North Reich (24 page)

      
“This is an outrage,” the German officer yelled at Westover and Grant, his face red with anger.
 
“This ship has been chartered by the German government and has diplomatic immunity.
 
You will get off this ship immediately.”

      
Westover shrugged.
 
“That’s all news to me, young Adolf.
 
We’ve gotten word that this tub is carrying contraband and we are going to search her, whether you like it or not.
 
If everything is on the up and up, you will be permitted to proceed.
 
If there is contraband, we will do what we have to, and that includes arresting or interning everyone and everything.
 
My men and I are now going to inspect the cargo.”

      
“The hell you are,” screamed the German lieutenant.
 
He pulled out his luger and fired point blank into Westover’s chest. Westover screamed and fell backwards.
 
Grant quickly raised his weapon and fired several shots into the German who tumbled into a bloody heap.
 
A couple of German soldiers reached for pistols they’d hidden in their jackets and began shooting wildly.
 
Grant turned on them and continued to shoot.
 
It was bloody chaos as marines and Germans fired at point blank range.
 
There were screams of fear and pain as bullets ricocheted off metal walls and decks, while some found flesh.

      
In a few seconds, it was over.
 
A couple of shocked and stunned Germans stood with their hands in the air, while the others lay on the deck, either dead or wounded.
 
Grant checked and found that two marines were dead and two more wounded.
 
Westover was alive, but barely, and a medic was working on him with quiet efficiency.
 
Other marines climbed over the rail from their launches and quickly took up station, their faces contorted with rage at the ambush of their buddies.
 
They were ready to kill.

      
Suddenly, gunfire emanated from below decks.
 
Now what? Tom thought.
 
“The Jews are escaping,” Charest said.
 

      
Grant slapped a fresh clip into his carbine, grabbed a few marines, and headed below, trying not to slip on the pools of blood that were congealing on the deck and running in rivulets down the stairs.
 
He was greeted by the sight of a couple of dead Germans and three others who were unharmed, but being covered by several civilians with pistols.

      
“Who are you?” asked one of the civilians.

      
“U.S. Navy and Marines,” Tom said.
 
He noticed that the man stank of body waste and was almost wild with fear.
 
“Now put down those guns before more people get hurt.”

      
The man laughed harshly.
 
“We’re Jews.
 
They were going to take us to Germany to be murdered.
 
What do we care if a few of them get hurt?”

      
Tom conceded the point.
 
He did, however, get the Jews to put their weapons away.
 
He had the hatches and other access points to the hold opened so the Beaufort’s human cargo could get some air.
 
They were bedraggled, scared, hungry, and filthy.
 
Little or no provision had been made for food, water, or sanitation.
 
It was apparent that many of them would have died before they reached France.

      
Marine medics were taking good care of the wounded, and the Jewish leaders were doing the same for their own people, some of whom had been hit by stray bullets.
 
More hatches were opened, and food and water was provided.
 
Captain Carson arrived from the Boston and was appalled by the carnage as well as the condition of the Jews who’d been stuffed into the hold.

      
Carson checked over the casualties as they were being shipped back to the cruiser and her excellent medical facilities. The marine wounded might make it, but there was doubt about Westover.
 
He’d taken two bullets in the chest.
 
Fortunately, his life jacket had absorbed some of the blow, but he was still grievously hurt.

      
Tom checked over the men he’d shot.
 
Both the SS officer and an enlisted man were dead.
 
No one had bothered to cover their graying faces and they gazed blankly at the sky.
 
Tom fought the urge to shake.
 
In all the years he’d been in the army, he’d never fired a weapon in anger, never hurt anyone.
 
Now, in the space of a few seconds, he’d killed two men.
 
He’d snuffed out two lives and he felt miserable.
 
So what if they’d been trying to kill him - he’d killed them.
 
Of course, a second’s difference and he might be the one lying on the deck.
 
He took a deep breath and got a hold of himself.
 
With Westover down, people needed his leadership.

      
Grant found Charest sitting on a chair in his cabin.
 
There was a blood-soaked bandage on his cheek where he’d been hit by a piece of flying metal.
 
None of his crew suffered more than cuts and bruises.
 

“Well, American, am I your prisoner, too?”

      
“I hardly think so.
 
We know what happened.
 
We’re well aware that you gave all that information to the OSS and Canadian resistance so we could find you and stop this atrocity.
 
By the way, where did the Jews get their guns?”

      
“A man from the Canadian underground gave them to me and I put them in the hold.
 
If the rescue didn’t work, the Jews and my crew would try to take over the ship some night when most of the Nazis were asleep.
 
I thought I’d even get the nasty pricks drunk to help out.”

      
Charest lit a cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring.
 
“What happens now to my ship, my men, and me, of course?
 

      
“It’s my understanding that your ship will be escorted to either Boston or New York.
 
The Jews will be granted permission to stay in the U.S., and you and your ship will be permitted to do whatever you wish.
 
After all, you were victims, too.”

      
Charest blew another smoke ring.
 
“My crew can do whatever they wish as well.
 
They can return to Canada or stay with me.
 
Most have families, so I suppose they will go home.
 
I will not go back to Canada.
 
I think too many evil people will correctly surmise that I had something to do with this and take revenge on me.
 
If permitted, I would like to continue shipping goods for a living, only this time I’ll be using the United States as a base.”

The band at the large but stark hall that had been rented for the party was doing a decent imitation of a Benny Goodman type orchestra.
 
There was no real reason for the party, just that people wanted a break and chipped in to make it happen.
 
The result was a couple of hundred people seated at card tables and thoroughly enjoying themselves with decent music, mediocre food and cheap booze.
 
As at the Downing’s, everyone was in civvies in an inadequate attempt to mask the fact that almost all were in the military.
 

Tom had slow danced a few times with Alicia and had enjoyed holding her slender body close to him, but the idea of jitter-bugging was a little too much.
 
He could dance it a little, but he was whipped after flying in from New York early that morning, and giving verbal reports to a lot of generals and admirals.
 
He’d even reported to Admiral Ernie King, and he’d assured the admiral that Westover would likely make it, although wouldn’t be back to duty for a long while.

      
As much as he loved dancing with Alicia and holding her tight, he didn’t at all mind watching her as she and her friend, WAC Lieutenant Rosemary Poole, jitterbugged.
 
Rosemary was short and chunky, and all eyes, at least his, were on Alicia.
 
She wore a fashionably short full skirt that flared and showed her magnificent legs to well above her knee.
 
Only a short slip kept him from seeing much more.
 
She danced with a rhythm and abandon that surprised him.
 
So much for the reserved nature of a school teacher and a classical musician, he thought happily.

      
Finally, she sat down and took a quick swallow of her beer.
 
“Wow.
 
That last one almost got me.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

      
“Twelve years of dancing lessons as a kid should count for something.
 
Yes, I had dreams of becoming a ballerina, but then I grew to adulthood and the male dancers complained that I was too heavy to lift.”

      
“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, most of the male dancers were tee-tiny things themselves.
 
I think anybody over five feet tall and weighing more than eighty pounds scared them.
 
Between dancing and violin lessons, my parents hoped I really didn’t have much time to get into trouble. They were right, of course.”

      
“Maybe that was the idea.
 
Do you have any other skills I should know about?”

      
“You already know I speak fluent German and passable French and Spanish.
 
And you?”

      
“I can get by in German, but that’s it.
 
Now, when am I going to hear you play your violin?”

      
“Pretty soon.
 
Is there anything you’d particularly like?”

He thought of his erotic dream.
 
“A little Tchaikovsky would be great.”

      
Her eyes widened and she laughed.
 
“I keep forgetting you’re civilized.
 
Tchaikovsky isn’t the easiest, but I’ll do it.
 
Is there anything else you’d like?
 
Do you want me to wear something special?”

      
Sweet Jesus, he thought, again recalling his dream.
 
“Anything you choose will be wonderful.”

      
On its own, his hand began to shake as recent memories flooded in.
 
She reached over and grasped it firmly, calming him. “You okay?”

      
“I think so.”

      
He’d told her of the fighting on the
Beaufort
and that he’d shot down two Germans.
 
The fact that he’d killed the two men and wounded at least one more and nearly been killed himself was getting to him.
 
He’d discovered that the distance between life and death was often just the width of a hair, maybe even less.
 

Westover’s situation was just such a case in point.
 
The newspaper headlines and the radio reporters were calling Westover and Charest heroes, the
Beaufort
a slave ship or a death ship. The sailors and marines were praised to the skies for rescuing the Jews who’d been packed into the Beaufort’s hold.
 
There’d been no mention of the one lonely army major who’d also taken part, and that he’d killed a couple of Nazis.
 
Officially, it had been a navy-marine show.
 
Whatever anti-Semitic feelings that had prevented previous boatloads of Jews from emigrating to the U.S. were quickly dissolving.
 
Those who still harbored such thoughts were keeping discretely quiet.

Unofficially, Tom had gotten a commendation and it looked like he might be promoted to lieutenant colonel fairly soon.

      
Alicia squeezed his hand even tighter and stared into his eyes.
 
It looked like tears were about to spill down her cheeks. “You had to do it and I’m glad you did.
 
They would have killed you if you hadn’t.
 
I just found you and I’m not ready to lose you.
 
Do you understand me, Major Grant?”

      
He managed to laugh.
 
Her intensity was contagious.
 
“Yes, teacher.
 
Maybe I just need a good night’s sleep, and no, I’m not suggesting we call it a night.
 
I don't want to lose you either.
 
I want to be right here with you for a very long time.”

      
She smiled warmly at him.
 
There was a wicked glint in her eyes.
 
“I’ve an idea what to wear when I play for you.
 
I was originally thinking of a lovely and elegant basic black dress, but perhaps I will wear something else.”