They weren’t as far west as Emil could imagine, somewhere across the sea, but the worst seemed over. He felt it in his bones. They’d been through a nightmare but lived through it to enjoy a meal like this with only better days ahead.

After they finished with full and distended bellies, the Martels wandered through the ever-filling refugee camp, finding the latrines and showers and the gates in the fencing that led to the medical clinic and other buildings outside the fence. An hour later, in the gloaming and shadows of late day, floodlights went on, and loudspeakers called them to that parade ground by the mess hall. At one end, there was a low stage of sorts with Nazi flags fluttering to either side of a large radio microphone on a stand.

Major Haussmann came onstage and went to the microphone.

“I trust you enjoyed your meal after your long journey?” he asked.

The crowd roared its approval.

“That was a welcoming gift to you from Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler who himself authorized the treks that rescued you and more than one hundred thousand others. Because you were part of the last trek to arrive, Reichsführer Himmler wanted to be here to greet you personally but was unavoidably detained. The Reichsführer has, however, sent a message that he has asked me to read to you.”

The major retrieved a piece of paper from his breast pocket and began to read: “‘I bid welcome to the last of the Black Sea Germans to arrive in the Warthegau. You are very important to the Third Reich and to the führer, good loyal pure German bloodstock returning to the greater Fatherland to strengthen our Aryan roots after a century apart. Know that I consider you a critical part of an expanding German future where Judeo-Stalinism will be completely and permanently destroyed. You are in quarantine now and will be for the next few weeks until the doctors say it is safe for you to join the general population. But you will be given a home soon and a way to be useful to the Reich. I bid you welcome again, and congratulations. Signed, Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel.’”

Other SS officers began to clap as Major Haussmann lowered the letter and looked expectantly at the refugees, who began to clap as well. Soon all of them were clapping, and some whistled their approval.

Haussmann let the applause build and last a few moments before he held up his hands for quiet. “In a moment, you will get in lines for doctors and nurses to have a quick look at you before we release you to sleep. Tomorrow, you must have your papers with you to prove your German ancestry in order to receive your Umsiedlerausweis, or resettlement identity card. Your application must include your Einbürgerungsantrag, Stammblatt, Volkstumausweis, and Lebenslauf.”

Adeline leaned forward and whispered in Emil’s ear. “We have them all?”

He nodded. “Naturalization application, family tree, ethnic identity card, and our life stories.”

Haussmann was still talking. “My assignment to protect you is now complete, though I will remain in the area until you are moved to permanent housing. I know it has been a tiring journey, but you are safe now. More important, as Reichsführer Himmler himself just said, your pure Aryan blood is safe now, too.”

Music played from the speakers.

Haussmann put himself at attention and shot out his right arm in the Nazi salute.

“Heil Hitler!” he roared. “Welcome to the Third Reich!”

Close to the stage, a large group of semidrunken refugees immediately responded with the salute and bellowed “Heil Hitler!” in return. Among the Martels and the other Black Sea Germans, the response was more muted.

Haussmann stood there, looking furious, and bellowed, “Sieg!”

Every soldier in the camp threw his arms out and bellowed, “Heil!”

The major glared at the refugees. “Sieg!”

“Heil!” roared the soldiers and many of the refugees.

“Sieg!”

“Heil!”

By the eighth time, Emil noticed, every refugee, every member of his family, including himself, Adeline, and his two young boys, were calling back to Haussmann and throwing their arms forward and up in unison.

The major stopped, his arm still in the salute, the arms of everyone in the camp still in salute. A record played over a loudspeaker, static and popping that gave way to blaring trumpets and rousing drum tattoos and a chorus of men and women singing “Horst-Wessell-Lied,” the anthem of the Nazi Party. Every soldier sang along. One by one, every refugee did as well. If they didn’t know the words, they acted as if they did while the recording of Adolf Hitler’s Brownshirts’ street-fighting song played: Raise the flag! The ranks tightly closed!

The SA marches with calm, steady step.

Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries

March in spirit within our ranks.

Clear the streets for the brown battalions,

Clear the streets for the storm division!

Millions are looking upon the swastika full of hope,

The day of freedom and of bread dawns!

For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!

For the fight, we all stand prepared!

Already Hitler’s banners fly over all streets.

The time of bondage will last but a little while now!

Raise the flag! The ranks tightly closed!

The SA march with quiet, steady step.

Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries,

March in spirit within our ranks.

When the recording ended, Haussmann again strode to the microphone.

“Heil Hitler!” he roared, thrusting his arm out and up.

“Heil Hitler!” the refugees shouted with more enthusiasm.

“Heil Hitler!”

The refugees shouted it back even louder. Emil noticed again that by the eighth time, the entire camp was bellowing “Heil Hitler!” as one monstrous voice.

Haussmann smiled. “Well done. Now, line yourselves up in one of ten rows here for a brief medical examination, and then you may retire.”

The Martels got in the shortest line, which led past the stage to a doctor and nurse, wearing surgical masks and inspecting people, one by one.

Emil noticed Nikolas was well ahead of them in the line of ethnic German refugees, almost to the doctor. When Nikolas passed Haussmann, the SS major nodded to him.

“I’m tired, Papa,” Will said.

“My stomach hurts,” Walt said.

Emil took his attention off Haussmann and Nikolas when Adeline said, “That’s what happens when you eat too fast after not eating much for weeks.”

The line was moving quicker now. Emil glanced up to see the SS major less than ten meters ahead, still on the stage, as a junior officer came to Haussmann with a piece of paper, which he took and read. As Emil passed him, however, the major picked his head up, made eye contact, and then nodded. Emil nodded back and continued on.

A few moments later, Emil glanced back to the stage and saw Major Haussmann staring after him. Their eyes met. One of the SS officer’s brows rose, and a hard smile came to his lips before he nodded and shook a finger at him.

Emil turned, feeling his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. What did that mean?

He didn’t dare look back, though the question kept spinning fear in his head and gut. It took every bit of will to answer the doctor who examined Emil, Adeline, and the boys after taking their temperatures and asking about fevers or persistent illnesses they may have had in the last three months. Emil told him he hadn’t been sick in five years, which was true. And Adeline said Walt had been sick the year before, but Will was in generally good health. The doctor waved them on.

Night had fallen. Will was so tired, Emil put him on his shoulders and carried him back to the tent. As they walked, Walt said, “Mama? Is Heinrich Himmler God?”

“What? No! Whatever are you talking about?”

“You said dinner was a gift from heaven, and the major said it was a gift from Himmler,” Walt said. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” she said wearily. “Whoever it came from on earth, it was a gift to us from above. That’s what I believe.”

For once that seemed to satisfy Walt, and soon Adeline had both boys tucked into bed on their cots in their tent.

“They don’t have to go pee?” Emil said.

“They said they were too tired,” Adeline said.

“I have to go.”

“I do, too,” she said.

They left Malia to listen for the boys, took the lantern, and went to the latrine. Emil was done quickly and stood outside waiting for Adeline when Nikolas walked up and stopped a yard away with a knowing smile on his face.

Emil hardened, said, “I guess a busted knee wasn’t enough to make you hear.”

“I hear just fine,” Nikolas said, the smile becoming a gloat. “I heard exactly what Sturmbannführer Haussmann told me a few moments ago. With the hair and the beard gone, he recognized you, Martel. He remembers who you are now.”

PART THREE:

THROWN TO THE WIND AND THE WOLVES

Chapter Eighteen

Adeline exited the latrine and saw a tall man limping away from Emil, who stared after him, appearing deeply shaken in the lantern light.

“What’s the matter, Emil?”

“Just tired,” he said, though he would not meet her gaze.

“Isn’t he the same man who came to our camp on the Romanian border with the major?”