Season of My Enemy, page 5
CHAPTER 4
Wolfgang Kloninger was not the first to spot the girl with the long brown braids heading toward them carrying the jug. A remark from one of the other men brought his attention to the one who looked so much like her older sister that there was no mistaking the relationship, except that the younger girl was only just beginning to bloom, while the young woman who drove the truck and tractor—who seemed to be running this farm—was fully matured, or as some of his men said, ripe for plucking. There was a general chuckle about that comment, and Leo Friedrickson had made a ribald remark loud enough for her to hear, though she clearly didn’t understand German. If she did, she might have at least stiffened her gait or given some indication that she’d heard. The American corporal had rebuked Leo, which was fine. Wolf didn’t like having to rebuke his men over such things. They’d been through enough. Even though Leo was only an Obergefreiter, a noncommissioned officer of lower rank, he was closer in age to Wolf than any of the others in his command. Besides, the men deserved a bit of sport these days, even if it was only in admiring a woman they could never approach. They were harmless. Wolf did notice, however, that Otto Maltzahn gave Rudolf Ebner a discreet jab in the ribs at the younger girl’s approach.
Rudy was the youngest of the bunch. Conscripted at seventeen, he’d yet to see his nineteenth birthday. Rudy hustled forward to relieve the girl of the heavy jug.
The girl’s face turned a pretty shade of pink, though she made a clearly concerted effort not to look at Rudy. Then the older sister spoke curtly, and the younger one spun on her heels for the house. She was likely told to leave the jug and get away from them. It might not have come out just like that, but the tone of voice and expression on the woman’s face made it clear. He reached for an apple in his lunch bag and discreetly let his study rove to the woman. She’d tied a handkerchief onto her head, but long chocolate-brown strands escaped the tangled knot of hair above her collar. Her eyes were brown as acorns and warm when she looked at one of her family members. Not so when she looked their way, which was seldom.
He polished the apple on his shirtsleeve. “Do not get ideas about these women.” Wolf spoke just loudly enough to be heard by the seven other men. He glanced at the corporal who was also within hearing. The man nodded approval and walked a few feet away, giving them space to get comfortable on the grass with their sack lunches.
They stretched out on the ground with some murmurs and grunts. He couldn’t blame them for having wayward thoughts. There was a time he welcomed such interests himself. At home. Not here in this foreign land where nothing could come of such things.
Leo nodded agreement. “They are not worth wasting your imagination.” He unwrapped a thin sandwich from its waxed paper. The disdain in his voice made it clear Leo remembered that the Americans thought themselves superior. The man’s gaze, nevertheless, rose from beneath his dark eyebrows to rest upon the pretty woman who directed them. Her mussed appearance with dirt smudging her chin couldn’t hide the sun-kissed tone of her skin or the cocoa brown of her almond eyes. Her men’s overalls and cotton blouse did little to camouflage enticing curves as she sat on the tractor or stepped into the truck. Now and again, she would walk ahead of them into the field or follow behind, bending to check the condition of the vines or pods.
Wolf occasionally found himself enjoying the sight as well. He had no one waiting for him in Germany. There had been several women he’d shared dinner with over the years or with whom he’d enjoyed a stroll in the park, but none of them struck his fancy for long. One young woman worked as a file clerk. Another served his coffee at the little shop he walked to for a breakfast roll each morning. Once his mother had invited a woman for dinner with hopes that Wolf might find her sweet and attractive. She was that. But most of her time was devoted to the Protestant Women’s Auxiliary, and while they performed many honorable tasks, her work had little in common with Wolf’s interests.
Looking at this American woman now stirred the same thoughts. She was pleasing to admire, but only for her looks and work ethic. He knew nothing else about her and never would.
He tossed away his apple core and finished his sandwich. Then he brushed bread crumbs off his shirt front, which seemed pointless when he looked down at the dirt and sweat stains covering him. With a sigh, he stretched back on the ground and clasped his hands beneath his head. Wisps of white clouds drifted beneath a sky as blue as any he’d ever seen. He nestled his head, imagining for a moment he was in the park a few blocks from his flat, listening to the chirp of birds and the fluttering pages of a book beside him. But instead of birds, he heard the murmur of his men commenting on the work and the farm, and instead of the fluttering of pages, he heard the squeak and smack of a screen door on the house. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, only to find that the woman hadn’t really left his mind. A few minutes later, her voice beckoned, and the corporal called them back to work.
Wolf sat up feeling unusually rested. He rose to his feet and glanced about. The younger girl had come back outdoors, this time with the mother beside her. They carried two more glass jugs of sparkling water, which they set on the ground a few feet away from his men.
There was an abundance of water. The years in Africa sometimes made him believe he would never have enough fresh water again. He got in line to fill his canteen.
The older woman spoke to the girl, who nodded and turned back to the house. A few of the boys looked on. That girl wouldn’t stay young forever, but hopefully by the time she grew up, he and his boys would all be back home in Germany carrying on lives of their own.
Leo had water dribbling down his chin. He corked his canteen and strolled past the line of workers toward the tractor. The woman had gone around to the other side. Leo laid a hand on the big back wheel. Wolf couldn’t hear what he said, but he was speaking to the woman. Then he patted the wheel and walked back, half a grin on his cocky face.
She climbed up, and her brother cranked the flywheel. The mother got into the truck and started the engine.
“Let’s go.” Corporal Taft thumbed to the transport truck. They all obeyed.
Once seated inside, Wolf turned his head toward Leo. “What did you say to her?”
“I pointed out that I was surprised at a woman driving such a piece of machinery so well. She could not understand, obviously. I admired the tractor. I wish I was the one driving it.”
“We are not allowed.”
Leo shrugged. “It is not as though we could use it to escape. Pursuers could run fast enough to catch us.”
“If the corporal didn’t shoot us before we got to the end of the field,” Fritz Von Hecker said.
Wolf leaned back and closed his eyes. “We would be wise to remember that.”
Fritz let out a sigh. He seemed the most likely to try such an attempt. While all of them were duty bound to escape if given the opportunity, Fritz had the strongest desire. He spoke frequently of missing his girl back home, and he worried constantly that harm might come to her and her family so close to the French border, should the Allies break through the line. He was a restless sort.
The truck hit a bump and lurched them all toward the ceiling. Wolf’s eyes flew open, and he glanced again at Leo. “Did your family live on a farm?”
Leo shook his head. “No, but I’ve operated my share of machinery. This American-made tractor doesn’t look much different to me than anything I’ve seen.”
“You admire it though.”
Leo shrugged. “I would enjoy anything other than riding in the back of this stifling truck smelling of the inside of a rotting pea pod.”
Wolf grinned. “Tonight, even a shower under a cold hose would feel good.”
The other men concurred.
“I wonder how many kilos of peas we’ve already loaded onto the wagons today.” Hermann Claus spoke up from the farthest corner. He was a brilliant math student, one of Wolf’s best back at the secondary school in Heidelberg.
“Why don’t you figure it out?”
Hermann tilted his head and squinted one eye. His lips moved wordlessly. Otto finally threw his hat at him to confuse his concentration.
“Two thousand seven hundred kilograms, I estimate,” Hermann announced with a smile at not having been disturbed by Otto at all. He shot Otto’s hat back.
Horst Albrecht rolled his left shoulder and rubbed it. “I feel every gram.”
A smile tugged on Wolf’s lips. “Everyone will sleep well tonight.” Fritz sneered at Otto. “If you snore all night again, I’ll suffocate you with my pillow.”
“Try it, and Private Schorr will rescue me. He sleeps soundly but wakes up at anything unusual.” Lanky and thin himself, Otto grinned at Schorr, the strongest of them all. He was built like a panzer, all muscle. For him, pitching peavines appeared to be all in a normal day’s work. “He knows about farming. I bet he could drive that tractor.”
Private Schorr shrugged noncommittally, but his slow smile agreed. He’d been raised on a farm in Germany. For all his size and strength, he was quiet and shy. He was quick to obey an order, and Wolf never had to issue him discipline. He’d been a student for a short time, just a year before going back to the farm with his father, only for the war to take him away from home again.
Unlike the rest of the men, Rudy, Otto, and Leo had never been Wolf’s students at one time or another in Heidelberg. The others had been in his classes. They were the main reason Wolf had enlisted. He wanted to serve his country, naturally, but once the school began emptying of young men, he determined that the best way to serve was to go with them into the battles where he might continue to be an influence in their lives. They were his boys, after all. He’d come to know them and care about them and their families. Some would say he felt a calling to go with them. That might be the root of it, but he was always afraid to presume so. For if, indeed, he had a calling to go with his boys to lead and protect them, he had failed. Some of his students lay dead in the mud in France. Others were missing or killed in the Africa campaign. Still more were captured and imprisoned like these few who remained and felt almost like sons or younger brothers. His only comfort was that he had not let them go alone. He could still look out for these four—Horst, Richard, Fritz, and Hermann—and even Rudy, Otto, and Leo, if only slightly.
There were more like them back at Camp Barron. Men who’d been captured and needed a strong figure to look to for fortitude when they could not find their own within themselves. He would be that rod of iron for them if he could. Yet there were times when his own strength and courage felt depleted. Days he moved forward only out of some animalistic drive not born of any human instinct as grand as hope, but only the basest urge to survive. And that instinct had led each of them to this place.
As the wheels of the truck rumbled over the dirt road beneath them, and the canvas brushed against their backs in the darkened enclosure, he felt again the insides of a lorry groaning and roaring over the rocky desert ground. Weeks and months of flying from one place to another behind their indefatigable Field Marshal Rommel, only to end in stelungskrieg—static warfare—again and again, hunkered in trenches and rifle pits, crawling amid barbed wire and camouflaged machine gun nests. They had tricked the Allies many times but eventually stared defeat in the face by the sheer force of the numbers against them. Even so, they had not committed the atrocities of war he’d heard about. They had fought valiantly, and their surrendering troops walked out with their heads held high.
The truck jarred violently against another rut that sent them bouncing off their seats and reaching for something to hold on to, but just as quickly the ride veered and smoothed out. In another few minutes, gears downshifted and they arrived at the vinery.
Even the heat of the sun felt good as fresh air met them outside the canvas-covered vehicle. As some took pitchforks in hand to unload, Leo and Otto climbed to the top of the peas stacked on the wagon to push them free. The giant box-like machine that sorted the peas from the vines created a racket, and on the other end, the spent vines were already being hauled away to the rancid, growing mountain that oozed fermented green juice.
Before long, the job was finished. The men climbed into the waiting truck, except for Wolf, who walked up to the guard. “Perhaps tomorrow we can have another guard to ride with us and open up the sides.”
“I already plan to look into it, Hauptmann Kloninger. Miss O’Brien has requested an extra guard as well.”
“Danke.” He nodded. “Corporal Taft,” he said, stopping the man before he turned away. “O’Brien … I have heard you say this name. That is the name of the family for whom we are doing this work?”
Corporal Taft looked him over. They’d gotten along well these past days since arriving at Camp Barron. Wolf had tried to show himself compliant. He hoped that the guard had come to trust him enough to give out such a small piece of information. “Ja.”
“Danke,” he repeated, and hoisted himself into the truck.
The return drive was quieter. The long day and heat had caught up to all of them, and they mostly kept to their thoughts on the way back to the farm.
O’Brien. Fraülein O’Brien. Wolf tried a number of first names, but none would match. Greta O’Brien. Susanne O’Brien. Perhaps … Clarice O’Brien. No. No German names. What Irish names did he recall? Perhaps not Irish at all. She was American. Elizabeth O’Brien. Mabel O’Brien. She was definitely not a Mabel. Marian perhaps. Lady Marian O’Brien. That combination brought an inward smile as he conjured her into the Robin Hood tale.
“Hauptmann, you look content, like when you study,” Hermann said.
Wolf glanced at him. “For now. I am restful. It has been a long time since we’ve been so.”
“In body perhaps,” said Leo. “Can our minds and souls ever be restful until we are home again?”
“We will be home again. Do not worry on that account. The Americans have kept to the rules of the Geneva Convention. When the war ends, we will all return to our families.”
“And hopefully, they are waiting.” Fritz stared at his hands clasped over his knees. He clearly was speaking of the family he hoped for and the girl he wished to wed.
“Have you heard from Emma?”
Fritz nodded. “Not often enough. And she forgets that I cannot tell her much of where we are. She begs for answers that are sure to be censored.”
“But she is well?”
“For now. She and her family are close to the border, and they can hear the fighting at times. I fear that if the enemy pushes any farther, their home and village will be overrun. I do not like feeling afraid”—he cast a sharp glance over the other men— “but I do, and I admit it.”
“It is no weakness to worry for those you love.”
Fritz lifted grateful eyes toward Wolf, then lowered them to his hands again.
Another two rows of peas were cut by the time they returned, but only one had been pitched into a windrow. Fraülein O’Brien and her brother were walking toward them across the field, carrying pitchforks. Wolf jerked his head at Fritz and Horst, who hurried forward to relieve them of their implements and take over the job. As the others collected their own tools to work with, Wolf waited for the pair to draw close.
“Fraülein O’Brien.” He dipped his head in greeting.
She startled. “Captain Kloninger.” She cast an uneasy glance at her brother. “Captain, this is my brother Jerry.”
This close, Wolf could see the flecks of dirt in her suntanned cheeks and make out the pupils of her dark brown eyes. Even that her lips were chapped. Her brother Jerry had the same skin tone and dark eyes. His nutty-brown hair parted to the side, but wispy bangs had difficulty staying off his brow. Jerry looked younger, but in height he’d shot ahead of his elder sister.
Wolf inclined his head again, wishing he could converse with them and ask about the work they might be expected to do in the days ahead. He also wanted to thank them for the job. They were still the enemy, but at least his men were allowed to breathe the fresh air and walk outside the barbed wire perimeter of their compound nearly every day. He could write to his parents, assuring them that he was healthy and able to remain active here, words certain to comfort them.
She moved on, but a backward glance his way showed her surprise at being addressed. What other thoughts did she harbor behind those dark, almond eyes? Wolf retrieved a pitchfork with an inward smile.
They ate supper an hour later, brought by a truck from the camp. It was a lukewarm gruel served by a camp cook and another guard. At least real meat swam in it, and it was filling and served with soft rolls. They were even offered a second helping. As a strand of beef caught between Wolf’s teeth, he remembered the months of deprivation in Africa. While the Allies regularly ate tinned fruit, vegetables, and meat, his men suffered with dried vegetables and no fruit. The tins of meat the Italians provided were given much leery speculation as to its type. Now they never went hungry or thirsty.
As he took a long draught of water from his canteen, knowing it could easily be filled again, he recalled leading a convoy of lorries five hundred kilometers across the desert to bring back fresh water that had to then be rationed out, all while skirting air raids from encroaching Allied armies.
He took a second long drink.
Leo eyed him as he passed by, heading toward the already turned row. Wolf waved to the Obergefreiter—a rank close to the American Corporal Taft’s—to join him. Putting a space between them, they waited beside the line of vines. A moment later, the O’Briens’ truck drew up to the field with an empty wagon. Fraülein O’Brien was behind the wheel. She looked at Wolf as she pulled up beside the row. She glanced at Leo too, and he gave her a nod. Then, together, they started loading while she drove on slowly, keeping the wagon abreast of their progress.
The exertion felt good, even so late in the day with so much energy spent behind them. Wolf’s meal had given him strength, and he felt its release like fuel burning with life. He huffed and tossed, huffed and tossed. Leo caught his energy, and the two worked in tandem while seeming almost to compete. Leo’s quick grin indicated as much. As they neared the end of the row, they increased their speed even more, and every now and again Wolf glanced at Fraülein O’Brien’s reflection in her side mirror, and she returned his glance.
