Emerging from the Ashes
By John Anthony Miller
By John Anthony Miller
Publication Date: 29th September 2026
Publisher: Independently Published
Pages: 368
Genre: Historical Fiction
Love and loyalty in post-war Germany
Oeynhausen, Germany in the summer of 1945
As the Second World War comes to a close, Winnie Kraus is stunned when the British confiscate much of Oeynhausen for their post-war headquarters. Fluent in English, she’s assigned to Major Evan Crane, a British officer tasked with reviewing Nazi documents for upcoming war trials. Combative partners from the outset, their relationship evolves to a mutual respect before becoming so much more.
Jurgen Frank is a German war criminal hiding in the shadows of civilian life. After the British take his home, he’s forced to live on Winnie’s father’s farm. He falls in love with Mira, a beautiful Polish conscripted laborer who only wants to go home. But he knows he doesn’t deserve her—not with the life he’s led.
Four lives haunted by pasts they had hoped to forget as love and loyalty collide in a world ruled by the spoils of war. Together they face the future, cherishing each breath they are blessed to take, emerging from the ashes.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Two kilometers south of Bad Oeynhausen, Germany
April 3, 1945
Winnie Kraus watched the last of the German soldiers scramble through her father’s farm fields. They ran across the rolling terrain, trampling seedlings recently planted, racing toward the river. Fifty meters away, a troop truck sped down the Autobahn—the highway that wound through Germany. Soldiers huddled in the rear, crowded on benches and the space between. Others stood on the back bumper, clinging to the canvas frame.
“What happens now?” Winnie asked, turning to her father.
“The enemy comes,” said Otto Kraus, his hair white, his face firm. “The Americans took Gütersloh yesterday. We are next.”
She glanced skyward, looking for planes. “Two hundred were killed when they bombed the munitions factory.” She paused, the pain sharp and fresh. “My closest friend among them.”
“More would have died if it hadn’t been Good Friday,” he said. “Many were at church.”
Winnie fought tears, knowing more heartache was about to arrive. “What should we do?”
“Defend ourselves,” Otto said. He pointed to four Polish workers, conscripted when the war began. “We’ll protect them too.”
Winnie’s eyes widened. “The enemy would shoot the Poles?” she asked. “Are they really that heartless?”
Otto shrugged. “Bullets know no nation.”
Winnie swept her apricot-colored hair away from her face and eyed the highway. “I don’t see them,” she said. “Maybe they’re north of town.”
Otto shook his head. “They’ll use the Autobahn. Hitler built it to swiftly move forces during times of war.” He turned toward her. “Most don’t know that.”
Winnie frowned. “Most don’t care—not now.”
“A few hours, a day at most, and they’ll be here,” Otto said.
She eyed him warily. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“I’ll do what I must to protect my farm,” he said, face firm. A veteran of the First World War, he had also served in the second. Badly wounded in North Africa—his left arm hung limp, a fraction of what it was. But he was still prepared to fight.
A rumbling came from the west, slight at first but growing louder. Engines hummed, not one but many—like a bee that returns to the hive.
Winnie turned to her father. “What is that?”
“They’re already coming,” he said, eyes anxious. “Hurry. You have to help me.”
“Help you with what?” Winnie asked, her gaze fixed on the Autobahn.
He didn’t reply. He ran toward the house—it sat parallel to the Autobahn, the front facing a dirt lane—while turning to the Polish workers. “Hide in the basement,” he shouted. “Quickly!”
Winnie followed him into the cottage and then into his bedroom. “What are you doing?”
He pulled the white sheet off the bed. “A flag of surrender,” he said. He opened the window, draped the sheet from the top, and closed it. “Hurry, your brothers’ bedroom too.”
They moved to the adjacent room, three beds against the walls. Otto took the sheet from the closest and hung it out the window. “We have to get to the basement before they come,” he said, racing out of the room
They ran into the hallway and down the basement stairs. “Why would they attack us?” Winnie asked, her pulse racing. “We’re civilians.”
“They may think we’re hiding soldiers,” Otto said.
She was confused. “Won’t the sheets show surrender?”
“They should,” he said. “But the enemy is evil. Who knows what they might do?”
When they reached the basement, Otto hurried to the side that faced the Autobahn and motioned for the Poles to follow. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to calm them. “You’re safe. Stay close to the wall.” He moved a short crate under the window and stepped on it, looking out.
“What is that rumbling noise?” asked Mira, the youngest Pole.
“American tanks,” Otto said.
Mira stared at him, eyes wide. “Will they shoot at us?”
Otto didn’t reply, intent on observing the enemy. “They’re moving toward the river.”
“Pray that they pass,” said Hanna, an older woman. She made the sign of the cross and mumbled to herself.
Winnie eyed the others, her heart thumping against her chest. They were afraid, their eyes wide, their faces pale. They knew what could happen. They had seen war at its worst. Seconds passed while enemy engines marred the morning, the steady drone of grinding gears.
“The tanks are stopping,” Otto said. “Soldiers are getting out of trucks.”
“Are they coming this way?” Winnie asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “They’re walking along the road.”
Winnie and the Poles huddled together. “Why would they bother us?” an old man asked.
“Let’s hope they don’t,” Winnie said, not knowing what to expect. She thought of her friend Anna, killed in the bombing. She hadn’t known what to expect either.
“The nearest tank is spinning its turret,” Otto said. “The gun is facing us.”
Winnie stepped onto the crate beside her father.
“Get down!” Otto hollered, dragging her to the floor.
A hissing sound ended with a slight explosion. Bullets followed, shattering the basement window and sending shards of glass to the floor. More whistled past them, ricocheting off the stone foundation.
They screamed, crouching close to the floor. The women cried as the men wrapped their arms around them. The firing lasted a few more seconds, whistling bullets muffled by shrieks. Then it was quiet.
“Stay down,” Otto said. He raised his head, listened closely, and then stood. “I’ll check upstairs.” He rose and raced toward the stairs. “Wait here.”
Winnie didn’t listen. She followed her father, leaving the Poles praying that God would save them.
Otto flung the door open, Winnie behind him. The firing started again, bullets breaking parlor windows, pinging past them. The wall near the front door was collapsing, the plaster crumbling, a section of ceiling above it sagging. Dust filled the room. Debris fell to the floor.
“An incendiary shell,” Otto shouted, choking on the acrid stench. “The animals! We have to let them out before they bomb the stable.”
They raced through the kitchen and into the stable, which was attached to the back of the house. Otto opened the doors and shooed a horse and half a dozen cows out to pasture. “Move the bicycles,” he called. “We may need them to escape.”
Winnie grabbed two bicycles and laid them on the ground away from the building. Gray smoke trickled from the front of the house, the cloud of dust dissipating. Flames flickered from their neighbor’s cottage, fire consuming the roof.
“Back to the basement,” Otto cried. “Before they fire again.”
They ran down the hall, a bullet hitting the wall behind them. As they raced down the steps, the foyer ceiling collapsed, rubble crashing to the floor. They scrambled downstairs, gasping for air, their mouths dry from gritty dust, and huddled with the Polish workers. The firing slowed, an occasional bullet screaming past them, and then it stopped. The stink of gunpowder still wafted through the basement, but it was quiet—no shooting or shouting. They waited for the carnage to continue, but it didn’t. Seconds later, the cows mooed, the horse whinnied, chickens cackled—all welcome sounds on a farm.
Winnie eyed those around her and cautiously rose. She climbed onto the crate and peeked out of the broken basement window.
“What are they doing?” Otto asked.
“The tanks are moving toward the river,” Winnie said. “But soldiers are roaming the fields.”
“If they come here, I’ll kill every one of them,” Otto said, fuming.
Winnie ignored him. “Two soldiers are talking to Herr Hempel,” she said, referring to their neighbor. She waited, seconds passing with an eerie stillness. “They’re coming toward us.”
“I’ll get my gun,” Otto said.
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John Anthony Miller
John Anthony Miller writes all things historical—thrillers, mysteries, and romance. He sets his novels in exotic locations spanning all eras of space and time, with complex characters forced to face inner conflicts—fighting demons both real and imagined. He’s published twenty novels and ghostwritten several others, including Another Soul Saved. He lives in southern New Jersey.
