"You are a disgrace. Leave this woman alone." Kurt clasped his hand around the man's neck. "Do you understand?"

Mitch threaded his way through the crowded car in time to witness Kurt's hands around another soldier's neck. "What are you doing?"

Gisela shrugged deeper into her coat. "That man had his hands on me."

His vision narrowed so he saw nothing more than the man's beady, c.o.c.ky black eyes.

Mitch lunged forward, landing a fist on the side of the man's head. Kurt released his grip and the man swung back. Mitch ducked, then, while still low, punched the perpetrator in the stomach. He came up and Mitch chopped him on the back of the neck.

"Josep, stop it. Josep." Gisela's words penetrated his fog.

Kurt kicked the man in the groin and he staggered backward.

Someone grabbed Mitch from behind and held his arms behind his back. He struggled to free himself. "Let me go. Let me have at him."

"You have done enough damage." Another wounded soldier held him fast.

The man who had a.s.saulted Gisela melted back, holding his midsection with one hand and the side of his head with the other.

"What on earth did you do that for?" Gisela stroked Mitch's tender knuckles.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Nein, I'm fine. He tried to, but I hit him and then spit in his face."

"That's the spirit. Like Xavier said, you are a plucky bird." He rather liked this side of his "wife."

"But why did you fight him?"

"You did."

"I slapped him in order to stop him."

"What's the difference?"

"First of all, to start a brawl on a crowded train is the worst idea I have ever heard. Second of all, you spoke in English."

Even though the compartment was warm, goose b.u.mps rose on his arms. "I did? I was so angry."

Gisela said no more. She didn't have to. The stares of the entire car bore into him.

Kurt turned to face him. "You are British."

Mitch's heart pounded in his ears. Should he verify or deny it? He looked to Gisela.

"His mother was British, but his father is German and he grew up here. They spoke both languages in the home. When he becomes frightened or angry, he slips into English."

He flashed her a grateful smile. He wished she didn't have to lie on his behalf.

By Kurt's slight lift of his eyebrows and narrowing of his eyes, Mitch knew he was dubious. Gisela was right. In order to continue this charade and have any chance of getting back to his regiment, Mitch would have to be terribly careful.

"There was no need for you to get involved, Cramer." Kurt wasn't going to let this die an easy death.

"She is my wife. Of course I fought." He turned to Gisela and brushed a bruised finger over her cheek, pleased to watch the color wash over her face. "You are not leaving my sight."

"Danke." She spoke the word as a sigh. At least she didn't protest.

The squeal of the train brakes preceded the jerking halt by mere seconds. Another plane? Dear G.o.d, no. We've had our share of them.

All of the pa.s.sengers held their breath. Whatever conversations there had been ceased. Mitch strained his ears but didn't hear the whine of a plane. The skies remained silent. Off in the distance, a dog howled.

Beside him, Gisela trembled. "What is it? Why did we stop?" A general din rose in the carriage.

"I don't know. I don't hear any planes. I'm not sure if it would be better to stay put or to get off." His thoughts bounced back and forth in his mind like a tennis ball at Wimbledon.

"What should we do?"

A weight pressed against his chest. He took a deep breath. "Stay put. For now." Lord, I hope I'm not making another mistake.

A buzz stirred the air of the compartment. A few left the train. Most didn't. At least the majority reached the same decision.

The children on the seat next to him coughed and moaned. Renate began to cry and Annelies whimpered in her sleep. Mitch reached out and rubbed the child's back.

They sat without moving for about ten minutes before the hulking beast lurched forward once more. "It must have been an animal on the tracks." He tried to soothe himself as much as Gisela.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

He wanted to do more for her, so much more. He wanted to whisk her away to the British countryside, to hear the peaceful lowing of cattle on the green hills, to see the riot of color in a cottage garden in the summer.

He wanted to take her in his arms and cradle her, protect her. His hand throbbed. "When this is over . . ."

"Will it be? Will it ever be?"

"Yes. By the spring, perhaps."

"I want to go home."

"You are on your way to Berlin."

"Not Berlin. America. Vater is the one who insisted we return to Germany. Mutti and I didn't want to leave. But what Vater said, you did."

"Is that why you joined the Hitler Youth?"

"In part."

They rode in silence for a while. He had yet to figure out who she was-an American or a German. Where did her loyalties lie? Did she have any?

She was the first to break the silence. "Was it cold in the camp?"

"There were warm coats and heated barracks. But I hated it." He tried to keep the conversation neutral, as if he was talking like a guard at the camp.

"At least you were safe, away from the front lines."

"I should have been fighting. I'm a coward for hiding out in a POW camp."

"You didn't have a choice."

"But I did. If not for me, we might have made it to our destination. To home. We fought in one battle. One, all war. That's it. And when the fire got too hot, we ran. The whole lot of us. What would you call it but cowardly?"

"I would call that war. I would call that G.o.d's protection over you."

"I didn't fight for my country's freedom. G.o.d could have protected me on the battlefield."

"He could have. He chose not to. Was it cowardly of me to go to East Prussia and stay there, away from the bombings in Berlin? There were things I could have done but didn't do."

"You're a woman. Another matter entirely."

"No. My friend stayed in the city. She works the air-raid searchlights. I chose to leave."

"The smart thing to do." She didn't understand. Not at all. It was a man's job to protect his family, his home, his country.

In this, he failed.

Mitch was running, running, running. No matter how fast he moved his legs, no matter how fast he pumped his arms, he never made any progress. The Germans were always right behind him and Xavier and the four others with them.

They shot in front of them, they shot behind them, they shot all around them. The trees always looked the same. The same farmhouse. The same hedgerows. Try as he might, he never made progress.

He couldn't catch his breath. He ripped off his pack, but his lungs refused to suck in air. And still, he didn't get any farther than when he had started.

He spun around. The men behind him cursed as they were hit. They fell like ants in front of a bulldozer.

And then he faced forward. Right in front of him were five German panzers.

With a start, he awoke.

Gisela was shaking him. "Josep. Josep."

"I'm up."

"You were having a nightmare. Calling out in your sleep. In English."

Around them, Audra snored a little, her head on Kurt's shoulder, Renate cuddled close to her. Annelies lay across the back of the seat.

"A nightmare?" Sweat beaded above his lip.

"Ja. Do you care to tell me about it?"

"Nein."

"But it haunts you."

"Only at night."

"Do the nightmares happen often?"

"Too often."

"You were screaming about the Germans coming."

"Yes." He didn't want to relive it. It was bad enough that it happened over and over again in his dreams.

"Is it about when you were captured?"

He nodded. "We met up with a panzer group."

She wrapped her arm around him under his coat, though his shirt was damp with perspiration. "Getting captured is no sin."

"It cost many of those men their lives. Because of my decisions."

She bowed her head. "It's hard in these days to know what is right and what is wrong."

For once, she didn't fight him but nestled into his embrace. Her head came to his chin, her ear against his chest. The feel of her in his arms soothed him.

When she spoke again, her voice was low. "When I was afraid of the dark, Mutti told me to think happy thoughts. Then I would dream of the beach, the seagulls calling as they wheeled overhead, the taste of salt water on my tongue. What makes you happy?"

"The wind in my hair, the earth underneath me, the sun on my face."

"I've been wondering that. Why join the army when you want to be a pilot? Why not the air force?"

"I wanted to, but Father forbade me. He thought he'd won that battle, that I'd stay in England and pick a sensible career, like a solicitor. Xavier dared me to join the army instead. Father got his way. I didn't join the RAF."

"Why do something like that?"

"You know how crackers young men can get. It sounded good to me at the time. He couldn't accept that I hadn't any desire for law. I would do anything to get away from his plans for me to go to university and join his firm. Xavier was always getting me into trouble. Father did not approve of our friendship." His grief gripped him fresh once more, and he rubbed his watery eyes. His chum would have found a way to enjoy this adventure.

"I'll dream that same dream, the dream about England, with you."

He relaxed against her and they melded together, sleep claiming him as visions of a woman with amber-brown hair and eyes to match invaded his slumber.

EIGHTEEN.

February 22 Gisela's neck ached, along with her back, and her legs cramped. Hunger clawed at her stomach. The trip that should have taken them mere hours had lasted several grueling days as the train moved slowly, stopping and starting in fits, darkness wrapping its long fingers around them.