The Auslander (21 page)

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CHAPTER 37

August 11, 1943

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Peter watched Ula walk towards the railway station and thought how alike she and her daughter were. She was still slim and almost the same height, and both of them tied their hair up in the same way. They even walked with the same graceful stride. He could imagine a flirty tradesman or postman asking if she was Anna's elder sister. Then he thought it odd that he should be thinking things like that at a time like this. After all, they might never see her again. But he was so tired, not just from the journey, but with the constant undertow of fear, the constant need to be careful of what he said and the absolute necessity of watching his back every minute of the day. Now, the August sunshine and salty sea air reminded him of happier times, when he didn't have a care in the world. He would like to be an eight-year-old again, on holiday in Dabki, on Poland's Baltic coast, sitting on a golden beach that stretched away to infinity.

It was very difficult, being so close to freedom. They were less than a hundred kilometres from Sweden. A day's travel at the very most. Way above their heads a northbound plane trailed white vapour across the cloudless sky. It would land in Sweden in less than an hour. Wouldn't it be good, to be on that plane?

‘She might be ages,' said Anna, ‘so let's move and watch from further away.'

The thought of shifting his weary body back down the street they had just walked up did not appeal to Peter, but Anna was right. ‘We've got to keep our wits about us,' she said. ‘It would be awful to get caught now.'

They dragged their cases away and waited. And waited. The nearby church clock struck its quarter hours and the afternoon ebbed away. Anna began to fidget. Then she screwed her face tight, trying to hold back her sobs. ‘They've got her. I know it. Mutti and Vati, gone,' she said. ‘How could God be so cruel?'

Peter placed an arm around her. What could he say? People were staring now.

‘We just don't know what's happening,' he said. ‘There might be all sorts of reasons why she's not come back.'

She shook her head. ‘Shall I go and have a look?' said Peter. ‘She might be in a queue, she might still be waiting as the ticket office is closed?'

Anna wiped away a tear. ‘She would have come out if the office was closed,' she said very quietly. ‘She would have told us. Don't go in. It's too dangerous.'

When the church clock struck six, they realised there was no point staying where they were.

‘We ought to get away from here,' said Anna. ‘It's a bit obvious, isn't it, us just down the road from the station, if they come looking.'

‘But if we go,' said Peter, ‘how can we meet up with her again, if they let her go? I can't believe we didn't talk about this – make ourselves another plan . . .'

‘Well we didn't,' she snapped. ‘So there's no point saying it.'

Her eyes were darting around.

‘If they have arrested her, you'd think they'd come looking for us as well . . .' she said.

Peter nodded. That was true. No police or soldiers had come out of the station exit.

‘We're stuck,' said Anna. ‘No passports, no travel permits, virtually no money. What can we do?' Ula had been carrying all their documents.

They had enough between them to buy a drink and a sandwich in a café, so that's what they did.

‘We'll just have to jump on a goods train that's going to Sassnitz,' said Peter.

‘I do that all the time. It'll be a walk in the park,' said Anna.

Peter was stung by her sarcasm but he ignored it. Instead he reached over the table to squeeze her hand. ‘I've read enough escape stories about soldiers in the Great War! They managed to slip away from worse scrapes than this. We've come this far and we've been OK. We can look after each other . . .'

He was too tired to think of anything more inspiring. He thought she might snatch her hand away, but she didn't.

They felt stronger after something to eat. Anna was trying hard to keep some hope in her heart. ‘If we walk away from the south of the station,' she suggested, ‘then we could try and hop on to a train that's slowing down as it approaches?'

‘There's a hill too, on the way in,' said Peter. ‘Trains always slow down on hills.'

Several trains did just that as they waited in long grass close to the line. But there was a flaw in their plan. ‘We have to wait until it's dark,' said Anna. ‘It's too dangerous if the train stops at the station and we're spotted.'

Twilight lingered for an age. Eventually night fell. There was nothing to do to take their minds away from what was happening. Occasionally Anna would burst into tears, and that would start Peter off too. ‘I can't stop thinking about what they might be doing to Mutti,' she sobbed.

Peter wished they had something, anything, else to keep them occupied. Even walking along the road would be better than this awful hanging around.

Trains came and went in both directions. The line was a busy one, with a branch to Ribnitz and Rostock off to the west. Before it went dark Peter noticed the cargo wagons had their destinations chalked on a little board at one end. That would help them make sure they caught the right train.

Soon after they heard the distant chime of 10 p.m., a goods train trundled by. They tried to run with their cases but it was difficult to match the speed of the wagons. Then Anna called over the rattling of the wheels, ‘It's going to Lübeck!' That was way off to the west.

They darted back to hide in the grass. ‘We'll leave the cases. Take anything we really need in our coats,' said Peter.

The next train came close to midnight. By then a chill had settled over the fields and they had cuddled up together to keep warm. This time they were lucky. The locomotive was pulling an assortment of wagons. Among them were several empty open ones. They had Sassnitz chalked on the side. The train slowed to a brisk stroll, and it was easy for Peter and Anna to run alongside and then up the small ladder that overhung the side of the wagon.

They passed through the station a minute later. The platform bridge loomed over them, but it was too late in the evening for passengers.

‘If we're really lucky, we'll be straight over the water and on to Rügen Island,' said Peter. ‘And then we'll be in Sassnitz by the early hours.'

A cold breeze whistled over the top of the wagon, blowing coal dust around. Peter hoped they wouldn't get too dirty. That would make them very conspicuous. He peered over the side. They were on the high bridge over the stretch of water between Rügen and the mainland.

The air became warmer as soon as the crossing was completed and they both fell asleep. Only the jolting of the wagons as the train slowed down woke them. Ahead in the sky, Peter could see the dark silhouette of a marshalling yard lighting tower.

‘Thank heaven for the blackout,' he said. Still, there was a bright moon, and all around, in silvery monotone, were platforms and lifting machinery and cranes and scoops. This was no place to be a stowaway on an open wagon.

The train slowed to a crawl. Peter and Anna peered cautiously over the side. They were stopping at a platform. The locomotive came to a grinding halt and gave a couple of brief whistles to announce its arrival.

Thirty metres or so ahead stood a sentry with his back to them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He wasn't paying anyone any attention, in fact he seemed quite restless, moving his weight from one foot to another. He started singing a song to himself, his voice carrying clear as a bell in the night air.

‘If this is Sassnitz, then we need to get off here,' said Peter, ‘and find the port.'

They looked over the top again. Another sentry had joined his comrade. They could see the lamplights of other railway workers approaching. ‘I think the platform will be swarming with people very soon,' said Anna.

At once they realised they were trapped. Anyone walking on the platform could peer straight into the wagon. ‘We can't stay here,' said Peter. ‘Besides, it's probably about to be filled with coal.'

‘What shall we do?' said Anna.

‘We'll have to hide under the wagon,' said Peter, ‘and then try to get away just before the train starts to move again.'

‘How will we know that?' said Anna. She was close to panic.

‘There's usually a whistle or a hoot from the engine, isn't there?' said Peter. ‘If the train is ready to go, then the workmen will have moved on to another one, or back to their hut for a coffee . . .'

‘But what if the train starts to move when we're underneath it?' said Anna.

‘We can't stay here,' he said. ‘We'll just have to take our chances.'

After another peep over the top to check they could get out unseen, they both jumped to the ground and scuttled underneath. It was a miserable place to hide, between the gravel and wooden sleepers. The wagon axles lay just above their heads and the smell of oil and coal dust and chemicals made their noses twitch. It was just wide enough for them to lie side by side.

A couple of minutes later, they heard footsteps and voices. ‘Half of them to Trelleborg,' said one. ‘Half to Rostock. We'll be all night marking these up.'

Peter and Anna lay still and silent as the voices and footsteps echoed above their heads. They felt safe enough as long as the men stayed on the platform. Across the marshalling yard they could see a patch of rough, overgrown land. From time to time a warm salty breeze wafted over. They were obviously close to the sea.

Not far behind, they heard the sound of wagons being uncoupled. ‘If they come much closer,' whispered Peter, ‘they're bound to spot us.' Ten minutes later they heard the chuff of a small locomotive and soon after that the sound of moving wagons. Looking down the train Peter could see they were now five or six wagons away from the end.

There was a groaning ahead of them that grew closer and closer until the axle right above their heads creaked and the wheels began to move. The locomotive was reversing towards them.

Peter looked up. Between the carriages there were dangling connecting chains. If they caught one of those on the head, it would be painful but probably no more than that, especially if the train was still moving very slowly. Being side by side was a bad mistake. They had so little room; one wrong move and a wheel would slice off a hand or a foot.

‘Anna, we need to get one in front of the other. You stay here, I'll go.' She nodded and he began to wriggle forward. She saw at once he was raising his head too high and grabbed him to push him down. His jacket sleeve caught under the rim of a wheel. It pulled painfully tight for an instant, giving him a clear idea of the weight of the wheel and what it could do to flesh and bone. Then the axle passed so close above his head he could feel it brush his hair.

‘What the hell are you doing?' he pleaded. ‘I nearly lost my arm.'

‘And you nearly lost your head too,' she cried over the rattling and creaking.

He inched forward. One of the chains clunked against his forehead smashing the glasses he had been wearing, then bumped down his back.

The train stopped. ‘Let's go,' said Peter urgently. ‘Just walk away. Maybe no one will notice us?'

Anna paused. ‘They might not notice you, Peter, but I'm wearing a dress.'

‘I'm not going without you,' he said. ‘Besides, it's dark enough. You'll just be a shape in the distance. You go. Wait for me by the tower over there with the bushes around it.'

‘Peter, just . . .'

Her whispers were drowned out by the creaking of the wagons. The train was moving slowly backwards again. It was a long train but soon enough the locomotive edged nearer. Not only could they hear it chuffing towards them, but peering ahead, Peter could see steam gushing from the vents beneath the wheels and pistons, and even the glow of the firebox. Worse than that he realised the front of the engine had been fitted with a fender. If that went over them they would both be mangled horribly.

He called back. ‘Anna, we're going to be crushed. We have to get out between the wheels.'

There was a three or four second gap between the wagon wheels – maybe just enough time to roll over the rail without getting sliced.

The locomotive was drawing nearer. ‘You'll have to be quick,' said Peter. He thought perhaps that Anna would be too terrified to move but when he turned his head and saw her face she looked determined enough. A chain banged into the back of his neck and he flinched, his fingers instinctively grabbing the rail. He snatched them away an instant before the wheel rolled over them.

When he looked again, Anna was gone. Now it was his turn. He moved his body as close to the rail as he dared. One wagon went past, then another. He summoned up his courage, thinking,
It's now or never
. . . but the next one was the coal tender. The wheels on that were placed too close together. The locomotive itself was nearly on top of him. Peter buried his face into the gravel and waited for the awful agony to come.