Anxiety swelled in the harbor with each minute that passed.
Rumors circulated that the German front had fallen two weeks ago. Temporary, I assured my fellow sailors. We were told the Russian forces had restored their medieval military order of “rape and pillage.” And now the vile Russians were closing in. Refugees, weary souls displaced from their homes, would throng toward the port, desperate to flee the Communists. There would be hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of them.
The German High Command had quickly organized a massive water evacuation. They called it Operation Hannibal, after one of the greatest military strategists in history. An enormous convoy of ships would be dispatched to the West. Ambulance trains loaded with wounded German soldiers barreled toward the ports. Goya, Ubena, Robert Ley, Urundi, General von Steuben, Hansa, Pretoria, Cap Arcona, Deutschland, and Wilhelm Gustloff—ships all designated for evacuation from various ports.
This would be my first-ever journey at sea. My maiden voyage had already presented its challenges. I noticed an unbecoming rash had appeared on my hands and in my armpits. I blamed the Communists.
The sailors continued to speak of evacuation plans. I sensed my input was needed.
“There is not enough time,” I remarked to one of my superiors. “To register and board hundreds of thousands within a matter of days, I don’t think it’s possible, sir.”
“You will make it possible” was the order.
I looked across the dock, imagining the scene. The entire population would be driven to the coast. The ports would be mayhem. German soldiers would have priority, of course. Desperate refugees would be selected, registered, and processed to board the ships. Thousands had already arrived in ox-driven carts piled high with their belongings. They were haggard, falling asleep in the snow. I saw a man so hungry he was eating a candle.
“Please, sailor. Help me,” they would plead as I walked by.
I would do something this time.
Maybe.
For some.
I sang my melodious list of enemies. Yu-go-slav!
I imagined myself home in Heidelberg when the war was over. Crowds of women and children would flock around me while I doled out oranges from burlap sacks.
Yes, Hannelore, it is dangerous. I have been selected for a very important mission to disinfect this land. But we heroes eat danger atop our porridge for breakfast. It is nothing, dear one.
Nothing. If the evacuation failed and the ports were bombed, more than half a million people would die.
A thundering boom echoed near the water. Someone screamed. Desperate. Panicked. Strangled with fear.
My fingers twitched. A tingle ran up my spine.
emilia
The Prussian knight walked ahead. He had secrets.
I had secrets too.
My legs ached, tired of walking. I missed school. I loved my desk, my teachers, the smell of freshly sharpened pencils waiting patiently in their box.
I had arrived at school that day, anxious for the math exam. Mama used to tease that I was all nature and numbers, like my father. As I approached the school yard I saw it. Our desks and chairs were stacked in the back of an open truck, our textbooks smoldering in a heap. One of my teachers ran toward me crying.
“Hurry, Emilia, go home. They’ve shut down the school.”
“But why?” I asked her, moving closer to the truck. “Wait, I have things in my desk.”
“No, run home, Emilia!” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.
The Nazis claimed I didn’t need an education. Polish schools were closed. Our desks and equipment were taken to Germany. Would a German girl open my desk and find my treasures inside?
The Nazis said the people of Poland would become serfs to the Germans. They thought we only needed to count and write our name. My father was part of the Lwów School of Mathematics. He would never agree with children not being taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. They had burned our books in the Polish language. But I had learned to read very young. They could never take that away from me.
I continued walking, thinking of food, rest, a soft bed, and a warm blanket. I would settle for hay and a potato. Snow was falling, making everything appear fresh. The white snow covered the dark truth. Pressed white linen over a scarred table, a crisp clean sheet over a stained mattress.
Nature.
That was something the war couldn’t take from me either. The Nazis couldn’t stop the wind and the snow. The Russians couldn’t take the sun or the stars.
I dropped back slightly and stepped into the trees, thinking I would feel better if I relieved myself. The knight continued walking. I was crouched on my heels when I saw it. A uniformed soldier slipped out of the trees behind the knight.
He had a gun.
He was pointing it.
I jumped up and screamed.
Bang.
florian
Bang.