Читать книгу The Grandfather - Jesse Thomas Becker - Страница 3

November 30th, 1945

Drip drop, drip drop. Water was leaking through the cracks of stone and echoing through the cavernous room. There was no light. The only way the vastness of the room was understood was by the echo of the water ricocheting off the walls in nature’s most primitive form of radar. It could have been a cave until another sound echoed from the walls: a sniffle and cough. There were people in the room.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” a voice screeched, quivering in the darkness. The words echoed and eclipsed the sound of dripping water. The man’s words were forced. They were strong in sound but labored due to injury or sickness or both.

No response, just the echo of the water.

Again the strained voice spoke. “Hello, my name is…”

Suddenly, the loud sound of a metal door unlocking overtook and muffled the man’s voice. There was a deafening sound of creaking metal as the heavy door swung open. It shone a light on the man’s face, causing him to squint with pain. Two German SS soldiers rushed in and grabbed the man, with his hands and feet chained.

The man screamed, “NOOOO!”

He was scared. He kicked and fought, but his gaunt figure could not overcome the two large soldiers forcing him to his feet.

He was dirty, with cuts and fresh bruises on his face and other exposed skin. He appeared to be suffering from malnutrition. He was unkempt; his hair had not been cut and his chin had not been shaved for weeks.

The soldiers grabbed the man and forced him to the door like a rag doll. His physical condition did not allow him much resistance and the men pulled him out of the room with ease. They forced him down a hall and sat him in a chair and locked his feet and chained them to the metal chain around his waist. The men stood by the door.

Soon two other men walked in. Both these men had identical uniforms with black trousers tucked into their black leather boots, a khaki shirt, a black tie and black leather jackets with the Nazi insignia on the chest pocket, and a black belt with a metal buckle with a Danziger. Both had a black rhomboid patch with SS in silver stitching outlined on both the right and the left side of the collar. One officer had a rhomboid patch with two leaves on it, while the other officer had a similar patch with just one leaf on it in silver stitching. The man with two leaves was older, in his mid to late 40s, with dark eyes and heavy lines on his face as if he had been squinting in the sun or scowling for many years. No wrinkle lines associated with pleasure were on his face, just dark lines of displeasure, with eyes that matched. The other officer was in his mid to late 20s, with a clean-shaven face with no stand-out facial characteristics that would have set him apart from any other SS officer in the 3rd Reich. He was 6 foot with blond hair and blue eyes.

The older officer spoke in German with the younger officer for a brief moment, then the younger officer kicked the man chained to a chair and began to speak in English with a very thick accent, as though he had to have the accent because if he were to speak English without a distinct German accent, it wouldn’t be acceptable.

“What is your name?”

The man, looking in pain and sick, did not answer.

The young SS officer was not amused. He asked again but louder, “What is your name?”

The man did not lookup. He did not answer.

The young officer said again, but standing even closer to the prisoner, “WHAT IS YOUR NAME!” Still, the man did not answer. The young man raised the rod he had in his hand and smacked the prisoner on the face, splitting his lower lip open. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME!” as he struck him again

The man, now holding back groans of pain while the cut on his face leaked blood as red as rose petals down his neck, did not answer. The young SS officer smirked disgustedly at the prisoner and walked over to the older officer and spoke in German for a bit. He returned calmer and spoke to the prisoner calmly in the thick German accent.

“We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to know your name and rank so we can put you in the proper POW camp.”

The prisoner looked up at the young officer and did not show any signs of acting as he would respond. His face did not show any emotion related to what the officer was saying but his eyes looked at the young officer with the intensity of a headlight and spoke stronger than words could that he would never talk. He did not say a word. His eyes just screamed out that he would not capitulate. And he sniffled and spat a mixture of blood, mucus, and teeth fragments on the floor at the officer’s feet, splashing onto his nicely waxed boots.

The young officer looked down and saw that the spit had hit his shoe and laughed. He slowly turned around and shrugged his shoulders as though he had given up, then suddenly turned back with the rod in his hand raised and quickly stuck the prisoner across the face three times. The prisoner slumped in his chair; he was now bleeding quite profusely from the cuts on his face. He managed to gain what little strength he had to sit up. He groaned and spat blood and pieces of teeth on the floor at the SS officer’s feet again. He looked up with hate and determination in his eyes. He did not smile but his eyes just glared back at the officer, declaring with his eyes: is that all you got?

The young officer then turned and walked back to the older officer who was sitting a meter away, just where the light of the lamp was fading and just providing enough light on his face to illuminate the lower half of his face. He spoke very firmly in German to the young SS officer. He then unclipped the handgun out of the holster on his right side and cocked it and handed it to the young officer. The prisoner saw this and started to squirm in his chair.

The young officer looked the older man in the eye with disbelief. He swallowed and readjusted his posture and cricked his neck readying himself for what he was prepared to do. He took the gun from the man’s hand in a smooth transfer, as it was obvious this was not his first time the older officer had ever handed him a gun.

The young officer walked over and held the gun to the prisoner’s temple. The cold steel of the barrel touching his skin made the prisoner recoil and shiver in fear.

He screamed, “No!!!” but as the words left his mouth, the gun fired. BOOM! The sound resounded around the room and through the cavernous halls of the prison. The prisoner tensed and squirmed as the bullet entered his skull. Blood gushed like a faucet from the man’s wound as he slumped over, eyes open with the same intensity gleaming from them like a headlight. But there was no confidence in them now, just emptiness. Lifelessness. Death.

The officer spoke to the two German guards standing by the door in a rushed and impatient tone, “Nehmen Sie diesen Leichnam und bringen Sie ihn mit den anderen Gefangenen zurück in die Zelle. Sagen Sie ihnen, dass Widerstand nicht akzeptabel ist, und schnappen Sie sich einen anderen, um ihn zu verhören.“

(“Take this corpse and put him back in the cell with the other prisoners. Tell them that resistance is not acceptable and grab me another to interrogate.”)

The two guards looked at each other with confusion, and then the one closest to the officer spoke, “Verzeihung, Sir, aber wir können nur Deutsch. Wie können wir den amerikanischen Gefangenen das sagen?”

(“Pardon, sir, but we only know German. How can we tell the American prisoners this?” )

The officer realized what he had asked was out of the question but still wanted his orders followed. He frowned and spoke firmly, “Holen Sie sich Mikka Bakker. Er kann Englisch.” (“Go get Mikka Bakker. He knows English.” )

The guards removed the lifeless body with blood still oozing out of the small entrance hole, and, as they passed the officer who had shot the man, the other side of the skull was displayed, pouring blood out of a gigantic chasm that had occurred when the bullet and energy that came with it had ruptured the skull, spraying brain blood with it across the room. The man holding the gun just smiled as they removed the body, and handed the gun back to the older officer.

The men carried the body by the arms down the hall, the man’s heels dragging on the concrete floors, making an echoing sound when the rubber sole would catch the edge of the new concrete flooring. They reached the heavy metal door, unlocking the metal lock with the same loud echoing response, which startled the men in the pitch-black room.

The guards entered, lifting the man up with what little energy they had left from dragging his large frame down the hall, and threw him on the floor. His body made a resounding slam, as only a dead body with drained muscles and bones can make it as it hits the hard unforgiving floor. Several of the men gasped. There were 10 men in the room, who were still trying to adjust their eyes to the light that had been abruptly turned on in the pitch-black dungeon.

The guards stood over the body and the short one closest to the men shouted, “Dies passiert, wenn Sie nicht kooperieren,”(“This is what happens when you don’t cooperate.” ), and turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door, leaving the light on for just a few seconds to let all the men look at the body. Then there was the sound of a light being switched off and then absolute darkness once again.

From the dark, a raspy voice with a southern twang struggled to speak. “Why the hell they kill the new guy?!”

Another voice from the dark spoke. “What kind of people do this?”

On the other side of the room, they could hear a man crying but trying hard to hold back his emotions.

“Is that you, Joe?” said the man with the southern accent.

On the opposite side of the room, Joe replied, “Nah, Tex. I’m over here. I’m fine. I don’t know why they killed the new guy. They are just evil, trying to break our resolve. I don’t know who is crying but hold strong, soldier. You hear those bombs in the background?” He paused for the men to listen, but all they could hear was the echoing of dripping water.

“That is the sound of the allied forces coming to rescue us and show these Kraut bastards who’s boss. Stay strong and don’t let them break your will.”

At that moment, a young officer with a similar uniform to the man who had shot the soldier in the temple opened the door, turned on the light, and walked into the room.

He was tall, nothing particular or distinctive about this young officer, just like all the other 3rd Reich officers: tall, blue-eyed, nicely shaven, with short slicked-back blond hair. His eyes were not like the other officer, though. They were not angry and filled with hate. This was a junior SD officer, Mikka Bakker. When he walked into the room, he looked down and saw the dead body and his eyes could not hold back the horror they were witnessing. Although his face did not show emotion, like the good soldier he was, he couldn’t help but take a second look, and he stumbled upon the first few words he was about to speak.

Officer Bakker spoke in English with a strong German accent. He spoke slowly, as though his grasp of English was good but he hadn’t had much practice, so lacked the confidence it took to speak it at normal speed. “If you do not cooperate (struggling to pronounce the o-o in the word), “you will find a similar fate for all of you.”

The short SS officer who had yelled at the men before rushed up and yelled in German, very loudly, with spit flying from his lips, very close to the prisoner who had been crying but now had controlled his moment of weakness, but could not hide the red eyes and nose that comes with weeping.

Officer Bakker translated in a calm, unamused and monotone voice, “You will cooperate or I…” he stumbled on the word, as he was confused whether he should say ‘I’or ‘he',"… "will put the bullet in the next head, you cowards.”

When Tex heard this, he jumped forward to his knees against his chain, as that was as much movement as they would allow. He was restrained against the wall. He yelled, “Fuck you!” loudly, directed at the officer, not removing his eyes from the short guard’s eyes. He spoke again. “You will pay for your sins against humanity, whether in this life or the next! FUCK YOU!”

The guard heard this and clenched his teeth. He turned and ran over to Tex, who was smirking with confidence, still looking the guard in the eye, with his hands restrained behind his back against the wall. The guard kicked Tex in the face, knocking him backward, causing Joe and the men to look away from his pain. The man yelled louder in German.

Officer Bakker translated again. “You won’t win. You can never win. We will get what we want and you will suffer until we get what we want.” His eyes were looking at the ground, trying not to look at the dead body on the ground or at Tex’s bleeding nose. The guard looked at the other guard and pointed at the man who had been crying and motioned to him and spoke in German. The men walked over to him and unlocked his chain from the wall and grabbed him under the arms, moving him toward the door.

The man started to struggle and plead. He could not hold back his tears now and he screamed with fright, “WAIT NO! Wait, not me! I don’t know anything! Wait, not me!” as the German soldiers dragged him down the hallway

The other guard followed and spoke to Officer Bakker loud enough that the men could hear him laugh a disgusting laugh from his gut. Officer Bakker did not translate the last sentence; he just turned away and walked out and shut the door. The lights turned off again. It was pitch black. For a while no one said anything. And the water did not drip. It was just as silent and as dark as outer space.

About a minute passed before Tex spoke loudly, “That motherfucker broke my nose. When I get out, I’m going shit on his grave.”

Joe blew up. He had had it with Tex’s arrogance. “Shut the fuck up, Tex! Just shut up!”

Tex, taken aback, tried to speak but was cut off by Joe again. “No, just shut the fuck up! Can’t you see you’re not helping?”

Tex did not respond. The men just sat in the dark silence for some time.

The young man sitting next to Tex spoke. “I wonder what he said before he left the room.”

Tex said, “Who cares? He’s fucking pussy.”

Joe spoke under his breath. “He said, ‘Let’s see how your weak do.’”

The young man shifted. “He said what?”

Joe spoke louder. “He said, ‘Let’s see how your weak do.’”

The men sat in silence for 15 minutes or so. The only noise heard was the water dripping and a small stint of cursing under his breath from Tex when he reset the bone in his nose.

Then a loud bang. It echoed throughout the halls, ricocheting around the cavernous room in a loud cacophony that startled Joe and the other men. It was a sound they’d heard a thousand times. The distinct sound of a gun being fired.

Then suddenly the lights switched on again. And the door swung open. This time, the older SS officer stepped in.

He spoke in very broken English, “You will give us your name, rank, and location of your regiment.”

He motioned to the guards, who walked in and threw the young man on top of the other dead body, making the same splat that only a body drained of muscles and bone can make.

Tex raised himself up again. “Fuck you! Fuck you, bastards, you will pay!” Then almost breaking down, about to cry, “You will pay, you bastards!”

The officer motioned to the guards, who walked over and grabbed Tex under the arms. He squirmed and jerked his legs.

Yelling, “Fucking don’t touch me! Get your fucking Kraut hands off of me!” Tex tried biting and spat at the officer, but even though Tex was 195 lb and had been an all-state middle linebacker, he was not strong enough in his weakened gaunt state to fend off the two guards. They dragged him towards the door.

Joe saw this, with fright in his eyes, and yelled, “Wait!” but the older SS officer turned around and walked out the door with Tex.

Then Joe yelled in German, “Warten!” (“Wait!”)

As soon as the older SS officer heard the German word “warten,” he turned and looked at Joe with an intrigued look. He whistled at the guards. One had punched Tex in the stomach and was about to knee him in the face. The guard heard the whistle, looked, and saw the older SS officer shaking his head. He motioned to the officer with a flick of his head. The men then brought Tex back into the room screaming and locked him back to the wall. They grabbed Joe, who did not resist.

Tex, locked against the wall, screamed, “Joe, NO, don’t do it! Take me, you Kraut fucks! TAKE ME!” But they had already escorted Joe into the hall and slammed the door shut and turned off the light.