Her voice trembling with fear, Lisa said, “I’ll try.”
“Thanks, honey, just hold the phone near him. We have called the paramedics.” Henry at that moment was looking at Nigel, who was talking with the dispatcher, telling them the address.
“Ok, thanks. Here is Pop Pop.”
Henry spoke loudly. “Dad, can you hear me? Are you ok?” On the other end, all he could hear was moaning and what appeared to be inaudible words, very similar to German.
Henry spoke even louder this time, with fear and trepidation in his voice, “Dad,” as his voice cracked because he was emotional, “Dad, can you hear me?”
At that moment, Lisa spoke on the phone. “Dad, I’ve tried to talk to him. He’s not making any sense.”
“Ok, honey.” Nigel, at that moment, was handing his phone over to Henry. “Honey, can you wait for a second and talk with Nigel for just a sec?”
Henry and Nigel switched phones. The dispatcher asked a few questions and instructed Henry that an ambulance was on the way and to inform his daughter at home that an ambulance was on the way. Henry hung up with the dispatcher and motioned for his phone.
He said to Lisa, “Ok, Lisa, don’t worry. The ambulance should be there very soon. Make sure dad is comfortable. Stay by the phone until I come home. I love you, ok?”
Lisa said, “Ok, Dad, but hurry. I love you.”
Henry hung up the phone. He looked over at Nigel and they both jumped in the golf cart and raced towards their car.
Henry arrived home to see an ambulance and several paramedics or firemen, he could not quite be sure which, standing around, with one heavyset lady paramedic with a mullet haircut talking with his daughter. He ran over to her. As soon as she saw him, she broke away from her conversation and sprinted into her father’s arms, with tears in her eyes.
Before she could say anything, her father was speaking. “Are you ok? Where is Pop Pop? Is he ok?”
With fear in her voice, trembling, she responded, “I am fine. I don’t know.”
The lady paramedic walked over and introduced herself. She then asked, “Are you related to Joe Harper?”
Henry responded, “Yes,” gathering himself, preparing himself for tough questions. “I am his son, Henry Harper. Is my father ok?”
At that moment, he was interrupted by the lady, who explained in a monotone masculine voice, “Mr. Harper has been taken to Mercy Health. He was breathing when he left. We have a few questions that your daughter was unable to respond to. Is Mr. Harper
on any medications? Is he allergic to anything? Has he been hospitalized recently?”
Joe said “Pop Pop… I mean, Joe is on low dose aspirin, isn’t allergic to anything, has never been hospitalized.”
The lady paramedic called into her microphone and relayed the information, saying, “Thank you.” She did not ask any other questions like if Pop Pop had reached the hospital or if he were alive. She just looked at Henry and Lisa and said in a very unsympathetic tone that perplexed both, Henry and Lisa, “Mr. Harper is being brought to Mercy Health Hospital,” and said that they could go there to see if he would be ok. She then asked Henry to sign his statement. Henry signed and ushered Lisa away towards the house.
At that moment, he received a call from Gwen. “Hello, honey…. I don’t really know.”
Chapter 2.
November 30th, 1945
Drip drop, drip drop. Water was leaking through the cracks of stone and echoing through the cavernous room. There was no light. The only way the vastness of the room was understood was by the echo of the water ricocheting off the walls in nature’s most primitive form of radar. It could have been a cave until another sound echoed from the walls: a sniffle and cough. There were people in the room.
“Hello? Is anyone out there?” a voice screeched, quivering in the darkness. The words echoed and eclipsed the sound of dripping water. The man’s words were forced. They were strong in sound but labored due to injury or sickness or both.
No response, just the echo of the water.
Again the strained voice spoke. “Hello, my name is…”
Suddenly, the loud sound of a metal door unlocking overtook and muffled the man’s voice. There was a deafening sound of creaking metal as the heavy door swung open. It shone a light on the man’s face, causing him to squint with pain. Two German SS soldiers rushed in and grabbed the man, with his hands and feet chained.
The man screamed, “NOOOO!”
He was scared. He kicked and fought, but his gaunt figure could not overcome the two large soldiers forcing him to his feet.
He was dirty, with cuts and fresh bruises on his face and other exposed skin. He appeared to be suffering from malnutrition. He was unkempt; his hair had not been cut and his chin had not been shaved for weeks.
The soldiers grabbed the man and forced him to the door like a rag doll. His physical condition did not allow him much resistance and the men pulled him out of the room with ease. They forced him down a hall and sat him in a chair and locked his feet and chained them to the metal chain around his waist. The men stood by the door.
Soon two other men walked in. Both these men had identical uniforms with black trousers tucked into their black leather boots, a khaki shirt, a black tie and black leather jackets with the Nazi insignia on the chest pocket, and a black belt with a metal buckle with a Danziger. Both had a black rhomboid patch with SS in silver stitching outlined on both the right and the left side of the collar. One officer had a rhomboid patch with two leaves on it, while the other officer had a similar patch with just one leaf on it in silver stitching. The man with two leaves was older, in his mid to late 40s, with dark eyes and heavy lines on his face as if he had been squinting in the sun or scowling for many years. No wrinkle lines associated with pleasure were on his face, just dark lines of displeasure, with eyes that matched. The other officer was in his mid to late 20s, with a clean-shaven face with no stand-out facial characteristics that would have set him apart from any other SS officer in the 3rd Reich. He was 6 foot with blond hair and blue eyes.
The older officer spoke in German with the younger officer for a brief moment, then the younger officer kicked the man chained to a chair and began to speak in English with a very thick accent, as though he had to have the accent because if he were to speak English without a distinct German accent, it wouldn’t be acceptable.
“What is your name?”
The man, looking in pain and sick, did not answer.
The young SS officer was not amused. He asked again but louder, “What is your name?”
The man did not lookup. He did not answer.
The young officer said again, but standing even closer to the prisoner, “WHAT IS YOUR NAME!” Still, the man did not answer. The young man raised the rod he had in his hand and smacked the prisoner on the face, splitting his lower lip open. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME!” as he struck him again
The man, now holding back groans of pain while the cut on his face leaked blood as red as rose petals down his neck, did not answer. The young SS officer smirked disgustedly at the prisoner and walked over to the older officer and spoke in German for a bit. He returned calmer and spoke to the prisoner calmly in the thick German accent.
“We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to know your name and rank so we can put you in the proper POW camp.”
The prisoner looked up at the young officer and did not show any signs of acting as he would respond. His face did not show any emotion related to what the officer was saying but his eyes looked at the young officer with the intensity