere in the form of standing water pooled between the flagstones. He could see out of the corner of his eye his family kneeling in a line. A soldier’s boots echoed behind him so Robert dared not turn his head to see more.

  The captain, Tiedemann, was standing stone-faced several meters in front of them. His three lieutenants were also nearby, as were two soldiers with heavy trench coats and machine pistols. Robert’s heart sank. The way the Germans were watching, the way his family was being set down… he could tell what this sort of arrangement must mean. But Philippe was here too, and surely that must mean something different?

  A few minutes passed. Claudette and Gabrielle were ushered out as well. Robert silently suffered the indignity of watching the two most important women in his life get manhandled like herd animals. Gabrielle seemed to fall especially hard when the Germans threw her down. He clenched his teeth even tighter. As bad as the Vichy government had been before the occupation, at least it had been civilized. He couldn’t say the same for a nation that allowed the Boches to behave so brutally.

  Tiedemann began pacing as if he was rehearsing lines for a theatrical performance. His boots echoed eerily across the courtyard.

  But the first person to talk was not a German.

  “Monsieur, if it pleases you may I make a statement on the behalf of my family?”

  Just as it had been in the Great Room the previous morning, it was Marc, speaking in French.

  At first Tiedemann looked offended that his big pronouncement had been interrupted, but his expression softened when Springer finished the translation. Amazingly, Robert could see that the captain was going to defer to Marc and listen to what he had to say. Perhaps it was simple curiosity, or maybe Tiedemann was in a generous mood that afternoon. A glimmer of hope found its way to Robert’s heart.

  “Was?” Tiedemann said.

  Marc opened his hands in front of him. “I killed your officer. It was me.”

  All of the blood flushed from Robert’s face. Surely he had misheard.

  Springer translated. Tiedemann even looked surprised. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Marc.

  “Erklaeren Sie.” Explain.

  Robert’s brain was spinning. He was staring—everyone was staring—at the frail old man crumpled into a pile out on the bare ground.

  Marc drew a shaky breath and continued. “From the looks of things you’ve figured out most of it. Your officer, what was his name? Hoffmann? We crossed paths in one of the corridors as he was on his way to the cellar. He made me go with him. He ordered me to select some of the best bottles.

  “Your man started looking too closely at the masonry of my false wall. I had to stop him. You see, there’s a large supply of ordnance hidden in our wine cellar. Your officer was too suspicious and I had to stop him.”

  What did he just say?

  Abject terror flowed throu
gh Robert. He thought he would feint. Oh my God! What in God’s name are you doing! Don’t tell them about the cellar, you old fool!

  His father-in-law continued. “When Herr Hoffman started scraping away at the mortar, I panicked. Without thinking, I struck him on the head with the bottle I happened to be holding. He crumpled to the floor and I ran away, afraid.”

  Robert couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could the old man have told them about the cache of weapons? Had the pressure of captivity caused him to go insane? Marc hated the Germans. What would compel him to seal their fate by offering them up the explosives stockpile for the local Resistance cell? They were all going to die now!

  “Is that it?” Tiedemann asked.

  “More or less. You see, monsieur, my hidden weapons were the reason I was fighting with my son-in-law the night you arrived. He’s…” Marc twisted his face sourly. “He’s a sympathizer. He didn’t see what the big deal was for your men to stay with us. He didn’t know what I was really doing. Robert didn’t think twice about opening up our cellars and inviting you to be comfortable.”

  The captain stared at Marc for a long time before finally clearing his throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “It’s pretty clear what’s about to happen, monsieur. There’s no need. I’m the one you want. The rest of the family? They’re all innocents. Look at the little boy. Look at the teenage girl. Look at all of them. They don’t know anything. They’re sympathetic to you. I’m not, nor will I ever be. I fought your country and its evil twenty-five years ago. It’s been a great hardship for me to live with them and put up with their collaborative merde. So, I thought you should know. You should know before you go ahead and shoot everyone indiscriminately, and prove out every reason for why I oppose you and why the Maquis will cut your throat.”

  Dead silence hung over the courtyard save for a lonely rumble of thunder in the distance.

  Robert was dumbfounded. But as he tried to make sense of it all, Marc turned his head slightly and their eyes met. For a brief instant Robert saw a sad, knowing smile on the old man’s lips and a glint in his eye. He recognized the look. It was the same way he himself appeared when one of the children got into trouble and he was going to clear it up. Exasperation, resignation… and love. And the he understood.

  The Germans had already found the explosives in the cellar. It had been a hasty masonry job anyway after Cartwright had led the Contis back to the airdrop site. They had found the explosives and were going to execute all of them as partisans. Marc was offering a red herring and trying to deflect the danger.

  Yes, Robert understood. And in his own eyes he hoped he was conveying his love and thanks.

  Tiedemann was conversing with one of his lieutenants who was becoming increasingly animated. The man with the small round glasses gestured alternately between Marc and the house, seemingly in some sort of debate about this new revelation. Tiedemann seemed to be shaking his head no. After a full minute, Tiedemann finally appeared to have enough and hissed a rebuke at the smaller man. The lieutenant stepped back and flipped shut the little black notebook he had had open during the interrogations.

  Tiedemann stepped forward and pointed at Marc. “Shoot him.”

  Claudette did not know German, but anyone in that courtyard would have understood the purpose of Tiedemann’s command. Robert’s wife began to shriek and stood to run towards her father. Robert tried to stop her but a Nazi soldier beat him to it, shoving his rifle into her chest and knocking her to the ground. Philippe started crying. Girard gritted his teeth and knelt helplessly, his bad leg propped awkwardly to the side.

  One of the soldiers was hauling Marc to the side while another was unslinging his machine pistol.

  Robert intended to keep his eyes on his father in law as long as he could in order to savor the last few moments of his life. The confession had been risky but it appeared to have worked. Tiedemann was not going to shoot them all. Marc was going to take the hit. The fate of the rest of the family was still uncertain but they still had a chance, all thanks to the quick and clever thinking of this old codger.

  The sound of the bolt being pulled back echoed off of the flagstones. The soldier with the gun was walking behind Marc’s back.

  Robert finally dropped his gaze to the ground. He couldn’t watch. Their estate had been in the Conti family for three generations, and there had never been anything but happy memories of love and life that had filled it. The thought that the courtyard could become an execution ground was unfathomable.

  Claudette was screaming hysterically. Robert said a silent prayer to the Almighty for both Marc and the rest of them, so that they might have the strength to continue the fight and not let the old man’s sacrifice be in vain.

  Then a loud, staccato burst of gunfire deafened his ears, and Robert cried.

  23

  The world revolved in a blur. Gabrielle couldn’t focus on anything other than the thought of her grandfather collapsing under a spray of bullets until the blood pooled around his body. Why had he done that? Why? A tiny voice told her he had sacrificed himself somehow, that his false confession had narrowly saved the rest of their lives. But her ability to rationally process events was in tatters after witnessing such a cold murder.

  She was only dimly aware of the present and of where she was being told to go by the shouting SS soldiers. They were trekking back into the manor. Germans pushed them up the stairs until they were all corralled back into the green bedroom on the second floor. At least they were together. As the door slammed shut, Gabrielle shuffled across the room until she was pressed against her father’s back. Her mother was already in Papa’s huddled embrace and they were fighting not to weep.

  No one spoke for a long time. Alone with her thoughts, Gabrielle replayed the horrific scene of the execution again and again. The crack of the gunfire. Her grandpere’s legs exploding and him falling to the cobblestones. His struggle with the pain as the soldier with the machine gun pumped more bullets into his limbs and let him lay awash in the agony. Then the final burst to the head. The way his arm fell limply to his right, palm up and fingers open. His empty eyes gazing up to the heavens, perhaps wondering how God could have abandoned them. The only outside feeling that Gabrielle could feel was the salty taste of her tears as they ran down her cheeks and past the corners of her lips.

  Only gradually did she become aware of what her father was doing. Papa had quietly rolled up the edge of the large rug. The floorboards were long and thin, a modern remodel versus the heavy beams and planks of some of the other rooms. He was kneeling on the floor and staring at them as if he was unsure about committing himself to the next action.

  Everyone else in the room was watching silently. Still sniffling, Gabrielle walked over and slowly crouched down beside him.

  “Papa?”

  Her father did not answer. His fingers gently swept across the floorboards, caressing the wood of some planks that were visibly brighter than the rest of the floor.

  “Papa?” Gabrielle whispered again.

  He turned to look at her. His eyes were red, shining with emotion and hurt. They overflowed with great love for her and the rest of the family. But Gabrielle also saw that her father had crossed over some imaginary line in making a decision that they would no longer allow fate to just happen to them, and that there was no turning back.

  Papa began to slowly and quietly pull the loose planks up one-by-one, awkwardly using only his right arm, carefully placing them on the edge of the rug so as to keep the noise down. In just a few minutes he had opened up the hole into which they had hastily stuffed Stefan upon the Nazis’ arrival, the small nook between floors where he had whiled away the hours concealed from the Germans. Gabrielle could see the planks laid across the tops of the beams of the lowered ceiling below. Dim light was coming from past the end of the crawlspace. The kitchen.

  “So what are we going to do?” Mama asked, tightening her grip around Philippe. “Hide? If we just disappear, they’ll tear
the house apart to find us.”

  Papa didn’t take his eyes off of the dark hole in the floor. “We are not going to hide.”

  The room waited in silence for what seemed like forever. Gabrielle reached out and took hold of her father’s arm, both to offer solidarity and to bring him back to answering what his intentions were.

  “The edge, there,” Papa said at last. He pointed at the gap where the light was filtering up. “That’s right above the cupboard in the kitchen. Cartwright must have fallen down or climbed out there when he was hiding, and slipped into the cabinet when the Nazis came.”

  Gabrielle drew a sharp breath. “Are you saying…?”

  “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  Mama started crying. Gabrielle felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. Despite everything that had just happened, the thought of actually sneaking away from armed men who would shoot them on sight was still paralyzing.

  Girard gave a low hiss and put his finger to his lips. Then he pointed to the hole in the floor. Gabrielle understood, and scanned the others to make sure they did as well. The thin subfloor meant that anyone in the bedroom could hear noises from the kitchen, and vice versa. Too much noise would attract the attention of anyone underneath.

  “How should we do this?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Keep it simple. The kitchen door opens into the courtyard. The vineyards are a hundred meters away. We run for it and hope that the Boches don’t notice for the next half hour,” her father replied.

  “What if there are guards watching?” Mama said. She clutched Philippe again. “He’s ten, Robert.”

  “And Girard’s leg,” Gabrielle added.

  “We have no other choice. You saw what just happened. Now they’ve thrown us all in one room together. They’re done questioning us here.” Papa scanned the room. His expression was set. “The next step has got to be either imprisonment or a follow-on firing squad. We need to take advantage of the lull that God has provided us.”