I once asked Hedy, my friend and eyewitness to history, “What was it like in Schwarzenfeld before the Americans arrived?”
In a piquant, accented voice, she said, “Do you remember Gone with the Wind? The scene where Scarlett O’Hara was out in the streets of Atlanta, just before Sherman came? It was just like that.”
I recall that scene—the desperation, the carriages whooshing by, the frenzied crowds too wrapped up in their own troubles to notice Scarlett’s distress. Eighty years ago today, a similar scene would have been playing out in Schwarzenfeld. The Russian front is only 40 miles away, and German refugees are fleeing from the advancing juggernaut. Tattered army units may have numbered among them, hauling weapons and supplies in hose-drawn carts, or possibly holzbrenners—cars converted to run on the fumes of burning wood. Gasoline is only a memory in this decimated country. Survivors of Schwandorf’s decimation limp up from a road from the south, seeking food and shelter. They will find neither here.
It’s about to get worse.
As Fr. Viktor mentioned in the excerpt from his letter, the night after bombers annihilated Schwandorf, American forces dropped leaflets over Schwarzenfeld. The text, written in German to ensure that civilians read the message, instructs citizens to drape white flags in windows as a sign of peaceful surrender. If they fail to comply with this order, the Americans warn that they may fire upon the town with incendiary shells and reduce it to ashes.
The Nazi government vows that any German flying white flags from their windows will be summarily executed. The Schwarzenfelders take them seriously—especially the Catholics. They gawk at the sight of Nazi loyalists constructing gallows in front of Norbert Gindele’s house.
It’s about to get worse.
The German military knows the Americans are only hours away. The advancing tanks have an obstacle to contend with: the Naab River, which winds along Schwarzenfeld’s eastern border. Amid the tumult, a unit of Hungarian SS arrive. They have orders to detonate the Naab River Bridge and deny the enemy a crossing. The men unpack their grim cargo and begin wiring up bridge abutments. They are mustering for battle with the Americans.
It’s about to get worse.
The town’s Nazi administration has dealt with the aftermath of the massacre in the train station. The presence of a mass grave endangers the citizens of Schwarzenfeld even more than the dynamite strapped to the bridge.
There is a line from the old Latin mass that Fr. Viktor would have used during his time: “Deliver us, we beseech Thee, O Lord, from evils past, present, and those to come.” Those words ring with profound meaning at this terrible moment.
At a time like this, most of us would retreat to a dark corner and curl up in fetal position. The only refuge available to the Schwarzenfelders is their faith. All hope lies in an American priest who can confront his countrymen on their behalf, and avert destruction: Fr. Viktor Koch, C.P.
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
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