CHAPTER TWENTY
Day 1 - Monday 16 April 1945
Because he was still on active duty, Charles wore his uniform. He drove them around the city, stopping wherever Katrine wanted to shop for something. Célestine was dressed in one of her own dresses which her mother had kept. Even though Katrine had bought it a size larger at the time, the dress was still too small for their daughter.
Célestine's excitement was infectious. The first store they entered she couldn't stand still as she pointed to garments and shoes. He just stood to one side and shrugged and smiled when the senior assistant looked at him with a query in her eyes. He didn't want to talk, but simply enjoy watching Katrine and Célestine going through dresses, little skirts and blouses while Célestine kept saying, "I like this one, Maman!" Then his heart would contract when Katrine would reply "Would you like two or three more of these?" and Célestine would answer with great uncertainty, "Can I?"
He'd been right in thinking that Célestine's demands were small. But she needed an entire wardrobe. Katrine was basically purchasing enough clothing and undergarments and two pairs of shoes for the first week.
He was proud of Katrine. She was smart and kind, never pressuring Célestine, allowing their daughter to set the pace. Occasionally Célestine would turn to him in a dress she'd tried on, twirl and ask him "How do I look, Papa?" It was painful yet a joy to watch her.
"You look stunning, honey."
"St-stunning?" she stammered, uncertain of the meaning.
"Beautiful. You look very beautiful."
She would rush to hug him before Katrine gently guided her back to the cubicle to try on something else. Once they were done, he'd carry the parcels to the Peugeot which Katrine had christened Clotilde. She'd remarked something about getting a new car and gifting Clotilde to Lamine. They'd contacted Lamine and Charles's mother and stepfather, as well as Edward, about the astounding discovery that Célestine was still alive and had survived Buchenwald.
He needed to be back home in the States to see them all and sort out his affairs which included the used car dealership Lansing had owned. He wanted to adopt Célestine formally and he needed to talk to Katrine about making the United States her home. Sighing, he drove on while his girls were chatting away. Célestine was dressed in a new outfit and her new shoes. She looked very pretty and would certainly become a beauty like her mother.
"Where to now?"
"Hats&Accessories, just further down this road. It used to be owned by Jules Goldman - "
"Goldman, huh."
"French Jew."
"Oh."
"Célestine needs ribbons, Alice bands and combs. I need a few things too - "
"I need a drink."
"That can wait, Charles."
"Good. I'll just drive on and die of thirst - "
"No! No!" Célestine cried out in distress. "Please, don't die!"
Charles stopped the vehicle at the side of the road. He turned to look at the crying Célestine.
"I am so sorry, honey. I upset you. Please, I didn't mean to upset you, okay?"
Katrine got out and joined Célestine in the back seat, nodding to him to continue. She spoke in calm tones to Célestine, assuring her once again that her papa didn't mean to distress her.
"She's fine now, Charles," she said, but he could swear it was in a "I'll get you later" tone.
When they arrived at the haberdashery, the shop window displayed hats and berets and scarfs for ladies. The owner smiled as they entered. He looked to be about forty, very thin and tall, almost as tall as Charles.
"What can I do for you, young ladies?"
Katrine said, "Ribbons, bands, combs, pins."
Then Célestine raised her hand and pointed to a hat on a little stand. "Please, could I have that one?"
Then the proprietor took Célestine's hand, turning it so that he looked on the inside of her forearm. There it was, for everyone to see, her tattooed ID camp number. Célestine pulled her arm away quickly, covering it with her right hand.
"It is okay, Mademoiselle. I am so sorry - " he started when he saw how Célestine cowered against Charles.
"Please, she only returned yesterday - " Katrine said.
The proprietor nodded. "Yes, I understand Buchenwald was liberated last week." He turned to Célestine, touched her shoulder gently. Then he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and showed her the inside of his right forearm. There was a tattooed number also. "See, little girl? I know and I understand your pain. You were very brave to have survived."
Célestine touched his arm in studied reverence. Charles knew she was thinking about how she'd been told to do whatever it took to survive. Then impulsively, Célestine hugged the man.
"I'm sorry, but where is old man Jules Goldman?"
"My father? He did not survive the harsh conditions. He went - " The son stopped suddenly, his eyes growing dark and sad. "He died in the gas chambers."
"You were in Auschwitz?"
"My name is Francois Goldman. Yes, I survived. The camp was liberated in January. I came home as soon as I could. Very happy to be back in France."
But they could see he'd lost much that still pained him. Charles knew that Francois too would live with the scars for the rest of his life.
They concluded their business and had lunch at a lovely bistro. After that, they drove around as Célestine wanted to see more landmarks and walk along the banks of the Seine holding his hand, often stopping to hug him or Katrine.
They went home tired but happy. Célestine entertained them with violin sonatas and the Mozart Lullaby. Katrine told her more about the Tononi, that it was made by Carlo Tononi in the early 18th century.
"Just like the Stradivarius, this violin is very valuable. It is in excellent condition. We'll ask Maestro Sargozy, your old tutor, to appraise it for us."
"I will keep both violins, Maman!"
"That's my girl!"
Later that day, Célestine sat on the couch while her parents stood in front of her, close to the fireplace. She thought they looked very serious. She loved her Maman, but she loved her new Papa just as much. She hardly ever thought about her own papa who had died before her eyes. He was gone and her memory of him was getting dimmer and dimmer. Sometimes when she thought about him, she wondered if he was sad or glad that she loved her new father so much.
When she had seen Colonel Miller's face the first time, she knew that he was a kind man who would not hurt her. She liked his dimples, but she liked him for more than his dimples. She could not quite explain why she loved him so much. Maybe one day she would understand, but right now it confused her. She tried not to think about it so much, because it gave her a headache.
"What is it, Maman?" she asked, a little scared that her papa might leave them and never come back.
"Papa wants to adopt you as his own little girl."
"But - but am I not his daughter already? Did he not marry you?"
"Yes, honey," her father replied. "But when I adopt you, we make it official with the magistrate, and then your last name will no longer be Du Plessis."
"Will I be Célestine Miller?"
She saw them both smile. They looked very happy. She was happy!
"Yes, honey," Papa said softly.
"Why are you crying?"
Then they laughed and cried while they hugged her. When they calmed again, Charles sat down next to her.
"Célestine, there is something I must tell you."
"What is it, Papa?"
"You see, Papa has a little boy at home he's also going to adopt. His name is Evan and he is three years old."
"Is Evan going to be my little brother?"
"Yes, sweetie."
"Holy mackerel!"
"Célestine! Where did you hear that?" Charles asked.
"He said his name is Rheddam Compton. He says it a lot!"
Detroit - 17 April 1945
The telephone rang insistently, its loud ringing piercing the dream-filled sleep of Althea Miller-Wachinski. She sat up slowly, her hand reaching for the telephone on her bedside table. Next to her Isaac began to stir awake. Althea looked at the watch.
"Good morning, is that the Miller-Wachinski residence?"
'Yes?" Althea frowned at the distant sounding female voice.
"Is that Althea Miller-Wachinski?"
"Speaking."
"Mrs Wachinski, please hold the line for a transatlantic call from Colonel Charles Miller."
"Charles?"
"Is it Charlie?" Isaac asked, sitting upright next to his wife. She nodded.
"Hello, Mama!"
"Charles! My goodness, do you realise what time it is here?"
"Six a.m., I know!"
"Oh, it's so good to hear your voice, son." Isaac spoke loud so Charles could also hear his greeting.
"Mama, I have something to tell you - "
"I know, son, you married Katrine!"
"Yes, that too."
Althea heard Katrine also greet her. "Hello, Katrine, it is good to be speaking to you!" Althea spoke in French which pleased Charles and surprised Katrine. Althea heard Katrine ask Charles to explain to her later why he'd never told her his mother could speak some French.
"What other news is so fantastic?"
"You remember that Katrine's first husband died, right? I think Edward told you."
"Yes, and her little girl."
"When we liberated the Buchenwald concentration camp, I found Célestine alive. She has survived by the most extraordinary circumstances, Mama. Just know that you have a new granddaughter who will be ten years old in September. I will write you a letter explaining everything. Please let Edward know so that he can tell those scientists who enquired after her that her daughter has survived."
Althea was crying while she held the phone. Then she heard Katrine's voice. For a few minutes they spoke in French, although Althea's wasn't half as good, but she managed.
"I would like to see you soon, Maman," Katrine said. Again Althea wanted to cry.
"I would love that. We are not a big family, but we are family now. Thank you for loving my son."
Charles took the phone again and on behalf of Katrine and Célestine said goodbye to her and Isaac.
Minutes later Althea whispered, "I have another daughter and she is a good person. I love her already. She has made Charles happy and that is good. It is very good."
"I am happy that you are happy, my love. Now, shall we go back to sleep again?"
Daisy Ginsburg's report
Katrine read the report that Charles had compiled, the testimony of Daisy Ginsberg and Helmut von Wangenheim. Tears were streaming down her face. Just the thought that Célestine had survived the conditions and circumstances sketched by Daisy horrified her. The vilest things she could think of that could happen to women in the camp, had happened, and her little girl was fortunate to escape that atrocities committed by depraved soldiers and officers.
She had lived in St. Clair for two years and had seen what control in the hands of soldiers who been ordinary workmen, down and out men, labourers, some of them illiterate, could do. They committed crimes, sexually abused the women of the town, publicly executed anyone they suspected of being spies. They sent more than six hundred villagers of a small town to their deaths, locking the women and children in the church and killing them all, while the men were burnt to death in a barn. She wept for them.
Here in France, the atrocities had been no less severe than those committed in Germany, in Poland, in Austria, in Belgium and Czechoslovakia. She had yearned then for a France that would be free of the terrible oppression that had kept it enslaved for four years.
She had no illusions about what had happened in the camps. The little Charles spoke about Buchenwald, about finding hundreds of bodies lying stacked like cord wood after many Germans were gone was enough to make anyone's hair stand on end. She wept for those who had died needlessly.
Her hands trembled as she held the pages of the report, unable to shake off the feelings of total sorrow, the same feelings that had been part of her for so long, since Joseph and Célestine had been taken from her. She thought of Daisy Ginsberg's words, how she had placed her body to shield young children, most of them girls, to be used by the soldiers, how she'd comfort the children, holding their hands even while she was powerless to prevent the poor little girl's body from being covered by a German officer, how she'd walk them to the barracks comforting them. She wept for them.
Katrine blinked as blinding flashes of anger and distress made her think about how time after time Daisy had offered her body so that the soldier or officer couldn't get hold of Célestine, how she was herself whored by men in the camp. She read how Helmut von Wangenheim had stepped in and protected Célestine, discovering that her daughter could play the violin, how she went twice a week to practise as long as she wanted, just so that he could prolong the period that she would be safe.
She read about how the child fell ill with typhus, how the doctor ordered von Wangenheim to keep her in his quarters and to let Daisy take care of her, how things changed for the better.
Katrine considered herself well read in most of the great French classics apart from her scientific literature. In any era and society, the human condition was tested when individuals were given power. Hitler represented absolute power, she thought, adopted by all who raised their hands in the "Heil Hitler!" salute. She remembered reading a memoir of a great British politician who declared, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." Such was Hitler and his cohorts and every officer and soldier who fought in the name of the Reich. While some had a conscience of sorts, what served as their moral compass? An immoral Führer?
And what of the converse? There were German men and women who acted with great compassion, who tried as best they could to help because they were good people? Men like von Wangenheim who tried his best, and who had been instrumental in hiding the children from his depraved colleagues. He was a decent man who appeared untainted by the moral decay around him. Were it not for him... Katrine shuddered just at the thought of what might have happened to Célestine.
She would be eternally grateful for women like Daisy Ginsberg. About Helmut von Wangenheim she would reserve judgment, because the damage to her personally by a man who had no morals, and to France and every inmate in a concentration camp, still lay too close to the surface to forgive. That would take time.
She'd hardly been aware that Charles was holding her very close to him. She reveled in the closeness, needing him because he sensed that she would. Sighing, she rested her head against him.
"Thank you, Charles," she said softly. "Now I know what our little girl has gone through. She watched people shot dead in front of her - her father, other women who were too weak to stand up straight in the winter cold, Maestro Dobrinski. How traumatic must that not have been for a child?"
"For Célestine it is over. There are still other camps that must be liberated."
"I know. I am glad the war is drawing to a close. I listen to radio news and I know the Allied Powers are closing in from the east."
"You know there will be a trial, don't you?"
"I thought there might be. Why do you ask?"
"I'm thinking mainly of Célestine. I want to protect her. She must not be hurt any longer."
"She is only a child!"
"Exactly!"
Day 2 - Tuesday 17 April 1945
Early spring brought bright flowers and purple irises covering the graveyard like a soft blanket. They stood at a grave with a small headstone.
"Your papa is buried here, sweetheart."
They watched as Célestine quietly stood before them, bending down and touching the headstone with her father's name on it.
"But that is my name," she said as she touched the engraved letters of her name.
"When we were told you had died, I put your name there. But you know who the child is, don't you?"
"Yes, Maman. It is Zannah Ginsberg."
"We are putting a new headstone here with her name on it, so that her mother, Daisy, can know her little girl lies here."
A hot tear rolled down Célestine's cheek as she stood up and looked at them. "I am sorry that she died, Maman. That day Papa was sick, and the soldiers beat him in the house and outside. Papa was confused. He thought Zannah was me. Zannah was also sick. Then they shot her and she fell down. She didn't make a sound."
Charles had wondered if they were doing the right thing to bring Célestine to the graveyard to see her father's grave. But they had made the decision together. If Célestine spoke about what happened, that would assist in her recovery, allow her to find closure. They did not hurry her, instead, they allowed her natural progression from day to day to determine when she'd speak and feel the need to share her experiences.
"She saved your life, Célestine. Perhaps if you think like that, it might not hurt so much."
Célestine nodded wordlessly, then reached for the Tononi which she had insisted on bringing, removed it from the case and settled the instrument against her neck. With the sun kissing her hair and eyes as well as the strings of the violin, Célestine began stroking the bow across the strings in a sublime rendering of the Mozart Lullaby. They could see tears flowing down her cheeks and wondered where her thoughts roamed.
Charles knew that the young girl played it often. He knew from Lamine's account of his friendship with the family, that she'd played the Lullaby for him too when he had been very ill with a raging fever.
The music floated over the cemetery. People visiting graves of their loved ones glanced up from their reveries to listen to the music. Charles thought they smiled indulgently, perhaps grateful for the accompaniment to their soft spoken words of comfort to a loved one. In the distance, Charles saw a woman who looked about Katrine's age standing with two young children who could not be more than five or six years old.
The woman looked pointedly in their direction. Charles wondered if the stranger knew Katrine or Célestine, or just loved hearing the violin.
"Do you know that woman over there?" he asked Katrine.
Katrine gazed in the direction Charles pointed with his chin and frowned, shaking her head. "No, I do not know her, although there is something familiar about the boy."
"Do you mind?" he asked, and when she shook her head again, he made his way to where the woman stood. Who knew? Her husband could have been in the French legions and fallen during the German purge of the city. It wouldn't hurt to ask, he thought to himself.
When he reached the trio, he cleared his throat.
"Uh, excuse me," he asked in French. "Do you mind very much if I ask whom you are mourning? I saw you looking our way."
The two boys were curious, tugging at her dress. She didn't respond, instead, she looked at the gravestone.
Only when he followed her eyes did he also look. Then he drew in his breath. If Katrine and Lamine Bhoutayeb had not spoken often about the man in the most negative tones, he might never have known. On the gravestone was engraved the name Lucien Claude Blériot.
For an instant, he felt rage, then allowed the it to seep from him. The wife and children were not part of the Blériot guilt. They were innocent, he could see it in the eyes of the woman, the clear expressions of the boys who appeared to be twins.
"I'm sorry, I am Colonel Charles Miller." He held his hand to her to shake it.
"My name is Charlotte Blériot. You knew my husband?" she asked as he released her hand.
How could he tell her? But Charlotte took that responsibility from him.
"That woman, is she Katrine du Pléssis-Blumenthal?"
"Katrine, yes, but she is now Miller."
She nodded her understanding.
"Could you tell her, tell her, my husband was not a very good man. I loved him when he was engaged to her. When she broke their engagement, he married me. I knew what he was. I wanted to leave him in 1939 when he began to betray our own people. Then I found I was pregnant. I did leave him to live in another town. Please, will you tell her I am sorry for what happened to her husband and child? Please?"
"Katrine," he said in measured tones, "has a heart of gold. She hated Blériot for a long time, but never ever held anything against his kin. Do not worry."
Charlotte smiled, the lines of strain leaving her face. "I must go. It has been a pleasure meeting you - "
"Wait," he started, and she paused, "do you see the little girl over there?" Charlotte nodded. "That is her daughter. The day your husband betrayed them, her husband was shot dead in the forest, but another child died with him that day. That little girl playing the violin is Célestine du Pléssis-Miller. She survived."
Charlotte gazed long at Célestine who was still playing. Then she said, "Thank you, Colonel. Thank you."
Charlotte Blériot left the cemetery, her tread lighter, the boys skipping along. When Charles joined Katrine again, she asked him about the woman.
"Charlotte Blériot." Charles watched the emotions flickering across her features, her eyes going soft.
"I hold nothing against his wife and children," she said at last. "They are innocent. Did you - ?"
"No, I didn't tell her how he died. She believes he took his own life."
Katrine nodded, circling his waist with her arm as they waited for Célestine to finish before they left for St. Clair.
St. Clair - again!
Lamine Bhoutayeb blinked. Then he blinked again. It was midday and Solange had gone to prepare the Coeur de Lion for the evening's events. A vehicle had stopped just outside the house Katrine used to own in which he and Solange now lived.
Through the window he saw the car stop. It was old Clotilde, Katrine's Peugeot. He was glad she'd come to visit again. He'd missed her. She was now married to Charles Miller. He smiled when Charles got out of the car. He was in military dress, though the insignias were different, he noticed. As he reached for the front door and opened it, a third person alighted from the back seat of the car.
Even as Katrine and Charles Miller smiled in welcome, a flurry of movement caught his eye.
"Lamine! Lamine!"
She was in his arms hugging him tightly. He was stunned, the apparition an unbelievable reality. He had no idea that he was weeping, or when the child in his arms pulled away and started babbling in French about how she missed him.
All he could do was look at Katrine, completely confused, too afraid to express joy. He gave a few sobs as Katrine tugged his arm to guide him inside the house, Célestine in tow.
Again Célestine couldn't stop touching him, saying, "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!"
When they'd all calmed down, Charles explained how he found Célestine in the Buchenwald camp. Katrine explained how the confusion arose, while Célestine herself told Lamine about Daisy Ginsberg and how Maman Daisy made her promise to keep pretending she was the other girl and to do whatever it took to stay alive in the camp.
Lamine's eyes remained tear-filled for the entire time they spoke. Charles talked about the cemetery and how they would have a new headstone made with Zannah Ginsberg's name on it. He told Lamine about Charlotte Blériot who apologised for her husband's iniquities. She knew what her husband had been and had decided to live away from him because she knew he betrayed many of his countrymen.
Then Lamine began to speak to Célestine. He told her how he and Katrine searched all over France, Belgium and parts of Germany for her, even visiting some of the concentration camps. He told Célestine how her mother had gone almost mad with worry and fear for her child and how he had to comfort her many times. He told Célestine how he kept telling Katrine, "We live to fight another day."
"We only came to St. Clair when your great-great-uncle passed away at the beginning of 1943. By that time we had been given confirmation that you had died."
He told her how the Germans came to tell her mother that her husband Joseph and daughter Célestine had died, and how months later they found Joseph's and Zannah's bodies.
Then Lamine looked at Célestine's arm and touched the tattooed number, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, weeping again when he thought what it meant. Then he hugged her again.
'I love you so much, little one. I am glad you are with us and that your mother is happy now.
"And Papa," Célestine said firmly.
Lamine looked at Charles, then back at her. "Yes, I can see that."
Just as Katrine started to say something, the door burst open and in flew Brigitte and Berry with their six month old Charles.
"Charles! Katrine!" they cried together. "We missed you. And who is this beautiful munchkin? No, don't tell us! She is your long lost daughter who was dead and is alive!" crowed Berry.
"We thought she was, Berry," Charles explained while Brigitte plonked the baby Charles in Katrine's lap and bent to shake Célestine's hand. "I found her in the camp."
"How did you know it was her?"
"Just look at them. They look remarkably alike. That was the first thing, and secondly, Katrine told me that Célestine was a violinist, a child prodigy. She was playing the violin when I realised it was her."
It was a happy gathering.
"And what is this gorgeous baby's name?" Charles asked as he tickled the baby's chin.
"Why, I thought I'd told you, Charles!" cried Katrine. "His name is Charles Bertrand Beaumont!
"Just wanted to hear it again, a little squirt named after me. He's the second one!"
"Our next baby will be 'Katrine' if it's a girl," Brigitte crowed happily.
Later, Brigitte and Berry left to find their regular babysitter who would take baby Charles while his parents joined them later in the evening in the Coeur de Lion. Solange was over the moon to see them. Katrine had given her one look before she explained, "I will give birth in three months time."
They thoroughly enjoyed the time in the restaurant. Katrine and Charles decided to stay the night in the spare bedroom of her old home. Célestine would sleep on the big bed with her while Charles bunked down in the lounge. In the morning, they would sign the contract that would make the four of them equal partners in the restaurant, with Lamine and Solange running the place.
The next morning after breakfast, they took Célestine to Brigitte and Berry's house where their grandmother took the girl under her wings, speaking in rapid French which Charles found hard to follow. Célestine, though, seemed happy. Then they returned and the four of them left for the attorney's office where they would be signing documents. Charles felt once again privileged that Katrine was including him in the partnership.
Between them, they had sufficient funds to send Célestine to any school or music conservatoire. When they were finished, Katrine said, "And now you are a part owner of the Coeur de Lion."
"What better place than the one where we met!" he said and kissed her briefly. Solange and Lamine smiled. Charles could see how devoted they were to one another. He knew that Lamine was just as honoured to be a part of the deal, that Katrine offered her gratitude in that way, financially rewarding the young couple.
Charles and Katrine also visited Sandrine Desmarais who had just given birth to a baby girl, the child fathered by Eugene Linklater. Brigitte had told them how Sandrine wept through the birthing process for the man whom she loved, for her baby who would grow up without a daddy. She showed them a letter she had received from Eugene's parents, asking her permission if they could come to France to visit their grandchild whom she named Eugenie.
"Thank you," she said to Charles, "that you were with him at the end."
"He was thinking only of you, asking that I tell you that he loved you."
Sandrine nodded sadly, but smiled again as she looked at her little baby girl whom Charles could swear looked like Eugene. He was glad that his parents would visit to connect to their grandchild, perhaps even invite Sandrine to the States.
When they left that afternoon, everyone stood near the fountain in the square, waving as Charles drove the Peugeot down Rue Sainte Agnes to Paris.
"It was good coming to St. Clair," he told Katrine.
"We should come more often."
He simply nodded, while Célestine answered with a resounding "yes!"
When they arrived home, they had a late supper, tired from the day's outing.
It was deep in the night when everyone was asleep that they were rudely awakened, confronted for the first time with the terrible reality of dreams.
The realities of their nightmares
Charles heard the agonised wailing first. He shot up in bed just as Katrine also snapped suddenly awake.
"Célestine!" they cried simultaneously and rushed out of bed to their daughter's room. The bedside lamp was still burning, the low glow throwing the child in eerie silhouette as she lay thrashing her arms about, her head rolling from side to side even as her eyes remained closed.
"Célestine, oh my poor baby!" Katrine cried as she sat down on the bed next to the crying child.
"No, please, don't hurt me. Please don't put your hands there..."
"Shhh..." Katrine tried to console Célestine while Charles eased his weight down on the other side of the bed.
He tried to touch Célestine, but it was as if something white hot burned against her skin as she tried to move away from the source of her fear. Célestine, they realised, was still in deep slumber experiencing something terrifying. Every time they attempted to touch her, she tried to move away from them, a nameless fear taking hold of her. Katrine began weeping with her, her comforting words unable to penetrate the thickness of the petrifying fog in Célestine's dream.
Charles had once shaken a soldier who'd experienced similar nightmares. The young private had seen two of his comrades whose heads and bodies exploded right next to him. He had tried speaking to the soldier, lying in a snow-filled ditch of the Ardennes in the middle of the night. Then, unable to wake the infantryman Charles had gripped his shoulders and shaken him until his eyes had opened.
He would have to do the same with Célestine. He knew Katrine would be shocked, even outraged that he'd employ such a method, but he knew nothing else would bring the child out of her deadly nightmare.
"Please, Herr Götze, don't shoot me. Don't hurt me!"
And then the anger as Célestine cried, "Please, don't hurt my legs.! Take away your hand. Take it out!"
Out of desperation, Charles gripped the distraught child's slender shoulders and began shaking her hard. Her head lolled back and forth, frothing at the mouth.
"Wake up! Wake up, Célestine!" he cried urgently, but softly.
Then her eyes suddenly opened. She drew in her breath sharply, looking around, disoriented. Katrine had left to get a soft cloth and began wiping Célestine's mouth. Slowly recognition began to dawn.
"Maman? Papa?"
Katrine could hardly speak for the trembling of her lips and the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Charles released Célestine's shoulders.
She gave another agonised cry before throwing herself against them, sobbing, her body shuddering. They waited, let her cry until the crying stopped at last, and only gentle sobs escaped. They let her lie back against the pillows.
"I am sorry, Maman," Célestine whispered, looking suddenly embarrassed.
"Don't ever be, honey," Charles comforted her. "See, one of my soldiers also had such a nightmare and I had to shake him hard to wake him up. And he was also sorry. You mustn't be, okay?"
"I dreamed."
"We know, sweetie. It was a bad dream, huh?"
Célestine nodded. Katrine wiped the girl's flushed, heated face.
"Herr Götze he - he did bad things. He tried to - to do what he did with Maman Daisy... I didn't want him to touch me."
Charles felt a rage so great he got up and left the room. Célestine had been raped. Or nearly raped. What manner of man could be so debauched, so completely lacking in morals that he would do this to a child? Was Götze born bad? Charles felt momentarily helpless in his rage as he stomped and paced the lounge. He breathed in deeply, then snorted like a deranged bull to eject the fury in him. Minutes later he walked back to the child's room.
Katrine was lying with Célestine spooned against her. Their daughter was already drifting off to sleep again. He stepped forward and brushed her hair from her face. She gave a deep sigh before worming herself against her mother. Katrine looked at him, her signal immediately understood. She would join him later. When he returned to their bedroom he looked at the clock on the bedstand, surprised when he saw it was just after three o'clock.
They had been rudely awakened to the reality that their daughter would have nightmares, that the atrocities witnessed by her would manifest themselves in such a horrific way. He knew, realistically, that this was not Célestine's first nightmare nor would it be her last.
Two nights later, they were awakened by soft mewling and again they soothed Célestine, speaking softly to her. Charles didn't have to shake her like he had the first night. She had woken and lay on her back, her mouth moving but no words issuing from her. Again Katrine stayed with her until she fell asleep again.
They were worried. Charles had thought of having her seen by a doctor the next day. Perhaps a medical expert could give them advice on how to deal with Célestine's nightmares. Then again, he thought that what they were doing was the right thing. Love, care, understanding was what would work better than any medication.
He loved Célestine. She had crept into his heart and he felt his insides burning at the thought of what she had endured. Children were mostly resilient and he prayed that she was resilient enough to begin her own cure by being among people who loved her.
His mother, he knew, could work wonders with a child like Célestine. She had handled Edward throughout his illness, being patient and loving, and mostly making Edward understand that being different meant just that. He had a brain, a heart that loved, feet and arms that moved. While Célestine's tribulations were primarily of an emotional and subconscious nature, Althea Miller would be able to help her new granddaughter to heal.
"After the war, Katrine, we must go home, to America..."
And Charles…
He was running and his chest burned from the exertion. It was dark, night had settled early in the forest. All he could see against the snow weakly lit by a waning moon were trees standing like old sentries, clad in white with eyes staring back from the bark.
He held his rifle at an aggressive angle. He would shoot anything that moved in front of him. There was the sound of a lot of shooting from both sides, followed by screams that rent the cold, silent air above the noise of gunfire, with grenades that rolled and exploded not fifteen yards away from him. He ducked, dived, was up swiftly, firing at will.
"Die! You sons-of-bitches!"
Then the lull in the firing, his men going down one by one. A tree split in half by a thundering panzer tearing into the uneasy silence. Men yelling, screaming as he rushed forward, flinging the grenade at the panzer while one of his men - was it Riley? - launched a grenade from his rifle, aiming for the hatch as soon as it lifted. Blood and body parts spurting into the cold air. Dead Germans in the hold, bloody mess.
"Captain! Captain!"
He ran to where the last men were holding off panzer fire.
"Linklater!"
"Sorry, Cappy. Please let Sandrine know I loved her. I loved her, Cappy!"
An angry branch pierced Linklater's chest, blood spurting all over his face and coat. He tried pulling out the branch.
"Too late, Cappy. I'm going. It - was - an - honour - serving - under - you - Captain - - - Miller."
"No!" Charlie shout as he noticed Linklater's legs were shot clean off. He was bleeding to death.
"Helluva fight..."
"Don't you go dying on me, Eugene! Goddam those sons-of-bitches! Don't you go dyin' on me!"
Dying on me...dying on me... dying on me...
A voice coming from a great distance, traveling on the cold night air, calling him. It called his name over and over, tearing him away from the snow clad trees that looked like tall, grotesque Day of the Dead dolls, away from the deep blood-stained snow, away from a tree branch in a soldier's chest, away from appendages that lay lifeless in the snow, away from a dead soldier's body. It came nearer and nearer to him until he could discern it as if a mouth breathed his name into his ear.
Charles opened his eyes slowly to find Katrine bending over him, her eyes dark with concern, full of tears. He was wet through, bathed in sweat. She touched his cheek, her hand coming away wet. He gasped once, twice, before trying to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed him down. His heart was racing, racing out of control. He felt a momentary dizziness, glad that Katrine pressed him down as he experienced a sensation of falling from a great height.
She leaned against him and began speaking in soft tones, her voice low and melodious as only Katrine could speak. She spoke about how he comforted their daughter and how she calmed because of his voice and mostly, because he loved her so much. She told him about Thaïs of Egypt and the man who loved her until her death in a convent, how a composer named Jules Massenet wrote the opera based on the story. He lay listening mostly to her voice for it calmed his demons.
He saw Katrine cast her eyes to the door, only then noticing Célestine standing there with her Tononi primed to play.
Then he wept as the most beautiful music filled the room, so beautiful he could not stop the tears dripping onto his pillow. The shaking of his body subsided gradually, captivated by the music which he thought must have come from heaven. His eyes closed and soon he fell into the blessed release of slumber.
When the music stopped, Célestine came to stand next to her mother, her eyes filled with tears.
"Will Papa be okay, Maman? Did he have a nightmare, like me?"
Katrine nodded, reaching for her daughter, making her sit down on her side of the bed.
"He had a bad dream, sweetheart. He is fine now. It will get better. Come, sleep now..."
So she let the child snuggle behind her while she lay spooned to Charles. She thought with some agony how she had two damaged persons whom she loved with all her heart, whom she would comfort until the comforting exhausted her. But, she decided, it would be her labour of love to see them through their nightmares and one day - she was certain that day would come - they would both be free of the tight, tight chains that bound them to their dreams.
She felt herself drifting until she gave in to the swirls of sleep that had already overtaken Célestine and Charles.
When dawn broke bleakly over the Paris skyline, Charles woke. He turned to see that Katrine and Célestine still lay fast asleep. He smiled, his heart burning as he bent to kiss them. Then he got up quietly and headed to the kitchen where he set about fixing breakfast for them.
Buchenwald 18 - 30 April 1045
The town of Weimar was more like a small city, situated just west of the Buchenwald concentration camp. After the Americans crossed the Rhine, the airborne divisions were stationed on the perimeter of Weimar, controlling its important airfield.
The moment Buchenwald was liberated, in fact, in the few days prior to the liberation, many of the camp's prisoners had escaped after they had overpowered the minions that were the German foot soldiers. These prisoners were the real lawbreakers - habitual criminals, hard, uncompromising men who'd been sentenced for crimes like serious assault, murder, armed robbery and rape, who were also interned at Buchenwald.
After escaping from the camp, they'd gone on the rampage in Weimar. Houses were raided and razed to the ground, German women and their daughters were gang raped while their husbands and fathers were forced to watch. They looted buildings, taking anything of value. Reprisal was the ugly face of Germany in the aftermath of camp liberations. Dachau camp had been the hardest hit in the wake of its liberation by the 42nd and 45th Infantry Divisions.
After the Weimar constabulary managed to effect some calm in the town, damage had already been done to many buildings. Those they caught were imprisoned again and some were quickly executed after short trials.
Charles thought how it was possible that their incarceration in Buchenwald, their wretched abuse at the hands of the soldiers and officers at the camp, their taste for sexual debaucheries were sharpened by the perpetrators of prostitution. Often French Jews - men and women and sometimes children - were thrown to these immoral individuals who indulged in the same wickedness of the very soldiers who were responsible for their privation and hunger.
It was a sad commentary indeed, he thought, when the people of the town were subjected to the same wickedness as those who had been interned in the camp. German women and the aged once believed they had enjoyed immunity from such horrific treatment for were they not protected by a red flag bearing the symbol of the swastika? Were they not the herrenvolk, their dictator's dream of a perfect society for Germany? The Americans stationed at the airfield knew very little or even cared, Charles supposed, about what happened to the inhabitants of Weimar.
It was so easy to adopt a creed of "an eye for an eye." Anger, he thought, made many freed inmates of the concentration camp engage in retribution as harsh as the treatment they themselves had been subjected to.
Charles sighed where he sat in a pew of the small magistrate building's courtroom and looked around him. Célestine sat in front at a table on a chair that had been raised by a pillow on the seat. From time to time she turned to look at her parents. In front sat an American judge, Judge F. Winstone McAllister, brought in to oversee war crimes trials in Germany. While the war still raged, it would be over very soon. They'd received radio communication that the Russians were practically on the doorstep of Berlin.
He glanced at Katrine, smiling bleakly. They had had another full blown argument a week ago. He'd already left for Buchenwald to oversee the logistics for the removal of the freed inmates who were still there and the upcoming trials of the war criminals.
He'd been confronted by General Erikson the morning after he'd arrived.
"The lawyers for Schiller, Götze, von Wangenheim and Gaertner have requested that your daughter be called to give evidence."
"Here? In Buchenwald?" he'd asked, quite astonished that they'd want a child to testify. "Do you know what will happen, General? They're going to eat that child alive. I cannot let her go through it. Célestine has been through too much. She suffers debilitating nightmares. No, no, please, don't ask it of us..."
"Speak to your wife, Colonel Miller. Hear what she has to say. We'll think of alternative measures."
So he phoned Katrine. Her initial joy at hearing his voice soon turned to ill-contained fury. They'd argued. He'd told her they were aware of his own objections. Katrine had been overwrought, with Célestine suddenly wailing in the background, crying she didn't ever want to see Buchenwald again.
"Katrine, Célestine has been summoned to testify in the trial of von Wangenheim primarily - "
"I don't care right now, Charles. Has Célestine not suffered enough?"
"Do you want to see von Wangenheim sentenced to death?"
"Let others testify. Célestine is a child! Elle n'a que neuf ans, pour l'amour de Dieu!"
"But, Katrine!"
"No, Charles! I will not give my permission!"
"Do you think I want Célestine to go through this trial? I feel the same, Katrine, but her testimony is critical to von Wangenheim's fate, at least."
He'd heard her sigh on the other end of the line. Katrine was fair, and although she'd never met von Wangenheim, knew that Célestine had been attached to him, that he'd never touched Célestine, that he'd treated her with respect and allowed her to continue her music in his quarters.
"Please try your best if you can avoid this, Charles. Please."
And so he tried. He'd gone back to General Erikson, once again explaining their stance. Erikson had rubbed his chin, looking deep in thought. Then he'd looked at Charles, his face suddenly alight, as if he'd just had an epiphany.
"Tell me, Colonel, if we were to move the courtroom to Weimar, have our lawyers and judge there as well as a female nurse and female paralegal, with only your daughter present as well as her parents, would that be acceptable?"
Charles had to admit that he hadn't thought of that possibility. It would considerably lessen the angst that she might experience.
"And the defendants?"
"We could have only von Wangenheim present?"
He'd nodded. Then he called Katrine again. She was much happier with the new arrangements. Katrine and Célestine had been flown from the Paris military airfield. He'd waited for them at the Weimar airport. Célestine had run as fast as her legs could carry her and virtually jumped into his waiting arms.
"I missed you, Papa! When will you come home to us?"
He'd explained very patiently to her that it was still war, that he'd be away for at least a month. He'd taken them to a small hotel where he'd booked two rooms for them. Katrine had briefed their daughter on what was expected, that she needn't be afraid. The lawyers would all be dressed in uniform as well as the paralegal lady and female nurse. She could direct her answers to them. Only von Wangenheim would be in the dock. When she asked about the others, they told her that she could decide herself whether she wanted to see Schiller, Gaertner and Götze.
Today was the third day of the trials. Célestine was only one of many inmates who gave evidence. He'd bristled a little when the American lawyer tried to drive Célestine in a corner. He'd felt like getting up and decking the offensive officer.
She's only a child, goddammit! he wanted to shout.
"Did Oberleutnant von Wangenheim hurt you?"
Célestine shook her head.
"Did you like Oberleutnant von Wangenheim?"
When Célestine hesitated before she answered, the lawyer stood right by her. Charles wanted to get up and remove Célestine from the room. The innuendo was not lost on all who sat in the little room.
"Speak up, child," the lawyer demanded. At which point the Judge Advocate McAllister cautioned the lawyer.
"Please bear in mind, Lieutenant Kearsney, that Mademoiselle du Pléssis spent almost three years in the camp."
He could well have said, "Go easy on the child."
When he finished his questioning, Charles was proud of the way Célestine handled herself. The German lawyer stepped up.
"Who is that man sitting there?" he asked, pointing at von Wangenheim.
"Herr Oberleutnant von Wangenheim."
Von Wangenheim sat quite still in the dock, hardly moving. Charles thought he was already expecting a severe sentence.
"Can you tell us what happened the first night von Wangenheim called you to his rooms? What did you think he was going to do to you?"
"I thought he was going to hurt me..." Célestine paused again, a little unsettled as the memory of that night plagued her.
"Can you tell me what they did to the girls in the camp?"
"They cut and scratched their thighs, between their legs."
"Did Oberleutnant von Wangenheim do that to you?"
"No! He said we must pretend so it would look like he did that to me."
"Tell me, Fraulein du Pléssis-Miller, how did you pretend?"
"I scratched my own legs and between my thighs. He said he would never ever hurt me."
"How many times did you go to Herr Oberleutnant von Wangenheim?"
"Twice in each week. Later I went three times. I played the violin. He said I could use his Tononi. He accompanied me on the piano. He taught me to play chess."
It went very well for Célestine, Charles thought. She relaxed, knowing there were women officers, that she could draw strength and encouragement from them, that she need not fear anything. He glanced at Katrine who had a sheen of tears in her eyes. The others were not present but she spoke well of Herr Doktor Schiller and Herr Oberstleutnant Gaertner.
They took another two days to deliberate on the fate of Von Wangenheim. That officer had sat through the trial staring straight ahead, never looking at them or Célestine. He appeared to have a kind of resolve about him, as if he knew what the outcome would be. The others had to return to Buchenwald for the rest of the trials. Daisy Ginsberg was one of the key witnesses there. Charles would be present at those hearings while Katrine and Célestine prepared to return to France.
Before the end of Von Wangenheim's trial, she had asked to see him in his temporary cell before he returned to Buchenwald. There Katrine came face to face with the man who'd done his best to keep Célestine safe and unharmed. During the trial they'd heard how he'd beaten Götze almost to death after he shot Maestro Dobrinski and then got his hands on their daughter. Götze was, beside his sexual lusts, also trigger happy, shooting dead inmates as the whim took him. Dobrinski's death and running a prostitution ring in the camp was certainly more than enough to sentence him to life or even capital punishment.
Von Wangenheim was brought under guard to a small room that contained a desk-like table and two chairs. Charles waved for the two guards - American Military Police personnel - to wait outside. They hesitated first.
"Just wait outside the door, Corporal. The prisoner is harmless."
"Yes, sir!" the corporal said and saluted as they stepped outside and closed the door.
The moment they were out, Célestine rushed to von Wangenheim and hugged him. Katrine watched, her initial misgivings gone while she'd sat and listened to the testimonies.
"When Célestine - Zannah as I knew her - became ill last year and was brought to my quarters, I learned for the first time that she was not the daughter of Daisy Ginsberg as everyone believed."
"How did you find out?" Katrine asked, having regained her composure and strength.
"She called for her mother," Von Wangenheim said, smiling grimly. "I always wondered then what her mother looked like, whether her mother had died."
Then Célestine chimed in and said, "When I saw that bad man strike Maman, I thought she was dead."
"I - I must thank you for protecting our daughter, Herr von Wangenheim. You would have been called a traitor to the Reich..."
"Yes, Madame Miller. I have been called that by Günther Götze. That was my fear, although the rest of the officers were always careful around me."
Katrine frowned, as did Charles. "Why?" they both chorused.
"He is a baron, Maman! Baron Freiherr von Wangenheim!"
So Von Wangenheim was an aristocrat, a baron whose bearing made sense at last to Charles. Von Wangenheim looked at him, his blue eyes open, a humility in his gaze that Charles would not have associated with someone, especially the enemy, of high birth.
"My brother died not so long ago. Now that title is mine, but really in these circumstances, it is of little worth." Von Wangenheim turned to Katrine. "I am very glad that you have been reunited with your daughter, Madame Miller. I - if I may ask..." Von Wangenheim looked suddenly unsure. "If I may ask," he continued, a little bolder, "what happened to - to Zannah Ginsberg?"
Before Célestine or Katrine could answer, Charles turned to them. "Please, could you two wait outside for me? Célestine, say goodbye to Herr von Wangenheim..."
They watched as Célestine threw herself against the officer who had meant to much to her. It was a tearful goodbye for their daughter who clearly loved the German officer. Katrine waited until Célestine stepped out of Von Wangenheim's embrace. Then she shook the prisoner's hand. Charles could see that Katrine had forgiven him, though he was innocent of all the crimes committed.
"Thank you, once again, Herr von Wangenheim. There is much about you that is good."
When they left the room, Charles took a deep breath.
"Sit down, Von Wangenheim," he invited the former officer as he too, sat down on a chair. "I thought I'd answer your question myself. It was traumatic enough for Célestine to have witnessed it in the first place. Maybe Daisy said something?"
Von Wangenheim shook his head. "Not much beyond what you obviously know, Colonel Miller. I - want to marry Daisy Ginsberg if I am fortunate enough to serve only a sentence and not be executed. She needs also some closure, is it not so?"
"We have already told her that Zannah Ginsberg was buried in the Paris cemetery with Célestine's father. We are arranging to erect a new headstone with Zannah's name on."
Von Wangenheim closed his eyes, pressed his hand against them. He shook for a few seconds before he regained his composure.
"Thank you. She deserves that."
"When Célestine and her father were taken from their home, Joseph Blumenthal was already badly beaten up. He was disoriented when they stopped the truck in a forest clearing twenty miles outside Paris. Daisy had both children with her. In the truck the children exchanged their teddy bears, probably in a gesture of solace. When Joseph cried out for his daughter he was confused and pointed to Zannah. A German pulled Zannah from her mother's hand, thinking it was Célestine. They shot Joseph and Daisy's daughter."
Miller pulled out a small notebook from his right hand pocket. He scribbled something on the paper, then handed it to Von Wangenheim when he was finished.
"My address and contact numbers in Paris as well as the United States. Please, could you stay in touch? I would like to keep you updated on Célestine's progress."
"I would very much appreciate that, Colonel."
"Any other family?"
"Only my mother and my sister. They are at Munziger, our estate. My horses are there, including Konrad's "Kürfürst."
"The horse on which he competed at the Games?"
"That is so. Kürfürst is old now. Hopefully I will be able to compete one day. Too much has happened."
Charles nodded. "I think the judge will be lenient on you, Schiller and perhaps Gaertner. Götze is in trouble."
"I tried to warn him about an investigation by our own people at the camp. He would not lessen his...activities or even try to stop them. I am not sorry for him. You must understand, Colonel, that as young Jugend, we didn't have much choice but to be drawn into this...hell."
That was the closest von Wangenheim came to admitting the role which Adolf Hitler and his senior staff played in creating chaos across Europe. He nodded before rising. Von Wangenheim rose to his feet too. Charles clicked his heels and saluted, to which Von Wangenheim saluted in return, touching his forehead in a similar gesture.
Charles opened the door. "I'm done here," he told the guards, leaving the building and going in search of his wife and daughter.
"Well?" Katrine asked, "what did you two talk about?"
"Enough that in peace time I could call Von Wangenheim a friend."
Charles went on to explain that he spoke about Zannah's grave, that he'd like von Wangenheim to stay in contact with them. Katrine nodded in agreement. She felt they owed the German a lot for what he had meant to Célestine.
"Are we going home now, Papa?" Célestine asked as he drove them to the airfield where they were to board the Douglas C-54.
"You and Mama are going sweetie. I have to return to Buchenwald."
"I hate Buchenwald - "
"I understand, Célestine. But remember - "
"You must come home!"
"Little one," Katrine intervened, "Papa has many things to do still. We will wait his return, is that not so, Papa?"
"Yes. Now come here, let me hug you."
Célestine practically jumped in his arms, hugging him fiercely. Moments later Katrine stood in his arms.
"Please, be safe, Charles."
He hugged her closely to him. "Sweetheart, I'll think of you every moment I am on the battlefield."
He watched with sadness as they boarded the plane, remaining until the plane became a tiny dot in the distance, eventually meshing with the blue sky. Only then did he raise his hand in farewell. He was going to miss them, but he needed focus. He had to leave for Buchenwald to sit in on the rest of the trials. Most of the German soldiers and officers who'd been involved in theft of personal belongings of the inmates and who'd been involved in the prostitution rings had been identified.
Trials and retribution - May 1945
By the time the 10th and 11th regiments of the 5th Infantry Division left Buchenwald under General Albert E. Brown heading southeast towards Czechoslovakia, Günther Götze was sentenced to death for crimes against humanity. Schiller, the doctor, was freed as evidence was provided that he had never engaged in the inhumane practice of conducting experiments on children. In fact, he often had ignored directives that would further injure an already suffering inmate and had made no distinction between treating soldiers of the Reich and sick inmates of Buchenwald. One heroic deed related by Daisy Ginsberg concerned the night he saved the child Célestine du Pléssis-Miller, formerly known as Zannah Ginsberg, who had been dying of typhus. Although more than five hundred inmates died of the disease that year, Herr Doktor Schiller had been instrumental in saving a hundred other sick inmates.
Johann Gaertner, who had taken over the camp after the notorious Karl-Otto Koch had been sentenced to death and executed by firing squad, was given a three year sentence. Evidence was showed that although he did not participate in any of the cruel practices in the camp, he had not done enough to lighten the burden of the inmates and enforced the cessation of those brutal deeds. Like many officers, Gaertner was a family man, a father of two young daughters. There was no reason to believe that he was unaware of what was happening to the children in Buchenwald. He had not touched a child although he was known to occasionally have taken a woman to his bed.
Regarding Helmut von Wangenheim, they had deliberated in extended sessions about his sentence. His deeds were known to most of the German officers and soldiers on trial. Von Wangenheim was under the protection of the German High Command was what many claimed as well as his counsel. He actively engaged in saving the children of Buchenwald. He had never indulged in any of the cruel, inhuman deeds of his fellow officers. Many times he had stepped in and prevented a child from being taken. Most notable was his saving of the child Célestine du Pléssis-Miller whom Götze had wanted to use as his sex toy. Von Wangenheim had stepped in and played a game of pretence. Later he organised a group of women who protected the children, especially girls. He had not wanted to know where the children were hidden in order that he could lawfully deny his ignorance as to their whereabouts. It had been discovered that there were several blocks where children were cared for by inmates, hidden from view, mostly, from the prying eyes of lustful soldiers.
Judge F. Winstone McAllister sentenced von Wangenheim to a year imprisonment. He argued that although Von Wangenheim had never touched any child, that he protected, taught and mentored a child in the camp and allowed that child to flourish in her musical endeavours, that he never indulged in the prostitution rings in the camp nor made himself guilty of stealing valuables belonging to the inmates, he was guilty by association.
Colonel Charles Miller, who sat in some of the trials, was glad that Von Wangenheim received only a light prison sentence. He had formed a liking for the quiet SS officer who had seemed to breathe a big sigh of relief. Charles sensed that the relief was not so much that his sentence was only a year, but that it was over.
Czechoslovakia May 8 1945, approaching Prague
They'd left Buchenwald, with Erikson and Muldoon of the 9th Infantry Division remaining behind and General Albert E. Brown moving with the Red Diamonds. Charles travelled in the second jeep as was his custom, with Johannes Elsevier driving. Longman sat in front while he and Compton sat in the back, their rifles across their laps.
They drove towards Czechoslovakia, occasionally encountering Germans who fled east, their resistance easily snuffed out.
When the convoy stopped for a break in their 300 mile journey, they received radio communication from Allied High Command that the Russians were approaching the city of Berlin. Germany was about to surrender.
They were on the alert as they drove through tree lined dirt roads. The hot temperatures had dried the grounds from the winter rains so that they kicked up a lot of dust. Charles was certain that the enemy could see them from a mile away.
"This is our final battle, soldiers," Miller said, aware that his voice could travel over the din of the vehicles.
"Not to worry, Colonel," Compton said, half kissing the scope on his rifle, "we'll kill those sons-of-bitches. Heard what went on in the courtroom, sir. They deserve nothing better than the treatment they dealt the poor inmates."
"Got that right, Beanpole. My sister's got two little girls. When I think what they did to children, I'm about ready to drive eighteen wheelers all over their goddam bodies. Eighteen wheelers in Washington State. Gotta love those logging trucks," Elsevier said. "Yeah, that be my job after the war."
"Longman, you?" Compton asked.
"Back to the ranch in Kentucky, wide open spaces, horses, cattle. Yep, that's me!"
"Me, too! Want to get out of uniform and wear Levi Strauss jeans permanently!"
"Don't put on them floppy hats and dungarees. You be looking like them - "
"Don't say it!" Compton barked.
"The colonel's going to be permanently in uniform. Gotta say, he makes dress uniform look good, what with all those ribbon racks and a medal the president himself is going to wrap around his neck."
"Shut up, Compton. The colonel's sitting right here. Say, Colonel, sir," asked Elsevier, "are you going to live in France or America?"
He didn't want to tell them to keep out of his business when all he'd heard from them was their business, their little stories. Besides, he'd gotten used to their easy banter.
"Both, I guess. There's a lot of paperwork when you marry a French or other national."
"Really? Do you speak French, sir?" asked Elsevier. "I speak Dutch."
"Of course I can speak and converse in French. I can write passable French. I speak to my daughter in French, although she is quick to tell me she speaks English really well - "
"That be one of the things I'll do when we get home," Longman said.
"I'm gonna go to college," said Compton. "Want to be clever like - "
"Alert!" Miller shouted suddenly and raised his hand. They slowed down dramatically. "Listen..."
They heard rustling among the trees. Miller saw something, a glint in the sun.
"Down! Fire!"
The entire A company jumped off and began finding positions behind the trucks. Bullets flew past them. Compton and Miller slinked ahead, followed by Riley and Herring. In the distance, they could see sand bags and German helmets popping up.
"Watch out!" Miller shouted again as a German fired his grenade launcher. The grenade whistled in a high trajectory before landing close to them. Miller pulled Compton out of the way, Riley doing the same with Herring as the grenade exploded. They were just outside the fatality radius of eleven yards, sustaining minor burns. Everyone scurried into new positions, firing as they slinked closer across the dirt road.
Then Miller saw something about a hundred and fifty yards up the road. A flash - the muzzle or scope lens of a rifle. All too familiar. They had to move and move fast! He saw the smoke puff, knowing a shot was fired. Miller knew Compton was on his right and that bullet was heading for the young corporal.
"Compton! Watch out!"
Instinctively Miller lunged in front of Compton, firing at the same time. The next moment his body slammed against the corporal. Stung by a searing, stabbing pain, he rocked as a second and third bullet hit him.
"Colonel! Goddammit!" Compton yelled. In a haze of pain, Miller touched his chest, watching with glazed eyes as blood dripped from his fingers, only dimly aware that the firing had stopped or died down.
Overpowering fire shot through his whole body. He groaned aloud, thinking hazily that he'd never felt pain so severe. There were hands pulling him up and they were shouting his name. He heard dimly, from very far off, "Cappy, Cappy! C'mon! Don't go dyin' on us! Don't - go - dyin' - on - us!"
But the pain terrorised him and he felt suddenly tired, like an old man at the end of his life. Was that where he was heading? To a grave dying of old age? He wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep forever, just close his eyes and sleep.
I should let Katrine know I'm too tired to get up here...
"Goddammit, Colonel! Open your goddam eyes and stay alive!"
But Colonel Charles Miller, his chest ablaze with fire, couldn't comply. He was too tired.
"Katrine" he managed to say her name.
Then he sank into the blessed abyss of oblivion.
Charles Anson Miller didn't know that in those very moments a ceasefire had been called. He didn't know that in that very moment Russian troops stormed Berlin and forced the Germans to surrender. He did not know that his men - those who had fought side by side with him since they landed at Utah Beach - wept openly as he was carried on a litter to the Red Cross ambulance.
He did not know that Compton and Longman rode with him in the ambulance, that Compton cried, "Goddammit, Colonel, I could never understand why you carried that goddam Caesar's Gallic Wars everywhere with you. Goddammit, man!"
END CHAPTER TWENTY