The Uvalde Raider Ben English (good novels to read in english txt) 📖

as well as anyone. When we went to him, he told us ‘I have lost four sons to Germany, perhaps five. I have lost friends and sons of friends to this useless war. But I will not lose my own soul, also. I will speak out and I will stay true to the teachings of my faith.’

“They came in the dead of night and ransacked the church and your home. We were told they were gathering ‘evidence’ that your parents were Communist agitators, enemies of the Reich who were being taken in for interrogation. I guess it was decided to burn the church and your home for good measure.”

The old man lowered his chin into his chest, ashamed and speaking now with no more than a whisper. “And not one of us lifted a voice or a finger to stop them. May God forgive us all.”

Max studied his father’s ancient friend, slumped down in his chair and with his head hanging as tears of frustration and regret freely flowed. Some might have felt anger or betrayal, but all Max could do was feel pity and grieve with him. If there was any anger, it was an anger against a corrupt and tyrannical regime that would fall upon its own citizens like so many wolves among sheep.

“Herr Bekker” he asked gently. “Do you happen to know where they were taken?”

“No one knows,” the old man replied ruefully. “If they do, they are too frightened to say anything.” He looked at Max earnestly, his eyes reflecting in the flames. “Max, your father was a brave and wise man, and he was a true man of God. He tried to warn us all those years ago and no one would listen. Perhaps we deserve this fate, but he did not.”

Bekker stared back into the fire and murmured. “What have we become, when our own government ensnares its people like rabbits in a trap and we stand idly by and do nothing. In the name of God, what have we become?” The old man sobbed and buried his face in his hands. He was still sitting there, wrestling mightily in his mind with a world gone mad, when Max finally went to bed.

The next morning Max dressed himself and enjoyed another meal at the Bekker table. Frau Bekker had taken his dirty Luftwaffe uniform and cleaned and brushed it vigorously, to the point of almost being presentable. His worn black boots reflected a fresh polish, as did his leather belt and hat bill. As he started to leave, he and Herr Bekker stood talking near the doorway.

“Are you certain you cannot stay? Anyone can see you are still hurt and weak,” observed the elderly neighbor.

“It would not go well for you if I was found here. I have no orders, and I am the son of a man who the Gestapo considers a traitor to their Reich.”

“Then where will you go, Max?” questioned Bekker.

The hauptmann considered Herr Becker’s concern for a moment. “West, I think. Towards Fulda. The war cannot last much longer and I will not be captured by the Bolsheviks again.”

The old man nodded and asked anxiously.  “Do you think they will actually get this far west before the Americans arrive?”

“Not if the Wehrmacht has anything to do about it. From what I can tell, they are throwing everything they have left to blunt the Soviet advance. But they cannot last for long without air cover and the Luftwaffe is done, finished. We have no planes, no parts, and no fuel.”

Max looked off to the west. “If I can make it into the Fulda area, I can surrender to the first Americans I come across. It is said they and the British treat captured Luftwaffe officers more than fairly. When I can, I will get word back to you.”

“So, it is almost finished again?” asked Herr Bekker.

“Yes,” replied the young officer. “This part of our long nightmare is almost over and the Third Reich will be gone. I only hope that Germany will not be totally obliterated along with it.”

“Good luck, Max, and may God bless you.” The old man extended his hand in a firm grip. “Remember we always have room for you under our roof.”

“Thank you, Herr Bekker. If my parents come back, please tell them that I am alive. Tell my father I shall return and help rebuild his church.”

“I will Max, I certainly will. And we will all help him rebuild that church, if he can still consider us worthy of doing so.”

“He will,” assured the younger man. “I know this, Herr Becker, because I know my father. I just never realized how rare of a man he really was until now. Someday, I am going to be able to tell him so.”

Max began walking down the road and away from the Bekker home. Just before he went out of sight, he turned and waved. The elderly couple waved back.

It would not be until many years later that Max would learn of his parents’ fate. The answer was found within the walls of a grim appearing stone building in the Westend-Nord of Frankfurt, which housed some of the Gestapo’s records that survived the war.

Neatly noted were his parents’ full names, ages, occupations and home of record. The entries went on to say they had been arrested as suspected spies and enemies of the Reich. There was a final notation, inscribed in bold letters, stating they had been “shot while trying to escape.”

When Max read those last few words, he at first did not know whether to cry or to laugh. In the end, he did both.

CHAPTER TEN

Two days later Max Grephardt was still making his way along the road to Fulda, along with many others. A rumor had started that the Soviets were initiating a major offensive into the central