Opposite Sides (51 page)

Strange
, thought Hans. He had not
noticed that a ‘Turner’ had turned up before during the medical
roll-call. Must be one of the latest arrivals. He made a mental
note and decided that at the conclusion of the parade, he would
look in the file of the prisoners.

Hans thumbed
through the alphabetical pages of the ATS file. Finally he found
the
‘T’
section
and continued his skimming until he found what he was searching
for. There were two entries under ‘Turner’:
Nurse. R. Turner . . . Rosemary. Captured . . .
That was of no interest to him. Entry two:
Nurse Second lieutenant. Turner - Janine Grace.
Captured . . .

He stopped reading.
Surely, it could not be. He read the name again and a shiver went
down his spine. He had a sudden compulsion to find out for sure but
tomorrow would have to do. Nurse J. Turner would not be going
anywhere. Not tonight.

CHAPTER
17

To Catch a
Bear

Hauptmann Resmel strode
into the hospital section. Most of the medics were prisoners, a
mixture of English doctors and nurses and two German doctors who
were supposedly in charge. However like most of the medical staff
in the North African conflict, English, Empire or German it made
little difference to treating the sick or wounded. Doctors and
nurses worked side by side, carrying out their duties to the best
of their ability.

“
Second
lieutenant Turner?” Hans asked. “Is there a Nurse Turner
here?”

The medics nearby were
too busy to answer. Someone must have heard the Hauptmann, for a
loud voice called the name out again.

One of the English
doctors made his way between the rows of stretcher-type beds, a
mixture of sick and wounded prisoners, sick and wounded soldiers
from the Afrika Korps. The camp often received the more serious
cases sent over from one of the small field first-aid units which
were situated much closer to the main front line.

“
Sorry,
Captain but she went off duty half an hour ago. You’ll either have
to look for her in the women’s quarters or I could send her to you
when she comes back on duty at sixteen hundred hours.”

The young doctor waited
patiently for an answer. Everything took on a time of its own in
the camp; healing was often delayed due to the overbearing daytime
heat as patients sweated on their beds. Water was rationed and only
those suffering from dysentery were given their full ration. The
rest had to wait their turn to quench their thirst or wait until
the water delivery had been made. Occasionally the truck was
delayed and then the body flagged in its duty and every task had to
be laboured and forced. Every day, even merely living sapped all
their energy. Doctors and nurses needed many periods of rest
throughout the day if mistakes were not to be made.

Hans found himself
rubbing his little finger.

Funny
, he thought afterwards.
He’d not done that since he had been in
England
.

“
Send her
over to my office, doctor. I will be there this afternoon. Sixteen
hundred hours will be fine.”

“
Certainly,
Captain. Anything I can help you with?”

“
No. Just
send the nurse.”

Hans made a mental note
of the fact that this young man preferred to call him by the
English equivalent of his rank. Maybe it was because he could
converse in English far better than any other German in the camp. A
few had picked up some English words, just as others had done with
German but it was rare to find somebody who could speak so
fluently.

At precisely four
o’clock, a knock sounded on his closed office door. He had lost any
awareness of the time. He was busy with important paper work which
he had spread across the desk. Without looking up, he snapped out
the usual order to enter.

“
Herein
!”

The handle turned. Nurse
J. Turner entered. She stopped on a spot just inside the office
entrance. She waited, watching the top of the Hauptmann’s head as
his fingers gathered the papers into a very tidy pile. He glanced
up.

They stared at each other
in amazement and disbelief. He rubbed his little finger; she
adjusted her glasses. Finally, his throat was clear enough to
speak.

“
Jan!”

“
Hans!”

Then, they both spoke at
once.

“
What are you
. . .” she began.

“
. . . doing
here?” he finished.

“
I should
think that is obvious, seeing how I’m dressed.” She indicted her
nursing uniform. “Are you as surprised as I am?”

“
Yes. Most
certainly, yes.” Hans stood and pulled a chair from the corner
nearest to him. “How is Andrea?” Hans wanted to know everything
possible about his child.

“
She is well.
We never heard a word from you again the minute war was declared.”
Her voice was full of emotion; a mix of accusation and
regret.

Hans forced himself to
ignore it. Jan would have known full well that all communications
were stopped between their countries. He carried the chair round
the desk and motioned to her that she could sit. She did. All the
while her steady unbelieving gaze told him that she was having
trouble with the situation they were in. He half-sat on the front
edge of the table where he positioned himself only a small distance
from her. The glasses that divided her face were still very much
reminiscent of the Jan he had known before but the face that looked
up at him was no longer that of a child but of a woman in her
prime. He found that he was pleasantly surprised by her appearance.
There was something there that he had never noticed before. Yet he
could not decide what that something was. He found himself
observing her most carefully until the intensity of his
concentration made her feel uncomfortable and she finally dropped
her eyes.

“
My aunt was
told that you had been killed,” she mumbled awkwardly.

“
By
whom?”

“
I don’t
know,” she replied awkwardly. She looked down at her lap and played
with her fingers. “One of Gerald’s friends, I think. Goodness knows
where the information came from. We weren’t told. Gerald said a
friend who had been over in France early on had found the body of a
German soldier with the surname of something like yours. Somehow,
we assumed it was you.”

“
There are a
lot of lies told during war. Lies become big business.” His voice
sounded bitter. “You should not believe everything you are
told.”

“
I don’t!”
Jan answered with absolute conviction. She removed her glasses,
wiped them on her skirt and set them back on her face. “I did not
say that I thought it was true.”

He did not want to
discuss the matter further for where was truth now, anyway?
Somewhere along the line it had become distorted or lost
altogether. Neither could he compartmentalise her as he could the
other prisoners. He could not treat her as an enemy but then
neither could he be seen to openly treat her as a friend. It was a
darned awkward situation to be in.

“
Know
anything of Robert Brinkwater?” he asked in a casual manner, hoping
to calm down Jan’s outburst.

“
Robert?” She
seemed surprised. “Yes. I think he ended up going in to the RAF.
Same as Gerald but Robert went with bombers. Beau-fighters, I
think. I get news from Anne from time to time.”

“
What
squadron is he with?”

“
Can’t answer
that, Hans. Sorry, that bit is classified.”

He let that go. He
understood her reluctance and decided it was not that important so
decided not to pursue the matter.

“
Dangerous
occupation. Flying. Is Gerald still throwing aircraft around the
skies?”

“
I believe
so.”

“
Still with
hurricanes?”

“
I think so.”
Her eyes focused on his own military medals . “Flying is not the
only dangerous occupation. You didn’t get those for going on
holiday.”

Jan was never one to miss
a thing. He shook his head but didn’t offer any
information.

“
I had no
idea you were a nurse out here,” he said. He had sized up her
uniform together with the red-cross symbol over her
breast

“
Yes,” She
patted the symbol several times before going on. “On call-up I did
nursing at Queen Alexandra’s and then joined the ATS, um, the
Auxiliary Territorial Services.” She indicated the insignia on the
top of her sleeve. “Sorry, Hans but that’s all I’m allowed to tell
you. Idle gossip and all that. We’re told to be so careful these
days.”

He nodded. He understood.
She frowned and he could sense that something was worrying her.
There was an awkward silence for a while.

Damn this
infernal war.

He was finding the
situation difficult. The longer he waited and looked at her, the
more he was reminded of . . . only this time it was not of Miss
Turner. But who?

“
The last
time we heard you were in England, you did not visit.” She pushed
her glasses back and looked him right in the eye. “You didn’t come
to see Andrea and that hurt. She’s still your daughter or did you
choose to forget?”

The mention of his child
again brought the sting of a tear in the corner of his eyes. He had
not intended to turn his back on the child. The war had forced them
apart. Now he could only hope that the fighting would soon come to
an end for it was becoming clearer that only a return to peace
would enable him to be with his daughter once more.

“
I have never
forgotten Andrea! Even though I am not near her does not mean I
love her less. I do pray that she is well.”

“
The last
time I saw her she was,” Jan replied. “Until I was posted here, we
were together. Aunt and I have been her family. She and aunt are
still living in the same place but I am not sure you would
recognise her any more.”

“
Who? Miss
Turner or Andrea?”

“
Andrea.”

Hans wondered whether
Andrea would ever forgive him. It still hurt him deeply inside for
she was all that was left of Caroline. He had to hang on to that,
at least.

He thought of
the way even he had been enveloped in the promises and glamour of
their leaders. The excitement and frenzy had been overwhelming,
especially when Renard was around. He had brought his enthusiastic
friends home to the family, persuading Uncle Karl that their leader
had all the answers to the country’s woes and that they were
standing on the brink of a new and exciting era. Renard had been
especially excited after attending the large torchlight rallies in
the city centre or when he had gone to the Lust Garten and told
them all about the captivating speeches made by the
Führer
and his
propaganda minister, Dr Josef Goebbles.

So, what promises were
made now? Only that to do with the reality of war: a war that was
severing relationships and splitting families, not uniting them as
Dr Goebbles had promised. It had seemed so simple and straight
forward when the National Socialists had promised work for
everyone. A promise of an expanding economy in which everyone could
work together in the unification of all German-speaking people.
Everyone who had struggled for so long from the end of one war to
the beginning of this, for whom those promises had sounded so
inviting: a new Germany without the troublesome elements that
disrupted society and made life a misery, had been sucked into the
political frenzy that had promised so much. Where was this new
Germany, able to demand respect from all the nations of the world;
this new Empire stretching and uniting Europe that would last for a
thousand years?

He was reminded of the
wedge that had been driven between those he cared most for and his
duty as a soldier on the opposite side. He found the thought
disturbing and at the same time he was angry with himself for being
in such a ludicrous situation. Hearing Andrea’s name again
scrunched his stomach together as if it had been forced through a
tight mangle, the pangs of guilt suddenly making him want to hit
out. He stood over Jan and directed his frustration towards
her.

“
You had no
business bringing Andrea into the conversation,” he hissed,
threatening her with a wild, stormy look. Before he could stop
himself, it sounded like old times again. “You can never be mother
to her; she is not your child. You should not have come out here.
You should have stayed in England. War is for men to fight. It’s
not a woman’s job!”

Jan jumped to her feet
and faced him so close that he could feel her breath. Her eyes
burnt like two fire coals behind her lenses. He had humiliated her.
She was insulted by his rash, stupid comments.

“
I didn’t
train to kill like you! I’m a nurse, not a killer! My job is to
heal the injured, not to maim them! And there are many, many men
who have their bodies maimed or torn to shreds. You know that
already, Hans. You and your rotten guns and tanks and bombs! Look
at the mess we’re in!”