The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “But how long will that take? It could take weeks!”

  “No, we’ll know enough in a matter of hours.”

  “Hours? How?”

  Zosia suddenly looked wary, then she sighed as though admitting defeat. “I’m afraid I’ve told you more than I should have.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? If you decide to trust me, you’ll have to trust me completely, anything less would be pointless. And if you decide you don’t trust me, well . . . Your secret is safe with me in either case.”

  “I can’t believe I goofed like that. I just assumed you would know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That we tap into their computers. And of course, since they keep such copious files on everyone . . .”

  “I had no idea that such a thing was even possible.”

  “Yes, you have been out of circulation for a long time.”

  “That, and I think our operations were perhaps somewhat less organized than yours is.”

  “Well, historically, we do have lots of experience at this Underground society sort of thing—unfortunately. About two hundred years, off and on. And I suppose your people don’t need anything quite this elaborate since they are not dependent on their Underground state for their very survival. It has never yet been the stated aim of the Nazis to wipe your culture off the face of the earth.”

  “No, not yet, though it is clear we have earned their undying hatred.”

  She contemplated him for a moment, then continued, “In any case, it’s hard to compare your organization from then with ours today. In fact, getting information in this manner wasn’t possible then. All the records went from paper to computer six years ago, during the great modernization drive. Surely you remember that?”

  He thought back, shook his head. “I think I was probably harvesting cabbages or something. Somehow, their great leap forward didn’t manage to reach us out in the fields.” Or in the camp office for that matter, he thought. He still remembered that weaselly secretary stabbing at her ancient typewriter. “Although, come to think of it,” he added upon further reflection, “I did do some data entry late in my prison career.”

  “How in the world did they trust you to do that? Did you introduce spurious data?”

  From her tone of voice, he realized he had made a mistake in mentioning that particular job. Sheepishly he explained, “They had a dual-entry system. If I didn’tenter exactly what another operator entered, we’d be caught out and severely punished. I didn’t know or see the other operator, so we couldn’t conspire on our mistakes.”

  Obviously uncomfortable, Zosia returned to their original topic. “Well, I wouldn’t underestimate what your people can do now,” she said obscurely.

  The thought occurred to him that she might well know more about his erstwhile organization than he did, but of course, she would tell him nothing. “You’re probably right,” he agreed, still scanning her notes, “I wasn’t exactly privy to all their secrets.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you were. You weren’t very high up, were you?”

  He glanced up at her, rather miffed. “High enough. I was still relatively young.”

  “But you joined so early—thirteen, wasn’t it?—you should have moved quickly to the top. You seem talented.”

  “Thanks, but I wasn’t particularly talented at taking orders.” At least not then, he thought morosely as he returned to checking her notes. Now I’m a goddamned expert.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I had some run-ins with the hierarchy early on. I got what I wanted, but I don’t think they ever really forgave me. And I had a skill. Somehow people with genuine skills are never moved into political management. Haven’t you ever noticed that?”

  Zosia smiled at him as if he were telling a joke, but said nothing.

  “In any case, I was happy where I was; especially when I was with Allison and that group. A promotion would have pulled me away from her.”

  Zosia nodded. To Peter she almost looked smug, and he realized, because of her friendly style, he had probably wildly underestimated her authority.

  She got up. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll know enough by morning.”

  “Now that’s a wonderful thought to go to sleep with. Gee, I could be shot at dawn. Or, then again, maybe not.”

  “Well, you already know if you’re telling the truth, so you should sleep easily.”

  “Unless the bastards have altered the files,” he murmured as he corrected the spelling on one of the names she had listed.

  “Yes, I guess they could do that. But why would they?”

  “Why do they do anything? Why do neutral countries turn out to be collaborators?” That still bugged him. He noted an exact date by the entry Zosia had made for Allison’s arrest.

  “Everyone knows about Switzerland.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, is it official policy to return refugees?”

  “No. They just tolerate a healthy black market in humans. Money, you know. The Reich pays a bounty for any returned body, a tad more if it’s still alive.”

  “Ah.” So it was just bad luck. “Well, with that to comfort me, I think I will sleep. To hell with the dawn, it’s still a beautiful evening! And I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in years.”

  “Peter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does anybody know your real name? Other than me?”

  “No. My parents are long gone, my friends from that time would have no idea who I am. I suppose my brother knows about me, but he surely has assumed by now that I’m dead. I doubt if we’d recognize each other if we ever met.”

  “How old were you the last time you saw him?”

  “Eleven,” Peter answered, absently drawing a circle around the date of Erich’s being drafted. “Eleven,” he repeated for no obvious reason. Then, remembering something, he amended, “Actually that’s the last time he saw me. I saw him once after that, from a distance. I checked up on him and learned he was graduating in chemistry from some polytechnic institute. I watched from the audience as he was awarded his degree.”

  “A chemist? Did you think to recruit him?”

  “I thought about it, but decided against it. I had no reason to believe he’d be interested in the cause. He had never been before that, and it seemed like an unnecessary danger to reveal myself to him.”

  “What about Allison? Did she know your name?”

  “No, she knew me by the name I used at the time: Yardley.” He tapped the place on Zosia’s clipboard where she had noted it down. “Alan Yardley. Allison wasn’t her name either, I assume.”

  “So why didn’t you ever tell her your name?”

  “She never asked.”

  They fell silent and he stared out the tent door. He could discern a few stars between the branches of the pines.

  “I’ll see to it that you get some bedding,” Zosia said, taking her clipboard back from him. “Do you want anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Talk to me. Tell me about yourself. I don’t really want to sleep this night away.”

  “I’ve got to get this stuff to the committee,” she said, clearly uncomfortable with him.

  “Take it to them. Just promise me you’ll come back.”

  “You’re tired. You really should get some sleep.”

  “Why? This could be my last night! I don’t want to spend it alone. I don’t want to go to my death alone.”

  “It’s not a foregone conclusion.”

  Embarrassed by the intensity of his need, he closed his eyes. “Please, Zosia,” he pleaded, “please, talk to me. I need company. Please?”

  She stared at him for what seemed a long time, then finally she nodded. “All right. It’ll take some time, but I’ll be back.”

  67

  “SO,WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Sitting at Marysia’s kitchen table, Zosia spoke quietly since Joanna was alr
eady asleep a few feet away on Marysia’s couch.

  Marysia sipped her tea, then made a face as it was too hot. “I don’t know. There’s a lot that should be checked out first. If it’s all true, maybe he stands a chance.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure that bit in Berlin was true—I think I saw him serving at one of those god-awful parties I had to attend, and if I remember correctly, the lady’s name was Elspeth.”

  “Really? Did he recognize you?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t say so, anyway. I guess, if what he said is true, he’s been through a lot since then.”

  Marysia nodded understandingly. “Well, if you’re right, it sounds like he is telling the truth.”

  “Not entirely. He’s hiding something or things.” Zosia tapped the side of her teacup with her fingernails.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I just know he was fairly evasive on several points; I let most of it go, but the one time I pressed, it turned out to be something that was humiliating for him, rather than problematic for us.”

  “That bit with the Kommandant?” Zosia nodded.

  “It does prove he’s willing to collaborate with them,” Marysia pointed out.

  “He admitted as much, though he called it giving in to blackmail.” Marysia stirred her tea and tried again. Still too hot. “I suppose, in that light, it’s not so bad.”

  “Still, it’s something we should be careful about when we present his case to the Council.” Zosia went to Marysia’s cabinet, pulled out a bottle of vodka, and poured a bit into her drink. “Too hot,” she explained, then added, “You want some?”

  Marysia shook her head. “So, you want to advocate his infiltrating our group? You trust him with all our lives?”

  Zosia sighed heavily and looked at Joanna sleeping on the couch. “I don’t want to see him shot,” she said as she sat back down, “and that would be the only other alternative.”

  “After the run of bad luck we’ve been having, everyone’s edgy about security. They’re not going to be very receptive to such a risk. Katerina’s already given mehell for bringing him this far. She said I’ve gone soft.” Marysia stared off into the distance. Almost to herself she added, “I don’t know, maybe I have.”

  “Statistically the last three years have been no worse than usual—it just hurts more because they’ve all been so close to us,” Zosia stated dryly. “I’m tired of people close to me getting killed.”

  “The prisoner is not close to you,” Marysia reminded her.

  “He is now,” Zosia admitted. “You’re the one who wanted me to talk to him. I did, and now I care about him. Stupid as that may be.”

  Marysia pursed her lips. “That’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “What you just said. I mean, you, more than most people, are trained to be analytic about these things, yet you’re willing to risk keeping this stranger alive when the stakes are so high. When there’s Joanna to think of.” Marysia cast a worried glance at her sleeping granddaughter. “She and Olek are all I have left,” she whispered.

  “I know,” Zosia soothed. “But you’re the one who insisted I talk to him!”

  “Yes, well, I think the physical resemblance to Adam . . . When I saw him, from behind, so self-confident, hurling orders at Olek, I thought, just for a moment, it was Adam come back to haunt us. It was such a dangerous situation, I should have dropped him right then and there, but I didn’t! I told him to drop his gun. He could have shot Olek then. I risked Olek’s life!” Marysia brought a trembling hand to her face and unsteadily wiped away some tears.

  Zosia reached across and stroked her mother-in-law’s face. “You followed your instincts, and they were right, weren’t they?”

  Marysia nodded, unconsoled. “When I mentioned it to him, to the prisoner—”

  “Peter.”

  “—to Peter that he reminded me of my son, he gave me a sheepish smile that looked just like . . .”

  “Well, I was forewarned, so it wasn’t that, it wasn’t the way he looked.”

  “Then why? Why trust him?” Marysia asked as if seeking answers for her own emotions.

  “He’s persuasive. And that means, I not only believe him, but I think he has possibilities.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’d be the perfect representative to present to the American public. He could speak directly of the suffering inflicted on people here. In English! It couldn’t be better!”

  “Well, a number of problems immediately comes to mind,” Marysia warned.

  “Such as?”

  “First, we have to keep him from getting shot.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then we’d have to convince the Council—and Wanda in particular—that he could leave Szaflary.”

  “He could earn trust, if we give him time,” Zosia suggested. “We’d make sure he always traveled with someone, then after a while maybe we could arrange a mission or something.” She tilted her head in thought. “I think we could do it, it would just take time.”

  “Everything does. Your father would need time to assess his viability and also work up some presentation format, in any case.”

  Zosia gnawed on her thumbnail. “Still, letting him loose in America, I doubt they’d go for that.”

  “We could organize close surveillance,” Marysia suggested.

  Zosia nodded. “It could get complicated. He’ll have to be managed very carefully every step of the way, but we can cross all those bridges if we get to them. First off is saving his life.”

  “So we need to check out whatever facts we can. Who do you have in mind to do the grunt work?” Marysia asked.

  “You, me, and Olek,” Zosia replied. “And no one else.”

  “Us? Why?” Marysia was astounded.

  “I want to be sure we dig very carefully. Whatever he’s hiding, I don’t want anyone else to find out.”

  “You mean, like the real reason he didn’t head toward England?”

  “Exactly. I want to have a chance to filter the information before presenting it to the Council.”

  Marysia sighed. “So what should I do?”

  “Olek and I will tap into the archives and check basic facts. You can handle communications with the English. Don’t give them much more than the names and just see what they’re willing to say.”

  “You know they’re not going to volunteer information without a quid pro quo.”

  “I know. I also know that whatever he’s hiding, it’s not that he’s a German agent, so whatever it is, it’s irrelevant to us right now. Better we remain in ignorance, eh?”

  “I guess,” Marysia agreed reluctantly. Her eyes drifted upward to the photograph of her son on the wall. Next to it was a photograph of Julia. “I guess,” she repeated sadly.

  They were interrupted by a light tapping at the door. Zosia opened it and Tadek greeted her with, “Oh, there you are! We were supposed to go out, don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Zosia sighed. “I completely forgot!”

  “Well, we can go now.” Tadek smiled. “I see you already have Joanna in Marysia’s capable care.”

  “No, there’s the Council meeting that’s been called. By the way, when is it?”

  “That’s what I stopped by to tell Marysia. And you. We’re meeting at six in the morning.” Tadek used the term we with special pride since his temporary election to a seat had just been confirmed. “So, we still have plenty of time.”

  “No, I have to check up on all the facts Peter gave me.”

  “Peter? Who’s that?”

  “The prisoner.”

  “Oh, so he’s Peter now,” Tadek remarked sourly.

  “Even prisoners have names,” Marysia commented from her seat. “I’m told he looks like Adam. Is that true?”

  “No, not really,” Zosia answered quickly.

  “Don’t be fooled by him, Zosia. He’s the enemy, he knows our exact location now, and if he has a chance to conve
y that information, he’ll be the death of us all.”

  “He’s not the enemy, he’s on our side.”

  Tadek whistled his derision. “Eh, we can discuss it.”

  “I told you, I can’t go out now,” Zosia repeated.

  “Well, how about afterwards?”

  “I promised Peter I’d go back and talk with him.”

  “He takes priority?”

  “He’s been through a lot, Tadek,” Zosia snapped. “You could have some consideration for others.”

  Marysia winced and even Zosia regretted her words.

  “Consideration? Sure, I’ll be damned considerate. I’ll give him this night! After all, it is going to be his last,” Tadek commented evenly.

  “Oh, Tadek!” Zosia moaned. “I’m sorry! Look, could you watch Joanna for a few hours? Marysia needs to go to Communications and check out some details, too. Please? Could you do that for me? Please?”

  “Sure, any favor for my little Zosia. And do you know why?” Tadek asked, then without waiting answered, “Because my dear, little Zosienka would never use me unfairly. Not before, not now. Never.”

  68

  PETER HAD FALLEN ASLEEP by the time Zosia returned, and she hesitated to wake him; instead she stood watching him as he slept. She imagined that it was Adam sleeping there, but then he stirred and smiled and the similarity evaporated. “You’re back,” he whispered in a foreign tongue.

  “As promised. So what do you want to hear?”

  “Anything. Everything. Tell me about yourself.”

  She tilted her head to consider him, then agreed, “All right.” She sat down and removed a half-liter bottle of vodka and two glasses from her bag. She poured each of them a drink and then set the bottle down, uncapped, between them.

  Years of training led Peter to reach for the cap to cover the bottle, but shestopped him: “Old custom.” She raised her glass, said, “Na zdrowie!” and swallowed the shot in one gulp.

  “Naz-dro-vyeh.” Peter repeated her version of “cheers,” hoping that what he said was at least approximately right, and followed suit; then, pointing to what looked like a blade of grass in the bottle, he asked, “What’s that?”