Winter Sky Read online

  Müller glanced back at Zarek. “What say you, my little Polish friend?”

  Zarek took a step forward. “He has no family here,” he said with exaggerated confidence. “Why would he be traveling with children? It seems unlikely. Perhaps impossible. What would any children be to him?”

  Müller studied him suspiciously. The look on his face made it clear that he took everything Zarek said with great suspicion.

  “It does seem unlikely, sir,” Fisser interjected. “Where would these children come from? Why would he take the risk? They would only slow him down. And look at those hills. The snow is blown and very deep in places. If he is traveling now with children, all he has done is put them in great danger.”

  Müller turned back to stare at the rising terrain before him. “If he’s alone, he’s going to stay to the forest. If not, if he really is traveling with a couple of Polish child-rats, he’ll have to stay to lower ground. It is not possible he would take a pair of children through the uplands and the forest. He’d stay low, toward the village.” Müller sounded confident.

  “Should we call back the patrols we sent along the forest road, then?” Fisser asked.

  Müller glanced down at his watch. “What time did we send them out?”

  “Daybreak, sir. Two vehicles. Fifteen men.”

  Müller thought, then shook his head. “No. Keep Schmitz and Zindal on the forest road. We can handle the main roads with the men we have here. I want patrols on every trail. If we haven’t found him by nightfall, we’ll pull back and regroup. The Devil can’t cross the river without freezing. The water would be the death of him. If that were to happen, I’d feel cheated. But he’s not that stupid. He’s going to—he’s got to—make it to one of the bridges. That is where we’ll get him. If we don’t find him by dusk, we’ll concentrate on the bridges that lead to Brzeg.”

  The pines started to sway as the sun rose to the midpoint in the sky, creating a stir of wind from the heat that bounced off the dark hills. Lucas collected all their gear and stood, hoisting the makeshift pack onto his back. “We need to keep moving,” he said. “I don’t want to get caught out when it gets dark.”

  Cela stood up and turned in the direction they had been walking. “Will we be there by tomorrow morning?”

  “If nothing goes wrong.”

  Cela sighed. “Something always goes wrong.”

  Lucas hesitated, then nodded. “It seems that way, doesn’t it? But we’re going to make it. If we can just get to…”

  The sound of braying dogs tracking their prey suddenly arose from the other side of the rising terrain. Angry. Vicious. Dogs on a hungry trail. Both of them looked to where the sound was coming from, Cela ducking suddenly to Lucas’s side. “Where is Aron?” she cried.

  Lucas turned and looked around in fear.

  Aron was gone.

  Cela started running. “Aron! Aron!” she screamed. Her voice was thick with fear.

  Lucas hesitated, looking toward the hill where Aron had been chasing the snowy rabbit. He saw the little boy’s tracks in the fresh snow. They headed toward the top of the hill. There, the trees were thicker, the snow deeper, having been blown into drifts. Aron’s tracks disappeared over the crest of the hill.

  Toward the sound of the braying dogs.

  Lucas took off running through the snow. He passed Cela in just a few strides, following Aron’s tracks toward the top of the hill. Cela struggled along desperately behind him. The sound of the dogs got closer. It was a terrifying sound. Cela was crying now, tears streaming down her face as she ran. “Aron! Aron! Where are you!”

  Lucas glanced back and slowed, extending a hand to help her. She looked up and cried out to him, “Go! Go! Please go and find him!”

  Lucas hesitated, then turned and ran, leaving Cela behind. Sixty seconds later, he came to the crest of the hill. Slowing, he reached under his coat, pulled out the handgun, cocked it, and held it near his thigh. Crouching now, he inched toward the top of the hill.

  Then he heard something that made his blood chill, and he dropped even lower toward the ground. A deep rumble. To his right. Coming from the dirt road that was on the other side of the trees. His brow furrowed and he stopped, trying to catch his breath so he could listen. He stared at the trees to his right. From where he stood he could see they dropped away, falling toward the bottom of the hill. He heard the sound of engines grinding to a stop, then silence, then the sound of slamming doors.

  Lucas glanced ahead, looking desperately at Aron’s tracks in the snow, then turned and sprinted toward the trees. Falling into the snow beneath them, he inched forward, then lifted a hand and pushed a pine branch aside. Two hundred yards below, he saw the muddy road and a German SdKfz 6 half-track. A dozen German soldiers milled around the vehicle. Two of the soldiers were standing near the front bumper. A map was spread across the hood between them. They were close enough that he could hear their voices but far enough away that he couldn’t understand what they said. He slowly backed up, pushing through the snow. Climbing out from underneath the trees, he turned and ran back toward Aron’s footprints in the snow.

  The dogs had stopped howling. And Cela was nowhere to be found.

  He stared down at his weapon, glanced back toward the soldiers, then stuffed the gun back into his pocket and started moving the last thirty steps up to the top of the hill.

  As he crested the hill, the terrain flattened out. He saw a fallen tree. Aron was kneeling in the snow beside it. The white rabbit was caught in a wire snare, and Aron was trying desperately to free it. He had his hands around the rabbit and was pulling at the snare. Three angry dogs circled him, confused and barely held at bay. The dogs had fallen silent, though they occasionally moved forward to growl at their prey. Behind the log, an old farmer was running forward, a menacing club in his hand. He whistled to his dogs, and they pulled back. He hadn’t seen Aron yet, for he was hidden behind the log. Running forward, he finally saw him.

  “What are you doing, boy!” His snarl was as angry as his dogs.

  Aron ignored him, focusing on extracting the rabbit.

  “What are you doing, boy!” the farmer hissed again. “Leave my dinner be!” Aron kept working at the wire snare, and the farmer lunged forward, grabbed him by the hair, and threw him back into the snow. The dogs resumed their frenzied barking, and the farmer shouted and gestured. They ran off into the trees in the direction they had come from.

  Aron looked up at the farmer defiantly. “It’s my rabbit,” he said.

  The farmer took a step toward him and studied the child. “Who are you, boy?” he demanded.

  Aron started crawling through the snow, pushing around the farmer’s knees toward the rabbit. The old man kicked him back, then pinned him down with his right foot. “What are you doing out here all alone?” He suddenly caught himself and straightened up to look around. “Are you by yourself?” he wondered out loud.

  He heard the crunch of snow and turned to see Lucas walking toward him. The farmer instinctively moved his club to his right hand and lifted it. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Lucas placed his hands before him, signaling submission. “We’re just passing through. We mean no trouble. We’ll be on our way.” He took a couple of steps forward, and the farmer reached under his coat and pulled out a hunting knife. The blade was rusty-red with dried animal blood, eight inches long and serrated on the top. Lucas stared at it a moment, then looked at the farmer once again.

  “Stand your ground!” the farmer commanded.

  Lucas stopped and lifted both of his hands again. He heard the far-off sound of voices drifting through the trees, and he glanced back toward the German soldiers. If the farmer heard the sound, he didn’t show it, keeping all of his attention on the two intruders on his land.

  “There’s no reason for someone like you to be here,” the farmer said. Keeping his eyes on Lucas, he reached down an
d lifted Aron by the coat and pulled him close. “A dozen soldiers passed through my place just a bit ago. They were looking for someone. I wonder who that was?”

  Lucas glanced again toward the sound of the German soldiers, then extended his hands. “Just give me the boy and we’ll be on our way,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I wonder if the Germans would want to know about two strangers on my land?” the farmer said suspiciously.

  Lucas took two more steps toward him. “Give me the boy,” he said again.

  The farmer cocked his head. “Why aren’t you in the army? You should be off with all the others.” He pulled Aron tight against his leg.

  “Just give me the boy.”

  The farmer bent, grabbed Aron’s head, and locked his arm around it.

  “Aron, come here!” Lucas hissed.

  Aron started to whimper in pain and fear. The farmer slapped him. Lucas moved his right hand toward his jacket pocket where he had hidden his gun. “Aron, come to me!” he commanded.

  The farmer picked Aron up and held him off the ground, holding the knife menacingly close to the boy’s throat. Lucas took another step toward him.

  Five more steps to go.

  “Stay back or I will kill him!” the farmer shouted.

  A high-pitched scream suddenly sounded from the farmer’s right.

  The farmer turned to see a little girl running toward him from the grove of trees, a large stick in her hand. “Aron!” Cela cried as she ran toward them. Confused, the farmer took a step toward her. Lucas rushed forward, grabbed the farmer by the coat, and spun him around. Aron fell into the snow and covered his head, then crawled out of the way. The farmer lifted the knife and swung it violently. Lucas dodged it expertly. The farmer cursed and swung again. Lucas easily stepped back. Now the farmer’s face showed real fear. He backed away, measuring the stranger, then lunged again. Lucas waited until he was extended, then struck, hitting the farmer in the face, almost knocking him down. The farmer touched his bleeding eye, cursed violently, and swung again. Lucas stepped easily aside, then hit the man again. The farmer continued to curse in rage as he lunged and swung at Lucas’s head. Lucas delivered a final blow, and the farmer fell into the snow and didn’t move.

  Cela ran to Aron and folded him into her arms. Both of them were sobbing. Lucas dropped beside them and pulled them both close. “Shhh…” he whispered quietly. “Shhh…it’s going to be all right.”

  Ten minutes later they were walking through the snow, following their tracks back the way they had come. Lucas was holding Aron in his arms, and Cela walked beside them. Aron clutched the dead rabbit by its legs.

  Lucas looked at Cela, then reached down to help her through the snow. “That was pretty good, coming at him from behind like that,” he said.

  Cela looked up proudly. “I thought you might need a little diversion.”

  “Very clever,” Lucas said.

  Cela glanced back toward the top of the hill where they had left the farmer. “He’s going to go and tell the Germans.”

  “Yes. He probably will.”

  Cela’s face was suddenly drawn and tight. “You should have . . .” She hesitated.

  Lucas looked at her and shook his head. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I’ve thought that before. It turned out I was wrong. If he goes back and tells the others.…” She looked at Aron, who was listening to her carefully. “You know what you should have done,” she said.

  “We’ll have time to put distance between us.”

  They kept on walking until Aron pulled away from Lucas and said, “I got the rabbit.”

  Lucas nodded at him proudly. “Yes, you did.”

  “I wasn’t going to let that other man take it from me. It was my rabbit. I had it first.”

  “Yes, Aron, you did.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. I want to cook my rabbit for Christmas dinner.”

  Lucas looked at him and smiled. “We’ll do that, Aron. We’ll have a Christmas dinner later on tonight.”

  They walked a few minutes in silence, and then Cela reached up and took Lucas by the hand.

  The sky was growing dark, the sun dipping toward the low hills and causing the shadows from the trees to stretch over the snow like ink stains across the landscape. Flashes of light illuminated the horizon, but there was now lightning in the north as well. Patches of clouds were moving in, and the white winter moon would soon break above the eastern horizon. German Messerschmitt fighters were flying overhead, their engines angrily buzzing above the clouds. Russian Yaks sounded as well, though they were smaller and not as loud.

  Lucas kept the fire just hot enough to cook the rabbit he had stretched on a stick above the flames. Aron kept his hands extended toward the heat while eyeing the rabbit hungrily. Drops of grease sometimes fell, kicking up slivers of yellow flame.

  The wood was wet, and Lucas had a hard time controlling the smoke. He’d placed a couple of pine branches over the flames to help disperse it, but he continued to look at it worriedly as it climbed into the sky.

  “When can we eat it?” Aron asked as Lucas turned the rabbit just a bit.

  “Soon,” Lucas answered.

  Cela sat down and smiled as she watched the cooking meat. “It’s going to be a glorious Christmas dinner,” she said.

  Four miles to the east, Müller stood on a narrow road on the edge of the thick forest. The Oder River was just before him, and the setting sun illuminated chunks of ice that floated with the current. Zarek stood behind him. Fisser remained by the side of his vehicle, surrounded by half a dozen German regulars. All of them were waiting for Müller to make a decision.

  The colonel looked down at his map, then folded it up and tucked it in his pocket. He pulled out another cigarette, and Zarek quickly stepped forward to light it. Müller nodded toward the forest. “If he’s not out there, then you and I are going to have a hard conversation,” he said to Zarek.

  Zarek nodded anxiously but didn’t reply.

  Müller took a long drag, his eyes always on the forest. “He’s not along the road.” Another drag. Another smoky breath. “He’s up there in the forest.” Another drag. “He has to be there somewhere.”

  The colonel moved his head from north to south, then stopped and leaned forward. Reaching behind him without turning around, he motioned to the sergeant. “Field glasses.”

  Fisser moved quickly to his vehicle and returned with a set of binoculars. Müller lifted them to his eyes, focused, then dropped them and pointed for the others. “Can you see that?”

  Fisser concentrated on the spot where his commander was pointing, squinting his eyes.

  “Smoke,” Müller said.

  Fisser nodded. “I see it now, sir.”

  “That’s got to be him,” Müller said with confidence.

  “You would think so, Colonel,” Zarek jumped in. Müller lifted his field glasses again while Fisser scowled at Zarek. The last thing he needed was for the old man to give the colonel encouragement in this insanity.

  “It could be the rebel,” Fisser said carefully. “But, sir, it could be something else.”

  Müller huffed. “Such as?” he asked without lowering the glasses.

  “Hunters, sir.”

  “It’s illegal to have a gun or to hunt.”

  “Perhaps other refugees. There are many on the roads.”

  Müller snorted, then dropped the glasses and pulled out his map again. “We can set up an observation point right here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map. “He won’t see us if we keep to the high ground.” Having made his decision, he folded the map and walked back toward his vehicle. Fisser and Zarek followed. As they walked, Fisser reached out and pulled on Zarek’s sleeve to slow him down and then leaned toward him. “You know that if we don’t find him, Müller is going to kill you,” he whispered angrily.

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bsp; Zarek nodded grimly. “He’s going to kill me either way.”

  “Probably. But fail to find the rebel and it’s guaranteed.”

  Zarek stopped and turned toward the sergeant. “Will he kill my daughter and her baby?”

  Fisser smirked. “Do you think he’d go all the way back to Gorndask just to kill them?”

  Zarek’s eyes wandered to the horizon. “The colonel is a hard man to predict.”

  Fisser reached over and slapped him on the shoulder so hard it almost knocked him down. “Don’t worry, Mister Zarek, you’re not that important.”

  Zarek turned and kept on walking. “That’s all that I could ask,” he said.

  Lucas, Cela, and Aron sat around the dying fire. The rabbit had been consumed and Lucas was chewing on a bone, trying to get every bit of meat. Aron sat beside him, his head on Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas had wrapped him in the fabric curtain he had torn from the church.

  Lucas had removed the pine boughs from over the dying fire, but the smoke was nearly gone now anyway, and it was dark enough that what little drifted up would be impossible to see.

  Cela sat quietly by herself, leaning against a tree a few feet behind her brother. She watched him happily, then looked down at her lap, where she was holding a small wooden box. She opened it carefully and pulled out a few of the contents. A braid of hair. An ox-bone comb. A simple silver ring. She gazed at them tenderly, then looked up to see Lucas watching her.

  Lucas nodded to the braid of dark hair. “Your mother’s?” he asked.

  Cela nodded and held up the white comb. “My father’s.” She reached in and showed Lucas a photograph. It was bent in half, and only the back of it was exposed. “A picture of my family.”

  Lucas glanced at the mementos, then nodded toward the growing darkness. “It’s getting dark. We need to put the fire out before someone sees it.”

  He stood and started scooping snow onto the fire. It sizzled and steamed, the embers growing almost instantly dark. Aron watched his every move. “It was a good rabbit,” he said proudly.