Anna fought to keep her hands from trembling.Oh, God, please.
“All right,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Anna said. “You won’t regret—”
“I want a daily report on her condition.”
“Of course,” Anna said.
Fleck turned and left.
Emmi approached Anna. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Nor I,” Anna said, her legs quivering.
Anna and Emmi finished their work. One of the trainers, a man in his late sixties with hairy eyebrows, reminiscent of albino caterpillars, helped them carry Nia to his wagon. Instead of sitting up front, Anna hunkered in the bed of the wagon with Nia’s head on her lap. The driver snapped the reins and the wagon jerked forward. As the horses clopped over the dirt road, Anna stroked the dog’s ears. “You’re going home with me.”
Nia nuzzled Anna’s hand.
She leaned in and whispered, “I promise to make you well.”
CHAPTER8
LILLE, FRANCE—JULY19, 1916
Bruno, his boots spattered with mud from the trenches, peered through the carriage window as the train chugged into the Lille station, a mere twenty kilometers from the front. He’d been summoned to meet with Fritz Haber, the head of the Chemistry Section in the Ministry of War, but the purpose of the meeting was not disclosed. A feeling of powerlessness encompassed him, as if he were being swept away by a raging river.Perhaps I’ll be reprimanded for my failure to stop the gas attack at Halluch.
The last time he’d spoken to Haber, who recruited him to join the gas regiment, was in Ypres, when Germany unleashed the first mass use of poison gas, which resulted in thousands of French casualties. The German Empire was the first to breach the Hague Convention treaty that prohibited the use of poison weapons. But being the first to commit the atrocity hadn’t changed the tide of the war. Instead, it fueled the Allied forces to begin using their own gas warfare. And any chance of a swift end of the war, Bruno believed, was gone.
Despite the unfavorable wind conditions at the battle of Hulluch, Bruno had failed to influence superior officers to stop the gas attack. The poisonous cloud, which blew back on the German lines, killed over one thousand German soldiers. The trenches and dugouts were full of bodies with blue faces and black lips. Most of the deaths were due to not having gas masks. But some of them, who didn’t understand that the gas sinks in the trenches, removed their masks too soon. These men swallowed gas, scorching their lungs, and they choked and hemorrhaged to death.
Although it wasn’t his duty, he’d insisted on overseeing the burial of the dead, many of whom were destined to mass graves. However, he arranged for four hundred of the fallen men to be properly buried in a cemetery of a French village called Pont-à-Vendin. But the entombments did little to alleviate a cancerous guilt that grew within him. The screams and gurgles of dying men were etched into his brain like a phonograph disc. And burned into his memories was the image and stench of decomposing corpses, stacked like cords of wood.
There are no words to describe the wickedness of war,he’d thought while writing a letter to Anna. He struggled whether to tell her about what had taken place at Halluch. He longed to confide in her, but he feared that providing transparency about his duties might hurt her or, even worse, ruin her feelings for him.I will tell her everything on my next military leave. For now, I’ll carry the burden alone.
The train screeched to a stop. Bruno shook the horrid thoughts from his mind and retrieved his leather case, which contained Anna’s letters and his personal items. As he stepped onto the landing, a pungent scent of burning locomotive coal filled his nostrils. The German-occupied city of Lille was bustling with troops passing through on their way to the front. Reluctant to face a possible reprimand, Bruno chose to walk, rather than take a carriage, to his meeting with Haber.
The city of Lille, which held much of France’s coal and steel industry, was captured in October of 1914. Raw materials, manufactured goods, and food flowed east to support the German Empire. Street signs had been changed to German names. Bars and coffeehouses poured beer for German soldiers. An empty cigarette factory, as well as several unused industrial buildings, had been converted into barracks for soldiers. Also, the empire had taken control of printed publications. A German language newspaper,Liller Kriegszeitung, was provided to occupying troops, while a German-created French language newspaper,Gazette des Ardennes, produced propaganda to occupied citizens. Additionally, the clocks in Lille were set on German time. The occupation, Bruno believed, had transformed the French city into a German outpost.
As Bruno entered the city center, forty Allied prisoners, haggard and wearing soiled uniforms, were being forced to march through the streets by a group of armed soldiers. Silent French onlookers, comprised of old men, women, and children, stood along the street. It was apparent, to Bruno, that citizens of Lille were not permitted to speak to the prisoners. The ravaged men, their eyes lowered, shuffled their feet.With the exception of their uniforms, they look like our men.
As the prisoners passed, Bruno approached a soldier. “Where are you taking them?”
“To a prison in the citadel.” The soldier adjusted his rifle on his shoulder.
“Will they be transported to Germany?”
“Nein. We march them each day between the citadel and train station.” The soldier quickened his pace and joined his group.
Bruno’s eyes locked on the prisoners. Shame pricked at his conscience.We parade them through the city to demoralize them.He gripped the handle of his case, turning his knuckles white, and took another route to his rendezvous with Haber.
On a prominent street lined with palatial homes, Bruno arrived at a grand, three-story bourgeois house with dormer windows jutting from the attic. Angst grew in his gut as he climbed the stone steps to the entrance, bearing the address in his summons from Haber. He knocked on the door, which had a posting that contained two names:Gabrielle Lemaire, which was partially scratched away with pencil, andCeleste Lemaire.
A young woman in her early twenties with skin the tone of alabaster opened the door. Wavy auburn hair rested on the lace collar of her navy dress. “Oberleutnant Wahler?”
Bruno removed his cap. “Ja.”
“They are waiting for you in the parlor,” the woman said in German but with a French accent. “Follow me.”
