The Devil's Blessing Page 9

  There was a hell, and it was both above and below them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was a stunned silence inside the room. The blood had finally stopped coming from the mother and child, but they were far from safe. The footsteps could be heard above, accompanied by intensive yelling. The Soviets knew they were near something, near someone, who had a crying baby, and they were intent on finding them.

  The men downstairs knew how animalistic these Red Army types could be, and they'd even seen it in the prison camps—how they acted more like dogs than anything else. But even now, up above them, they could hear how truly vicious they were.

  The sounds of furniture being thrown and appliances being moved echoed from every corner inside the room. It sounded as if the banging was coming from around them instead of above. Other times, the trapdoor would bend and give, showing the smallest sliver of light.

  And then there was Otto. He had moved to the farthest corner he could find and curled up with his knees to his face, crying. It was a gentle sob, since he didn't want to make any noise. He still wanted to live, and that was disheartening to him. Part of him knew that he should want to die. It was the only honorable thing. After what he had done, he should turn himself over, face his fate there on earth and his eternal judgment in the afterlife. But he was a coward, who only wanted to live. His fear was what had made him do something he had never thought himself capable of doing: murdering a child. Because he wanted to live. He hated himself.

  After a while the voices from above became more and more distant, although their frustration could still be heard. They knew that at least two men, one of whom was shot, and a baby, were somewhere in that town, hiding. They had no idea, however, that there was no more baby to look for anymore.

  And that's what had bought the men downstairs time. Although it was impossible to tell the time without sunlight downstairs, it was easy to tell when night fell, since the voices became quieter and the temperature dropped just ever so slightly. Morning came through the sound of pots clanging and the smell of food boiling.

  The men started talking—in close whispers, but they started talking nevertheless. Their plan was the only one they had: wait. They had to wait out the Red Army and hope they'd leave. If they didn't, their hunger would force them out.

  Luckily for them, there was the wine. It gave the men a welcome respite from the horrors they had created the past few days. It was a strange drunkenness. It wasn't a joyous one, nor was it a sad one. It was a drunkenness of trying to forget, of each man in his own world. Medication more than anything.

  The one thing that was becoming a bit worrisome was the smell of urine. It had gone from unbearable to one that their nostrils reluctantly got used to, but as the urine pool continued to grow near the barrels of wine, the smell was rising up. Perhaps the Russians couldn't hear them. Perhaps they couldn't see them. But with decaying urine and two dead bodies, perhaps they would smell them.

  ❧

  Eventually, the sound left, maybe two to three days afterward. They weren't sure. But they didn't want to get their hopes up. It might be another trap. They could have easily moved back out to the field, waiting to pick off their prey, like they had tried to do with Wernher.

  They had talked about being smoked out. Even though the houses they were in were nearly all gone with combustibles, there was still some furniture that could be lit. Then there were the other houses that hadn't been damaged as severely. Even in this burned-down town, there still were some things left to destroy. In conflict, man could always find something more to destroy.

  As for Wernher, he was faring well, considering. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, only starting up again when he foolishly began drinking.

  The most harmed man there was Otto, who just sat and drank with small whimpers of tears, letting everyone know that he was still alive, if that's what it could be called.

  ❧

  After the voices left, it still didn't feel safe. The Russians had to have gone back at a distance. They had to have done that to lure them out. The Germans agreed; that's what they themselves would've done.

  But the air was stale with the smell of urine and sweat, so the decision was made to crack open the trapdoor, even if it was just slightly. Not only was ventilation the pressing issue—they were also just curious. If they were delaying their deaths, it was better to just get on with it than to stay in a world filled with your own urine and the corpses of a mother and her son.

  But the floor was cracked open, even if it was a little hard at first. It was Lafenz who did the pushing, since Ingersleben's right hand man, Wernher, was still licking his wounds, and Ingersleben was still above doing menial work. Even in this new world, he still had to be top dog. As for Otto, he was an inconsolable mess. The tears had stopped flowing, but he was still not talking to anyone. His body may have been there, but his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far away and not as bad as where they were.

  Lafenz made more noise than he would've wanted to when he opened the trapdoor. It wouldn't move at first, and, not wanting to ask anyone for help, he finally just pushed up with his back, creating a loud but muffled thud as the floor cracked open. It was shortly evident as to why the floor was so hard to open.

  The snow had become more heavy and therefore had piled on. After receiving a few stares from the men, Ingersleben made his way up the small stairs to handle things himself.

  He, too, struggled with the door, but didn't want to make a show of it. Finally he cracked it open like Lafenz before him. He put one of his gloves in the crack. It was cold, it was windy, and it was miserable, but to Ingersleben's face, it felt like magic. The air felt like the most pure thing he'd ever tasted in his life. He closed his eyes as he took the air in both through nose and mouth. If it was bread, his mouth would've watered.

  The light that shone through was like a spotlight. Their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, which was not quite a blessing, since the crime of what had happened was more visible as the hours went by.

  Lafenz had dragged the bodies of the dead to another corner. The mother was placed atop her child, covering the more gruesome part of the deed, but it was still a reminder. She still had her shoes on, and stockings, as if she was ready to walk to the store. Her corpse wasn't going to let them forget.

  After seeing the joy on Ingersleben's face, Lafenz ran up the stairs to join him. Like a proud father at a parade, Ingersleben lifted up Lafenz to get a better vantage point of the small break of relief. No one was more stunned at Ingersleben's kindness than him, but the joy he felt was that of discovering a new land after being lost at sea. He had to share the good news.

  It was so inviting that even Otto came out from his stupor and went up the stairs. The two made way, happy to see that Otto was moving. He opened his mouth as if trying to catch the small flakes of snow. Wernher could only look on in envy as the other men took respite from the hole.

  ❧

  The next day, they decided to make a scouting trip, and just like before, they sent out Lafenz.

  The plan, of course, was to stay hidden. If Lafenz was found, he could probably make a run for it, but the other men would be left in the hole to die. They had only so much luck.

  Even though the wine was near endless, it wasn't feeding them. Brigitte Knef had more food hidden somewhere in the town, but she had never had the chance to share with them where it was before it happened.

  So Lafenz went to the only place he or the other men knew to go: to the house that they had been in first, the one with the small cans of food. Even though all the cans of corn had been exhausted, they still had some jams in there, and that was better than nothing.

  Ingersleben secretly wondered if Lafenz would ever make a run for it, but then realized that he was bound to them by sheer naivety. He was still new to the world, nearly a babe, not unlike the one who had lost the front of his head the other day.

  But return Lafenz did, and they were all so buoyed with the new nutrit
ion that they even left the trapdoor open to allow the wind in. The snow had stopped, but it would have been welcomed. Even though the wind made for uncomfortable times, it was keeping the bodies from rotting.

  Finally the plan was made. They were to take what little they had and leave under the cover of darkness.

  ❧

  When they made their way up, it was a welcome sight to see all the things they didn't want to see.

  No lights.

  No movements.

  No Russians. Just the sound of wind and the slap of cold against their faces.

  Lafenz had reported back that the supplies they had left at the first house were gone, obviously taken by the Red Army soldiers. They must've had orders to move. How far the Red Army was advancing was anyone's guess, but now they knew two things:

  One, that they were, by default, behind enemy lines, since the line now crossed them; and two, that they would now have to traverse both Soviet and Nazi patrols if they were to make it to the west. Their prospects grew darker by the hour.

  But the biggest problem was Wernher. His condition hadn't changed. At first blush, that was a good thing, since that meant he hadn't gotten worse; but on the other side, that also meant he hadn't gotten better.

  The bullet had ripped through his side and, from what they could gather, hadn't hit anything major. What the bullet had done was hit some muscle; he was weak and could hardly walk. It was as if his entire side had become paralyzed from the waist down.

  But they walked west, like they had planned before, only this time they did not walk distant from the main road that crossed the town, but rather walked right on it. If they were to be seen, there really was no sense in hiding. They would die that night.

  But they knew that their window of opportunity was shrinking, if not gone altogether, so they did what they had to do and kept moving.

  They took turns with Wernher, carrying him one by one.

  Even though he didn't seem to have much of an alliance to anyone, Ingersleben did seem to have some for Wernher. Even cruel men had a soft spot for their dogs.

  ❧

  After about a week of traveling, they hadn't made that much progress. They were blessed to be off of the main roads, with more cover of trees and high grass, but that also hindered them. They were working at a snail's pace, and time was not a luxury they had.

  It was oddly calm and normal, for what they saw, which in truth wasn't much. Old men taking their wagons on either horse or mule with wares to some other unknown town. Sometimes children playing in fields. It was as if God wanted them to believe that the entire world wasn't falling apart around them, but they knew the truth. This was just a temporary illusion.

  They travelled at night, taking turns helping Wernher. It became a sort of game for them, to see how far they could make it each night. They were always hindered by morning light, which was their cue to stop.

  One day, before they slept in the cover of tall grass, they saw something that couldn't be called exactly a mountain. It was a tall rocky mound, about the height of a building. The plan was to traverse that rock the next evening.

  "He was a general. General Arizona," Ingersleben said.

  "No, Ingersleben, Arizona is one of their regions. States, I believe they call them."

  "No. Trust me. Don't you think I know what brought the Americans into the war? The ship the Imperial Navy sank was named after a general, General Arizona. What say you?" Ingersleben asked Otto, hoping to get a word out of the now mute man.

  He shrugged. "I think Josef is right," Otto said in a whisper. "I think Arizona is a region that the ship was named after. But I thought it was a river, to be honest."

  "Bah," Ingersleben said, putting his hat over his eyes. "You guys don't know anything. The USS Arizona was named after the famed General Bill Arizona."

  "Bill Arizona?" Wernher said through a small, painful laugh. "I've never heard of such a man."

  "Well, now you have," Ingersleben said, as he went off to sleep. Wernher and Otto shared a smile and a look before they, too, went off to sleep in the morning air.

  Lafenz just stared at them, and did not sleep.

  ❧

  The mountain, or whatever it was, proved to be the pain to climb they had thought it would be. Covered in trees, it made for a fantastic way to travel unseen, but made for the slowest of goings as they had to climb up. It wasn't steep, but it was constant, and with the burden that was Wernher, it was slow going. But that night, they made it to the summit of the hill and took a well-deserved break.

  "We rest here for now," Ingersleben said. "And if we sleep here, so be it. I can think of worse places."

  The clouds had parted, and by some small miracle, the stars were out. The few clouds that were out were high in the sky, and the moon was nearly full and low. God was showing His mercy on them that night.

  "Here," Ingersleben said, taking off Wernher's boots. "Let me help you with those.” It was an odd moment of affection between the men. Usually the job of helping Wernher, whether with clothes or using the restroom, fell on Otto’s or Lafenz's hands, but tonight, Ingersleben was doing the work. It was as if they really were becoming one unit.

  Ingersleben even got out Wernher's blanket and helped him with it. Wernher wanted to tell him to stop, that he preferred sleeping with his boots on to better protect him from the cold, but even he didn't want to pass up the gesture. Ingersleben grabbed Wernher's machine gun and bag and moved them away so as to give Wernher more room to sleep.

  "Is there anything else you need?" Ingerlsben asked as he put the men's few supplies away.

  For the first time in days, Otto and Lafenz smiled at the same time. It was still freezing that night, but they both felt a warmth in their bellies from the kindness that was being shown. There was still some good in all of this war.

  "Do you pray?" Ingersleben asked, with his back turned to Wernher.

  "What?" Wernher asked in return, confused. "Me? Do I pray? Not since I was a child. I'm not even sure I believe in God to tell you the truth. I—"

  It was the first time any of the men had ever seen Ingersleben cry. They weren't huge tears, and he wasn't sobbing, but the tears could be seen running down his face, as could the pistol he was now pointing at Wernher.

  "What? What are you doing?" Wernher said in a small disbelieving laugh.

  "You might want to rethink that. The praying part, I mean," Ingersleben said, not moving the gun. “I’m sorry dear friend," he said, "but you know that there is no other choice. For the sake of the other men, we have to leave you."

  "This is madness! Leave me, then! Why point that gun at me? This has nothing to do with leaving me behind. A German patrol or a Russian one can find me. They can take care of me. There's no need to--"

  "No," Ingersleben said, in a low commanding voice. "You know that is something we can't risk. If you tell them our plan under duress, you'll have us all killed. The only thing I can offer you is chance to pray before you meet our Judge."

  "Damn you!" Wernher said through his grinding teeth. Otto and Lafenz just looked on in disbelief. After everything they had seen and witnessed, they should have been prepared for something like this. They wanted it to stop. They just wanted all of this to stop.

  "Very well," Ingersleben said, raising his gun to fire.

  "When I see God,” Wernher blurted out, “I’m going to tell him everything you did.”

  This gave Ingersleben pause, and the tears that had been a trickle became a stream. He slowly lowered the gun. He realized that this was a moment in his life, for his eternal soul. If he pulled that trigger, he was condemning both men. One to death, and himself to eternal fire. His mouth was ajar and he looked up at the night sky, looking for an answer that didn't seem to come. But then, just as fast as the tears had started, they stopped. With his free hand, Ingersleben adjusted his jacket, straightening it. He lifted his head along with the gun, firmly pointed back at Wernher.

  "Where we're going, God isn't there to tell."
<
br />   The wolves began to howl at the sound of the lone gunshot that rang out that night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next two days, nearly nothing was said. They just went about their nightly hikes and sleep like they had before. The only the real difference was that no one but Ingersleben had a weapon any more.

  He had Wernher's machine gun somewhere inside the sack he carried behind his back, but neither Lafenz nor Otto knew where. But they all knew that they all needed each other. It was not possible to get to the west alone, and they all knew it. Not a single one of them knew where they were going, but they all knew that they were getting away from the Eastern Front in a hurry, now that the excess baggage was gone.

  They became more machines than anything, going through the motions of the poor existence they had left. Sleep during the day and hike during the night, trying to stay off of main roads if possible. Repeat. Continue.

  They saw something that shouldn't have been promising, but it was. A German patrol had come through one morning as they lay inside a ditch just off the road. The tanks made their way past them and the soldiers slowly marched next to them. It was a promising sight. They were no longer being overrun by Soviets.

  Even the Nazis were a better prospect than the Soviets. At least if they were caught by a patrol like this one, they would be shot on sight instead of being tortured. It was still dangerous, but it had its merits.

  When the troops left, they had little time to sleep, so instead they stayed there that night and slept like regular people with the sunset. It was a welcome change.