The Unlikely Allies (12 page)

An abrupt knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he called. When his father entered with a stern look on his face, he said, “Why, Father, what is it?”

“This just came for you. I thought you might want to see it now.”

Derek took the envelope, which had been opened. “You opened it?”

“Yes, I did. I hope you don’t mind.”

Derek opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. One glance at it revealed his worst fears. It was his official order from the army to report for duty.

“You did this, Father?”

“I had nothing to do with it, but it had to come. All young men your age are needed to serve the Fatherland. You know that, Derek.”

He did know this very well, but the thought of going into the army was like a shock of cold water.

“I have been ordered to go to Spain.”

“Yes, I saw that. Actually, you will be on my staff.”

Derek could hardly believe his ears. Surely it would be awkward to serve under his own father. He quickly reviewed mentally what he knew of the present political situation. He had followed the Civil War in Spain only in a cursory fashion. He knew that General Franco was trying to overthrow the present government. Franco was a fascist and had enlisted the aid of Mussolini, and Hitler decided that Germany must add her might in that struggle. On December 1, 1936, a battalion of five thousand German troops had landed at Cadiz.

His father interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll leave the day after tomorrow. I suggest you get ready.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be ready.” He saw the look of satisfaction on his father’s face.
He thinks I’ll forget Rachel, but he’s wrong about that.

“Good! We are going mainly as observers, however, that will probably change. In all likelihood you will see some action there.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “A change will be good for you, Derek. You and I will spend some time together. We haven’t done that for a long time.”

We haven’t ever done that,
Derek thought, but he said, “Yes, sir, that will be pleasant.” He watched as his father left the room, then picked up his pen again.

I have just received some terrible news. . . .

CHAPTER NINE

Combat

“Sit up, Dopey!”

The small fuzzy dog with mournful eyes promptly sat down and stared up at Derek Grüber. Its red tongue lulled out like a necktie, and its long skinny tail beat a tattoo on the floor.

Derek laughed and said, “Shake hands.” He put his hand out, but Dopey simply licked it. “I said
shake hands,
you stupid dog.”

The dog immediately lay down and rolled over and then came to its feet barking in a staccato fashion, pleased at what it had done.

“That’s the dumbest dog I’ve ever seen, Derek.”

Lieutenant Frederick Möhr was lying on his bunk looking at a magazine. He was a short, dapper individual whose uniforms were always spotless and pressed with razor-sharp creases. He disliked army life, for he had been born into a wealthy family and had enjoyed every pleasure that money could buy until he had been conscripted into the army. He turned his attention from a picture of a scantily dressed blonde to watch Derek attempt to teach the dog new tricks. “It always does some trick but never what you tell him to.”

“It’s not a German dog. That’s for sure.”

“That’s right. If it were a dachshund, it would instantly obey every command.” Möhr tossed the magazine on the floor and sat up, leaning on his elbows, his hand cupping his chin. He noticed Derek smiling rather wistfully and asked, “What
are you thinking about, Derek? You don’t smile all that often.”

“Just about a good time I had once.”

“With a girl, I bet.”

He nodded.

“Tell me about her. Did she look like this?” Möhr grabbed the magazine and held up the picture of the alluring blonde.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Too bad. This is what a woman should look like.”

Derek laughed. Despite their differences, he liked Frederick. The two of them had come to Spain together and had both served on his father’s staff for the past several months. Möhr was an amiable fellow, somewhat too in love with himself to please Derek, but the two got along well.

“You never saw a woman you didn’t like.”

“They’re all beautiful,” Frederick said. He stood up and walked to the window, then stretched and yawned. “I wonder if we’ll go to the front today.”

“I hope not.”

Frederick turned and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. He found Derek Grüber a fascinating subject. He could not understand him at all. When they had been put together as roommates, he had blessed his stars.
What luck to be a roommate of the son of the commanding officer, General Wilhelm Grüber.
It had come as a shock to discover that Derek had no military ambition whatsoever. Derek simply fulfilled his duties. He never presumed upon his relationship to the commanding officer, and Möhr had not been able to profit by it. He liked Derek a great deal but had been unable to persuade him to go out and socialize with the willing young Spanish ladies. Many of them were loyalists and would spit when the soldiers of General Franco or his German and Italian allies passed, but some were more reasonable.

“Why don’t we go into town and see if we can find some female companionship?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll just stay here and play with Dopey.”

“You’re gonna play with that stupid dog instead of meeting one of these beautiful
se
ñ
oritas?
What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like women?”

“Not the kind we’d be likely to run into. Speak, Dopey.”

Dopey promptly sat down and offered its paw. Derek laughed and shook it. “That’s a good dog. You’ll get it all straightened out one of these days.”

Möhr ambled over and looked down at the dog. “That dog is a real loser, Derek. I don’t see what you like about him.”

“I rather like losers.”

“You like
what?
”

“I like losers.”

“You are absolutely out of your mind! Nobody likes losers.”

Derek leaned back in his chair, and Dopey hopped up in his lap. He began to stroke the dog’s head. “Sometimes people that seem to be losers are really winners.”

Möhr shook his head with exasperation. “That’s exactly the sort of wild thing you’d say! I never knew a poet before, and I don’t want to know any others. Why don’t you just say things that make sense?”

“You don’t think some apparent losers are really winners?”

“No, I don’t. You can tell a winner by looking at him.”

“I can prove that you’re wrong.”

“Prove it, then.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever read the Bible.”

“Certainly I have! Do you think I’m an atheist?”

“You remember John the Baptist?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you remember Herod, the king who had him put to death?”

“Yes. I know that story.”

“Well, everybody around at that time would have looked at John the Baptist, hauled out of prison to get his head cut off, and said, ‘Man, that guy’s a real loser!’ And they would have thought that Herod was the winner, because after all,
he got to watch the woman dance, and he got by with murdering John.”

“And you’re telling me that John the Baptist was the winner and Herod was the loser?”

“When they went to meet God in judgment, I wouldn’t have wanted to stand in Herod’s shoes. Would you, Frederick?”

Möhr stared at his roommate. He admired the tall, handsome young man who had everything—except common sense. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy at all. The only difference is that Herod was the winner for a little while, but John the Baptist is the winner for all eternity. Poor old Herod! I would think he’d have a hard time explaining to God why he killed one of His servants.”

Möhr shook his head and pulled a bottle of whiskey off of a shelf fastened to the wall. He took a healthy swallow and then gasped and stamped his foot. “Boy, that’s strong stuff they make around here! You want some?”

“No, thanks.”

Möhr laughed. He came over holding the bottle and sat down in front of Derek. He braced himself and took another large swallow. When he got his breath back, he said, “It’s an education living with you, Derek. You could have anything you want. You’re the son of our general! You could probably be a major by now if you’d put your mind to it.”

“I don’t care about being a major.”

“You see? You’re like Dopey there. You’re not very bright.”

Derek stopped stroking Dopey’s head and put him on the floor. “Tell me, Frederick, do you enjoy what we’re doing here?”

“Enjoy it? I haven’t thought about it. I just try to get by.”

“We’ve seen some pretty rough things. You remember Guernica?”

“Sure, I remember. What about it?”

“What’d you think about it?”

The question made Frederick nervous. “It was pretty bad, I’ll admit.”
He took another drink. “I’ve thought a lot of times about those poor kids blown to bits by German bombs.”

Guernica was a Spanish town of about five thousand people. It had become a military target, and the German air force dropped tons of bombs into the crowded city on a busy market day. The planes had kept coming until sixteen hundred people were killed, many of them women and children, and hundreds more wounded.

Derek had gone in after the attack with his company led by his father, and Möhr had been at his side. He had not been able to sleep for weeks thinking of those poor women and children and old people who had died for no reason.

“I wasn’t proud of what happened at Guernica,” Derek said. “I don’t think anybody should be.”

“Don’t tell your father that!”

Derek stared at the smaller man. “I’ve already told him. As a matter of fact, I don’t think we have any business being here in Spain at all.”

The struggle in Spain had begun in 1936 when a fascist-led force commanded by General Franco had begun fierce fighting against the republic. The battle had seesawed back and forth. The common people of Spain had fought the fascists with every weapon they could find, though many had never used a rifle in their lives. Franco and those who came to help, including Germany and Italy, had not reckoned on the determination of the people to fight for their democratic rights. They had been shocked when anti-Nazis from all over the world, including twenty-seven hundred Americans, had come to Spain to form the International Brigade. They had fought valiantly, more than once stopping the fascists’ advances, but the military might of the German and Italian forces had proved impossible to stop. The end was in sight, and now it was only a matter of time until Spain would become another totalitarian nation.

“I believe you’re really for the peasants, aren’t you, Derek?” Lieutenant Möhr never knew what answer his friend would
have given him, for at that moment the door opened suddenly, and Captain Fritz Heilman stepped inside, announcing, “We’re taking the field. The enemy has broken through, and we’ve got to stop them. Come with me.”

****

When Derek reached the line of battle, the machine-gun fire rattled, and the sound of artillery echoed with a dreadful finality. Möhr had taken the right wing, and Derek had stayed with Captain Heilman. Now he saw the German infantry falling back in a ragged fashion.

“We’ve got to stop them!” Heilman screamed, waving a saber. Derek wondered if he thought he could stop bullets and artillery with it. “Grüber, you take the right wing. Go to every man. If you see a man retreating, shoot him!”

“Yes, my Captain,” Derek said. He had no intention of shooting any German soldiers, but he saw that the men were indeed in a bad way. The enemy was in force, and for the next half hour Derek moved back and forth, urging his men to conceal themselves to keep from getting mowed down by the machine guns. He heard the line of bullets around his head, and once he felt one of them pluck at the shoulder of his uniform. He looked down to see that it had ripped a neat gash, but it did not seem real to him.

Like most Germans, Derek had wondered how he would react in battle, if he would be one of those who would run. He hated military life, but he found that he could function, and in the heat of battle he remained cool.

“Lieutenant, the captain—he’s wounded!”

A corporal was crouched behind a broken piece of concrete blown up by one of the mortar shells. His eyes were wild, and he was gesturing out in the open space where the action was hot and furious.

Derek turned quickly and saw Captain Heilman dragging himself along like a wounded insect. He was completely without cover, and bullets were kicking up dust all around him.

Derek did not hesitate. Leaving cover, he ran straight toward the captain, unable to hear the corporal shouting, “Lieutenant, you can’t help him! He’s gone!”

Derek ran, crouching low, firing his pistol, and saw two of the enemy drop. When he reached the captain, he saw that blood covered the front of his uniform, but he picked him up and started back.
I’ll never make it!
He ran as fast as he could with the captain in his arms. He was strong and could carry the captain easily, who was rather small. He heard the bullets ripping, and once he felt as if someone had run a red-hot poker along his side, but he ignored it. When he reached the wreckage of the demolished barn, he dodged behind it and set the man down. He turned to find Colonel Dieter watching him with shock on his face. “That was a brave thing, Lieutenant Grüber.”

“He’s hurt pretty badly, Colonel. I’d better get him to the medics.”

“Are you hit?”

Derek touched his left side and found it bloody. “It’s not serious.”

“Have them take care of you.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder. “That was well done. I will see that your father hears of this!”

****

Derek felt ridiculous standing in the line of men receiving military honors. His father had gone down the line awarding medals, and now he stood before Derek. Derek heard him speak the words that went with the ceremony and felt his father’s hands as he fastened the iron cross to his jacket. When his father put out his hand, he took it, and General Wilhelm Grüber suddenly stepped outside of the iron discipline he nearly always maintained. “I cannot tell you, my son, how proud I am of you.”