Inachevé

Two - The People's War

The Hideout – 1940

Whirling colors of white, green, and brown filled the once placid home. Panicked bodies ran around the house in desperate attempt to escape the adversaries.  Pitched voices of young women vibrated the plaster walls as one by one they were snatched and dragged outside.  Children who scurried out of their hiding places too soon were instantly struck unconsciously and carried away.  While the violent skirmish continued, underneath the wardrobe on the far side of the room was a small hideout that could barely fit three people.  Inside lay a man, his wife, and best friend. 

“What do we do if they find us?”  whispered Rebecca, wife of American machinist, James Haywood.

“They won’t, darling,” James assured as he wrapped his arm around her waist.  “If they do, stick onto me and Cyril.”

The shouting and gunfire deceased, leaving an eerie silence.  The three trembling bodies listened closely and waited for a sure sign that it was clear to come out.  German accents echoed above them and the clanking of unfamiliar equipment sent chills up the runaways’ spines. 

“What’s the noise?” Cyril asked through a tightened jaw.  All three quieted as they listened to a hissing sound that drowned out all the other noises.  It was only a few moments before they realized that the hissing noise produced gas. 

They heard German voices shouting commands in broken English.  But even in their native tongue, the three could not understand them, for the gas had sent them into fits of violent coughs.

“They did this!”  Cyril cursed through a cough.  “They did this to locate us!”

“We got to get out of here!”  James yelled as he began kicking and beating on the trap door.  “Cyril!  Can you breathe?”

“Barely!  Open the door, quick! Get the girl out first,” Cyril suggested through a rasping voice.

“I can’t open it!  It seems as if something’s on top of it!  I can’t open the damn thing!”  James hollered, followed by several harsh coughs.  He fisted the door again and began shouting.  In a matter of seconds, there was a grinding of wood against wood and a sudden burst of artificial light streamed into their dark hideaway.   James closed his eyes and shielded his face from the flashlight directed down on him and his friends.

“Out,” growled the German voice behind his gas mask.  By the uniform, the German was a Gestopo.

James took Rebecca by the hand, and with Cyril close behind, filed out.  They were harshly directed by the other soldiers to walk towards the door.  On their way out, the three felt their hearts fill with sadness at the sight of the now dead elderly Jews who had hid them away.

“Stand,” commanded the Gestapo as he took his gas mask off.  He lined them up in front of the trucks and turned to his comrades.  In German, he told his comrades, the SS, to set the house ablaze.  He returned his cold eyes back at James and pointed to Rebecca with a strict finger.

“She’s my wife, and is pregnant,” James said through a controlled tremor.  He stared at the German and then at Cyril.  “D-do you need translation?  My friend knows a bit of German.”