Before the Storm by James D. Shipman

Author:James D. Shipman [Shipman, James D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

A Royal Welcome

Wednesday, October 13, 1948

8:18 p.m.

Bavaria, Germany

The men rushed forward, pistols at the ready. Sara reached reflexively for her pistol, but she’d left it on the kitchen counter and it was out of reach. “Max!” she shouted in vain, for there was nothing he could do. She was seized with iron hands and a hood was thrown roughly over her head. She heard Max shouting and trying to resist. There was a sound of something hard thudding against flesh and bone, and all was quiet.

Hands grabbed her arms and she was violently jerked to her feet. She was half walked, half dragged out of the cottage. Her bare feet stung as they pulled her through the snow. She was tossed into the seat of some sort of vehicle and then shoved into position. Men moved into seats on both sides of her, wedging her tightly in. She heard an engine fire up and then the car lurched into motion. Her body shook. She called out for Max again, but a harsh voice warned her into silence.

The car rumbled along for a long time, then stopped. When it started again the ride was smooth. She realized they must be on the highway. She wondered where they were being taken and why they hadn’t simply shot them in the cottage. She thought about torture, something she was not sure she could endure. Odessa must have many former Nazi interrogators, and she knew full well what she might endure at their hands. As for Max, she had to pray they did not know he was a Jew. If they did, she couldn’t imagine what they might do to him.

Calm. She couldn’t think about these things. She strained her ears, listening for any snippet of conversation—or just any clue that the car might make as it moved along. But there was nothing. The men weren’t talking and the car movement simply confirmed what she already knew, that they’d returned to the highway. If Max was in the car with her, she had no indication. She wondered if they’d killed him in the cottage, and she was the only survivor of their little group. If so, the pressure to obtain information from her would be immense . . .

The car ride seemed to take hours. Of course, there was no way to gauge the time. She was trying to steel herself, preparing for what would come. How could this organization operate like this, inside of a democratic nation? But she knew the answer only too well. There were plenty of Germans who resented the new government and the occupation by the Americans. They were ready, in secret, to give money, lodging, and more, to Odessa—a group they saw as freedom fighters.

The vehicle slowed and turned onto what sounded like a gravel road. It was bumpier again and the car proceeded slowly. She felt like they were proceeding up an incline, and she swayed to the left and right as the road curved. The vehicle lurched to a stop but the engine continued to idle.

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