Of Windmills and War (38 page)

52

Pre-dawn,
01
April 1945

Danny
awoke early from a restless sleep. He couldn’t stand the thought of roosting in
his bed for another minute. Besides, he needed to find a bathroom. An oil lamp
cast a soft light in the corner near the radio. He spotted the kid with the red
hair, his head resting on folded arms on the table, the headset askew on his
head. Otherwise the room remained dark. He mustered the strength to sit up and
pivot, putting his feet on the floor. As he sat there, trying to figure out how
to get across the room, he spotted a broom. He hopped over to it and practiced
balancing as much of his weight as he could. Satisfied, he made his way to the
stairs and began the long ascent.

Finally
reaching the first floor, he got his bearings then quickly maneuvered his way
to the tiny bathroom. Afterward, he limped into the kitchen. Maybe I can make
myself a cup of—

“Goedemorgen.”

“Ah!”
Danny jumped, almost losing balance. “You scared me half to death!”

Eduard
hopped up to guide Danny to the table. “I assure you that wasn’t my intent.”

“What
are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” Danny said, taking a seat.

“I do
my best thinking when it’s quiet, before the day begins. Could I fix you a cup
of coffee?”

“Yes,
thank you,” he said, hoping it tasted better than Greta’s brew.

“What
brings you upstairs this time of the morning—other than nature’s call?”

“Couldn’t
sleep. I thought the guys in my quarters back on base snored a lot, but I had
no idea. Those guys down there could do some serious damage to your foundation
with those snores.”

Eduard
chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But they all need their rest.
Particularly those we picked up last night.”

Danny propped
his foot on one of the other chairs. “Lane told me you have a team taking them
back to base today.”

“Yes,
that’s true. They won’t take them across the Pond, but they’ll deliver them
safely to the shore. Fishing boat will take them the rest of the way. When
pilots come in with no injuries, it’s best to move them out as soon as
possible. We never know when we’ll have more coming in. It’s much more
difficult to move twelve or fifteen than just a handful.”

“I can
see that.”

Eduard
returned with a mug of coffee. “There you go. I’m sorry I can offer you no
sugar.”

“Not a
problem. So how does this work, your team taking them back to base? They can’t
exactly just walk out of here.”

“That’s
true,” Eduard said, taking a seat. “We have a complicated system of contacts in
place. We alert them ahead of time how many we are transporting and when. Of
course, we’ll outfit them in civilian clothing so they blend in.”

“Makes
sense,” Danny said after sipping the tolerable coffee. “I’d think such a system
would be quite risky.”

“You’d
be correct.”

Danny leaned
forward, cupping his hands around the mug. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How is it
that you do all this under the nose of the Germans? So many people coming and
going is bound to arouse their suspicions? Does the Gestapo never knock on your
door?”

“Since
we’re located so near the border, we must stay constantly alert. You see, we’re
only a few kilometers from Gronau, the closest town just over the border in
Germany
. So it
was quite easy for the Germans to set up a command center here when the
Occupation began. In fact, it was one of the first established in The
Netherlands and one of the first Dutch cities to fall when the invasion began. But
we’ve played the game well.”

“Meaning?”

“We
have people placed in strategic locations to alert us in
all
aspects of
those who rule over us.”

“Do you
mean you have Resistance workers posing as members of the Gestapo?”

Eduard
leaned back, his finger tracing the rim of his chipped mug. “Lieutenant, I do
not wish to be rude, but it is best you do not know the details of our
operation here. For your protection and for ours.” Eduard pulled out his pocket
watch and stood up. “Frederic should be waking the boys any time now.”

Anya
appeared at the door, her eyes fixed on a button she was fastening on her
sleeve. “Eduard, have you heard from
The Hague
this—”

“Good
morning, Anya,” Eduard interrupted.

She
looked up then turned her eyes in Danny’s direction. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her smile
didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hello,
Anya,” he said quietly.

“Hello.”

Eduard
looked back and forth between them. “Yes, well, I shall check downstairs to see
if the boys are up and see about our arrangements.” He shuffled down the
hall toward the stairs.

Anya
made her way to the coffee pot. “I didn’t realize you’d be up so early.”

“I
couldn’t sleep. I was restless, so I dragged myself up the stairs. I suppose I
needed a change of scenery.”

She
didn’t respond, her back still toward him. He noted her clothing—a worn black
shirt at least a couple of sizes too big, a black, baggy pair of men’s pants,
black boots, and her hair tucked inside her leather cap. From the back, he wouldn’t
have known it was a woman.

“Lane
tells me you’ll be accompanying them on their journey today.”

She
turned, sipping from the cup. She winced. “I shall never get used to this.”

“The
coffee?”

“You’re
most kind to call it that. Actually it’s—”

“Don’t
tell me,” he said, waving a palm toward her. “I’d rather not know.”

A faint
smile showed, nothing more, as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “No cats
or rats or dogs. Just brown beans which are burnt to look like coffee beans.
Unfortunately they do not taste much like coffee. But it has to do.”

“It’s
fine.” He cleared his throat then spoke quietly. “Anya, could we please talk?”

She
looked down into her cup. “I think now is not the time.”

“Only
for a moment? I can’t bear to see you go until I can apologize.”

She
shook her head. “It is not necessary.”

He
tried to stand, and she came closer. “Your ankle. You should not be standing on
it.”

“Then
will you come sit here? Please?”

She
inhaled, then slowly let her breath out as she took the seat beside him. “Danny,
you are very stubborn, I think.”

“Funny,
that’s what Hans used to say about you,” he said, settling back.

She
looked up at him so quickly, he felt sure he’d blown it again. Then a trace of her
smile was back. “Yes, I would imagine. How I loved to annoy him.”

He said
nothing for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He fought the urge to
reach for her hand. “I can’t forgive myself for causing you such pain last
night. I have no excuse. I didn’t think, I just . . . but if you
could possibly find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise I’ll never hurt
you again.”

She
kept her eyes on the cup in her hand. “Do not make such a promise, Danny.”

“Why
not?”

She
paused. “Because war is not the time for such things.”

When
she said nothing more, he asked, “Will you come back? After you take the men,
will you come back here to this safe house?”

“I
don’t know. It depends where I am needed.”

“You’re
needed here—
I
need you. Can you please just try to come back? We need
to . . . I believe there’s a reason we—”

She
abruptly stood. “You ask too much.” She took her cup to the sink.

He
stood up, grabbed the broom, and hobbled over to her. “Anya, listen to me.”

She
turned, surprised to see him beside her. “What are you doing? You should not be
standing.” She took his arm as if to help him back to the table.

He
wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to him even though she stiffened
at his touch. “What do I have to do to get through to you? I’m not the enemy,
Anya! It’s me—Danny. And all I’m asking is your forgiveness for opening my
stupid mouth!”

She
searched his eyes, mere inches from him now, and the nearness of her drove him nearly
mad. Still, he fought the desire to pull her closer, knowing one more wrong
move would be the end for them. “Please don’t push me away,” he whispered.

He
sensed the slightest change in her, if only a little—not quite so rigid. Still,
she studied him, as if searching his face for answers. Then, ever so slowly she
closed her eyes and melted against him, her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Danny . . .”

He held
her silently, so afraid to spoil the moment, afraid she’d bolt from his
embrace. He leaned his head on top of hers, holding her close, breathing in the
fragrance of her. “Please, Anya, just give me a chance. Don’t push me away. I
need you.”

“But
I’m so scared to let you—”

“Don’t
be scared. I’m here for you. Let me be here for you. We can—”

“Well,
well, well!” Lane said, stepping into the kitchen.

She
pulled away from him, putting distance between them as Danny turned around,
almost losing his balance.

“There,
now, McClain, let me help you,” his navigator said, leading him back to his
chair.

“I’m
fine. Really.” Danny plopped into the chair as Lane went to Anya’s side.

“I
don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He held out his hand. “I’m
Lieutenant
Lane
Pendergrass
,
United
States
Army Air Force, happy to make your acquaintance. And you are?”

She
busied her hands, tucking her hair more firmly under her cap. “I am Eva. Along
with Gastön, I will be accompanying you and the others today.”

Danny wondered
at the false name she’d given, but assumed it was part of the routine. He
avoided eye contact with Lane as the other RAF men crowded into the kitchen.
They all wore rugged clothing, looking nothing like airmen.

Eduard
followed Frederic into the kitchen. “Gastön, if you will brief the men, Eva and
I will load up the supplies in the truck. We have packed some food for this
first part of your journey. You will be fed at the next safe house once you
arrive.

“If you
will follow me,” Gastön/Frederic instructed, leading the men into the living
room known as the z
itkamer
. As they shuffled into the next room, Lane
paused beside Danny, shaking his hand. “Sure hate to leave you behind,
McClain.” He leaned over, lowering his voice substantially. “Here’s hoping for
a slow recovery, eh?  She’s a real looker.” He patted Danny on the back and
left before Danny could say anything.

Danny stretched
the kinks out of his neck before looking back at Anya. She and Eduard put a
large bag into a box along with some tins of what looked like crackers. Eduard
hoisted the box and made his way to the back door.

“Anya—”

“I must
go,” she said, sticking some tulip bulbs into her pockets. At least he assumed
that’s what they were.

“Will
you come back?”

She
stopped beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Danny. I will come back. A
day or two.”

He
placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

She met
his eyes briefly, then she was gone.

53

They’d
just passed through their third roadblock, once again rumbling down the horribly
pitted dirt road. Frederic’s impeccable German kept the gated stops well
greased, along with his many generous donations of Lucky Strikes to the German
soldiers, most of whom knew him well. To them, he was Gastön van Dam, a Dutch
truck driver and German sympathizer who never stopped complaining about his
“insatiable wife Mathilde.” The German soldiers loved to hear of Gastön’s many
bedroom escapades with his young, eager, and adoring wife. They’d long ago
stopped checking Gastön’s cargo, which he’d assured them time and again were important
supplies for Seyss-Inquart, the German Reichskommissar over
Holland
—never
giving more than a cursory look at the bed of the truck. Had they investigated
more carefully, they might have noticed the many cartons loaded in the back of
the truck were the same ones he carried week in and week out. Had they
investigated even further, they might have discovered the false front of the
truck’s bed where the more precious cargo was hidden—Allied airmen on their way
back to
England
.

Instead,
Gastön’s German buddies at the roadblocks preferred to crowd around the cab
where the driver gave them colorful, graphic descriptions of his husbandly duties.
They never paid much attention to Anya, disguised as Gastön’s fictitious mute
brother
who always slept through these visits. “Not even God himself
could wake my lazy brother!” he often lamented. With loud laughter and a good
many animated gestures, the guards enjoyed their visits and sent them on their
way. Anya understood enough German to know the wild web of lies about the
non-existent Mathilde. As long as the ruse got them through the roadblocks, she
didn’t care what “Gastön” said.

As they
neared
Utrecht
,
Anya’s heart grew heavy. Her hometown looked vastly different from the beloved
place where she grew up. Like much of
Holland
, the
war had taken its toll on
Utrecht
, leaving wide areas
with nothing more than pile after pile of rubble. Whole city blocks were left in
ruin with mangled beams of steel, twisted and ugly in the smoldering ashes. It
was the same everywhere, but it bothered her here most of all. She hadn’t been
back to her city block or the house she’d called home in years. She didn’t have
to see it to know it too was probably gone. She’d rather not know.

With
sunrise only moments away, they pulled up to the large stone safe house just
outside of town to the east. Once Frederic pulled around to the back of the
house, he backed up the vehicle to the sheltered side building and shut off the
engine. Anya quickly made her way around the truck, hopping inside to the
camouflaged secret door. Unlatching it, the men inside spilled out.

“Where
are we?” one of the RAF pilots asked, yawning.

“Just
outside of
Utrecht
. Please, come this way,” she said, showing
them into the building. Inside, the aroma of cooked meat made Anya’s stomach
growl. A long table was already set for breakfast. She ushered the men inside.

“Eva!
Good morning! Come, give me hug. ”

Anya
stepped around the men as they took their seats at the table. “Hello, Helga,”
she said quietly as she fell into the dear woman’s embrace.

“Hello,
my dear Anya,” Helga whispered so no one could hear. “How are you?” She grasped
both of Anya’s hands in hers. “You look more like a twig every day, child. Come.
You must eat today.”

“We’ll
see,” Anya said, gazing at the plates of food being carried to the table. “I
see your friends have been shopping again at the black market.”

Helga,
looped her arm with Anya’s. “Yes, our shoppers did quite well this week.”

Anya
nearly gasped. “Is that smoked sausage?”

“Yes,
and you must have some. Farm fresh eggs as well.”

“But
how—”

Helga
placed a finger on her lips. “Best not to know, though I suspect a certain Reichskommissar
in town will miss his usual hearty breakfast. I say, let
him
eat beets
for a change. But enough of that. You sit. I’ll bring the bread.”

Anya
took off her cap and stretched her arms behind her back. It was always good to
see her mother’s friend whenever her pilot runs brought her through
Utrecht
. Still,
the mere sight of Helga always filled her heart with a deep melancholy longing
for her parents. It couldn’t be helped, such feelings, though Anya always hid it
from the older woman.

The
only seat left at the table was on the end next to Danny’s friend. She wasn’t
in the mood for conversation, but her hunger pangs won out. She slipped onto
the bench just as one of Helga’s co-workers brought her a steaming plate of
food. She looked down at it, trying to remember when she’d last had a real meal
other than beets or the onion-tasting tulip bulbs they’d nibbled on earlier.

“Is
there something wrong?” Danny’s friend asked.

“No.”

“You
should have a bite. It’s really good. Much better than the powdered eggs we get
back at the base.”

She bit
the side of her lip in an effort to silence a sarcastic response. He didn’t
know any better, she reasoned, whining about those powdered eggs.

“You
probably forgot, but I’m Lane.”

“Yes, I
know.” She picked up a fork and moved the eggs around on her plate.

He ate
a sausage patty in one bite. “And you’re Eva.”

She
took a sip of coffee, savoring the hot brew in her mouth, trying to ignore him.
Coffee. Real coffee. With cream and sugar, no less.

He
wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I should apologize for interrupting you and Danny
this morning.”

She
forked a small bite of eggs. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He
chuckled. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is war, after all.
Be happy you found each other, even if only for a day or two.”

She
turned to face him directly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,
Lieutenant, so I’d appreciate it if you would drop the subject.”

He held
up both hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to apologize. Don’t get so defensive.”

Helga
leaned between them, placing a basket next to Anya’s plate. “Some fresh bread
for you. Still warm.” She gently patted Anya’s shoulder and moved on down the
table with another basket.

“Here,
allow me,” he said, holding open the cloth covering the thick slices of dark bread.

She
took a slice and put it on her plate without acknowledging him. They ate in
silence for several moments as she noticed most of the men gobbling down their
food. She knew better. Like every other Dutch citizen, she knew that eating too
much after months of too little could cause serious stomach cramps or worse.
Almost everyone had hunger-related illnesses in one form or another. She’d
learned the hard way to eat only enough to get by while on these travels, or
face dire consequences while on the road.

Anya
also knew that the staff here always fed the hungry airmen first. She looked
toward the kitchen, knowing they’d be lined up there as they always were. They
would not eat until their guests were fed. It was their way of thanking these
men for their efforts to liberate The Netherlands. Even if the bounty stolen
from a German officer was enough for all of them, she knew those fellow
Resistance workers would not eat until their English and American guests were
finished. By leaving something on her plate, she knew it would not go to waste.

“I
think there’s something you should know, Eva,” Lane said quietly, leaning
toward her. “And I only tell this to you for your own good.”

She
reached for her coffee. “What’s that, Lieutenant?”

“Your
friend Danny . . . well, I think you should know he’s got a girl
back home.”

She
held her mug between her hands, wondering where this was going. “Is that so?”

He
leaned his shoulder against hers. “Yes, and he’s crazy about her. And I do mean
crazy
.”

“And
how do you know this? Does he talk of her often?”

He
shrugged. “Not much, really. Just this one time. He was at a pub with a bunch
of guys from another crew. Rumor has it he got pretty drunk, and at one point they
said he was sitting at the bar crying in his ale over this girl back home.”

She
watched him, knowing perfectly well his intention. He was handsome enough, but she
had no doubt he had an ongoing love affair with every mirror he ever laid eyes
on
.
She couldn’t resist, so she played along doing her best to sound
heartbroken. “Oh no. Does this girl have a name?” she asked, lifting the coffee
mug to her lips.

“Oh
sure.” He leaned even closer, whispering against her ear as she took a sip.
“Her name is Sophie. Even named our plane for her.”

Anya
spewed coffee clear across the table, showering Frederic in the process. He
jumped up, ranting at her in Dutch as he wiped off his face and jacket. She
hadn’t seem him so riled in all the years she’d worked with him.

“Het
spijt me zo, Gastön!”
she said, apologizing as she
covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. “It was an accident! I promise!”

He
carried on—mostly for effect, she thought—then finally sat back down, shaking
his head. She noticed the coffee shower didn’t seem to harm his appetite as he
continued shoveling in the rest of his drenched breakfast.

“What
was that all about?” Lane asked, sitting back from her.

“Oh,
I . . . it’s just . . .” Then it came to her.
“It’s the name Sophie. You see, that was my grandmother’s name, my Oma. And
she . . . she was very dear to me. I always get very emotional
whenever I hear her name.” She poured it on, quite the grieving granddaughter.
When she felt the laughter starting to bubble up inside, she quickly stood and
excused herself. Once outside she laughed so hard, she thought she might lose
what little she’d eaten.

It took
a while for her to calm back down. When she did, she leaned against the
building and wiped her eyes.
I can’t wait to get back and tell Danny.
She
imagined his laughter, even rowdier than hers just now. She smiled, longing for
the sound of it.
She closed her eyes, lost in an unexpected fantasy of
being in his arms, the sound of his laughter soothing her soul. It occurred to
her that the only other time she had laughed in years was just last night,
watching him try to eat the roof rabbit stew. Then just now, with the “great
Sophie secret” told to her so seriously by Lieutenant Pender-whatever his name
was.

Oh
Danny, only you could make me laugh in the middle of this despicable war. Only
you.

Immediately,
she scolded herself. What had happened to the resolve she made sitting in that
tree by the house in Enschede? Where was her thick skin she’d worked so hard to
maintain? How was it possible, in the middle of all this, she’d suddenly given
in to feelings so long forgotten? She felt the icy fingers of a chill skitter
down her spine.
It’s dangerous, so very dangerous, letting him get to me
like this.

She had
only to remember the teasing way Danny had mentioned Wim’s name. As if Wim was
just a farm boy who’d merely toyed with her affections when she was just a
girl. The thought of it sealed off any childish illusions she may have allowed,
cautiously locking out any silly fantasies that may have drifted through her
unguarded thoughts.

Anya
took a deep breath, letting it stretch her lungs as full as she could. And as
the reality of her loneliness was carefully mortared back in place, she stuffed
her hands in her pockets, and went back inside.