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 14
While Evan Crane waited in the foyer for Gilly Doyle to arrive, he studied the family photographs on the wall, always aware that he lived in someone else’s home. He intended to take good care of it during his brief stay, although given British preparations, he might be there longer than most thought. Even if he did leave after weeks or months, someone else would take his place. A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Good morning, sir,” Gilly said with a broad smile as the door opened.
“Good morning, Corporal,” Evan replied as he stepped out and closed the door. He liked Gilly. He was always cheerful.
“I found an interpreter for you, sir,” Gilly said as they walked to the jeep.
“Already?” Evan asked, surprised.
Gilly grinned. “Yes, sir,” he said. “It’s a civilian devoted solely to you.”
“I’m impressed,” Evan said. “I really am. How did you manage a civilian?”
“I can be very persuasive, sir,” Gilly said. “At least when I need to be.”
Evan laughed. “Is there anything you can’t find?”
Gilly chuckled and leaned close, as if sharing a secret. “I’d best not reply, sir,” he said. “I don’t want to incriminate myself.”
Evan climbed into the jeep while Gilly went around to the driver’s seat. He suspected Gilly could get anything, just as he claimed—although he likely skirted, avoided, or even violated rules and regulations. But Evan didn’t want to know about it.
“Do you smoke, sir?” Gilly asked.
“Excuse me?” Evan asked, not expecting the question.
“Do you smoke cigarettes?”
“No, I don’t,” Evan said, head tilted. “Why?”
“Do you still get cigarettes with your rationing?”
“Yes, I do,” Evan said. “I think everyone does. Why? Do you want them?”
Gilly smiled. “That would be marvelous, sir.”
“I’ll give them all to you,” Evan said. “I have a couple of cartons.” He turned to Gilly, confused. “But you don’t smoke either.”
Gilly didn’t reply. After an awkward pause, he shifted topics. “The Germans have moved their town hall,” he said as he drove down the street. Occupants had started to appear in once-vacant houses, more arriving daily.
“Is that where we’re going?” Evan asked, wondering why Gilly hadn’t answered—not that it mattered. He likely traded cigarettes for something else that he wanted.
“Yes, to the new town hall,” Gilly said. “It’s not far. But the barbed wire fence is going up quickly, so we’ll have to take a roundabout way.”
They drove a block to the nearest access point, one of six entries into the restricted area. A British soldier stepped out of the guardhouse—a slender outbuilding enclosed on three sides, an archway in the fourth. He glanced briefly at the vehicle and then waved them through. A few minutes later they reached a nondescript building, bicycles leaning against the wall and two nearby lampposts. As Evan got out of the car, he paused to look at them.
“It’s the only way the locals can get around,” Gilly said, motioning to the bicycles. “Or with a horse and wagon.”
Evan eyed the bicycles a moment more, briefly wondering how the residents coped with a massive British presence descending on their town. “Who am I going to see?” he then asked, eager to meet his interpreter.
“Shall I show you in, sir?” Gilly asked. “I can escort you to the office.”
Evan hesitated. “Let me try it on my own,” he said. “I’ve got to start getting acclimated.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Gilly said. “You can ask at the mayor’s office, and they’ll direct you or go to the office at the end of the hall. The interpreter should be waiting for you.”
Evan nodded, went up the walkway, and entered the building. It was typical of a local administration in transition—boxes of supplies in the hallway, men and women scurrying about, a few eyeing him warily. He paused in the entrance, mumbling Gilly’s directions, confronted with several hallways. He wasn’t sure which to choose.
“Excuse me,” Evan said, approaching a gray-haired woman in a green dress. “Where would I find the mayor?”
She shrugged. “Entschuldigung, ich spreche kein Englisch.”
Evan frowned. He didn’t know what she said, although he suspected she knew what he said. But he didn’t expect anyone to cooperate—at least not willingly. Why would they?
The door opened a moment later, and Gilly Doyle came in. “You look a bit lost, sir.”
Evan chuckled. “I am, actually.”
“No worries, sir,” Gilly said. “The locals aren’t very friendly. I’ll take you to the interpreter.”
“Should I see the mayor first?” Evan asked. He glanced at those in the hallway, busily acting as if he wasn’t there. Maybe he would do the same if their roles were reversed.
Gilly waved his hand to dismiss the suggestion. “Plenty of time for that, sir,” he said. “The mayor may not even be in.”
Evan suspected the mayor was occupied anyway, calming chaos from the transition. “Alright, show me where to go,” he said.
Gilly led him down the central hallway, turned right, went to the end of the corridor, and turned left. He tapped on the jamb of an open door. “Major Crane is here.”
Evan glanced past Gilly into a cramped office, the desk beyond his view. Boxes stuffed with files were stacked under a window, an empty bookcase beside it.
Gilly stepped back into the hallway. “I’ll wait in the jeep, sir.”
Evan nodded and entered the office, surprised by what he found. A young woman sat behind a desk, eyeing him suspiciously. She was attractive—her hair the color of apricots with curls that couldn’t be tamed—and bright blue eyes. It was a stunning combination.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling to defuse a tense first meeting. “I’m Major Evan Crane.”
She motioned to a chair in front of her desk but didn’t return the smile. “Winnie Kraus.”
“Winnie?” he asked as he sat down. “It doesn’t sound German.”
“Winifred is my real name,” she said, her English crisp. “But everyone calls me Winnie.”
“Shall I call you Winnie?” he asked politely.
“Miss Kraus will be fine,” she said.
Evan leaned back in the chair. It wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m pleased you agreed to be my interpreter,” he said, and then chuckled. “I’m in desperate need of one.”
“I didn’t agree to anything,” she said with no expression, her gaze fixed on his. “I was told to be your interpreter—against my wishes, I might add.”
Evan shifted in the chair. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. He hadn’t expected such a frosty reception. “I hope it’s not too unpleasant for you.”
She shrugged but didn’t reply.
He glanced around her office, cluttered and disorganized, the move still in progress. He had a thought, an offering to ease the tension. “Where do you live?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business.”
Evan pursed his lips. He was a patient man, about to lose his patience. “This can be easy, Miss Kraus, or it can be very difficult. You choose.”
She paused, her icy stare intact, and replied. “I live with my father on a farm a couple of kilometers south of town.”
Evan calculated the distance to the new town hall, mindful of the bicycles he had seen in front of the building. “I would prefer to work where I’m staying,” he said. “We’ll be more comfortable.”
“Whose home did you steal?” she asked.
He groaned inwardly but chose to ignore her. If he didn’t, their new relationship would quickly degrade. “As my assistant, you’ll receive a pass to enter the restricted zone,” he said. “If you give me your address, I’ll have my driver pick you up each morning.”
“I’d prefer to use my bicycle.”
He sighed and then shrugged. “As you wish,” he said, tiring of the games. “I’ll have Corporal Doyle give you an access pass along with my address.” He stood to signal that the meeting had ended. He had no desire to exchange pleasantries with someone who wasn’t interested. “I’ll expect you at eight a.m. tomorrow morning.”
She frowned. “I’ll do as you ask not because I want to, but because I have to. I desperately need employment.”
Evan studied her more closely—the wavy hair, the blue eyes now cold and distant. In another place and time, they could be friends—maybe even more—but not now. She was combative—defiant and strong-willed—but he respected her. She refused to be intimidated, showing a strength few possessed, especially given a global conflict that had such a cataclysmic ending for the German people. But he had to define their roles, no matter how unpleasant it might be. “Miss Kraus, there’s an old saying.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
He almost laughed but didn’t. She could be amusing, too. He liked that. “The saying is based on a Roman expression that was popular in American politics during the last century. To the victor go the spoils. Have you heard it?”
She shook her head.
“Do I need to explain what it means?”
Again, she shook her head. “I understand.”
“We’re both doing what we’ve been told to do,” he said, standing in the doorway. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. But here we are—partners. Since we’re in this situation, why don’t we just make the best of it?”
She hesitated, the icy stare melting just a bit. A hint of understanding flickered in her eyes. “I have an elderly father to care for,” she said softly. “I don’t want any trouble.”
He understood completely. It was an honest request—the first she had made and the only emotion she had expressed. “Then it’s very simple,” he said, his tone softer. “Don’t make any trouble, and we’ll get along fine. Because you’ll get none from me.”
He walked away before she replied.
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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.
