Soon after the invasion, many Dutch military personnel escaped from German prison camps and started the Underground Movement. Known for their skills in the military as experienced organizers, they wasted no time setting up a distribution program for food. In large numbers, people opened their homes, offering hiding places for members of the resistance. They became big supporters of their clandestine operations of spying and sabotage. With the increase of British airplanes over Holland, the Germans improved their anti-aircraft artillery, resulting in more significant numbers of airmen coming down over the Dutch landscape. The lucky downed aviators landed in the Dutch farming fields. As soon as they were spotted, civilians rushed to their rescue, beating the Germans in their search.
Early on, Arie in his role as double agent took a leadership position in the organization of the rescue efforts of aviators. However, his Gestapo uniform did not always earn him the respect of the citizens who had known him as their police officer. Few people knew he was a double agent, and Arie wanted to keep it that way. On occasion, he attended the clandestine resistance meetings, where he evoked mistrust amongst his peers. Some of them privately expressed their feelings that something unusual was going on with Arie.
At one resistance meeting in the basement of the church, Arie showed up with bogus food coupons and stamps made by Manus. Everyone at the meeting was astounded at this trove. Arie wanted to impress them and show he was on their side. A week earlier, he’d made a surprise visit to his brother. For Manus, Arie was an unwelcome sight in his uniform. Manus let him enter with a grudge: “What brings you here?”
“The resistance needs your expertise as a sculptor. In your hands lies something we need urgently. With your chisels and fine artwork, you are the best person in the entire region to carve out stamps for false passports and other documents, like food coupons.” Manus was not keen on cooperating with the resistance in such a dangerous activity. It would mean the death penalty if caught. He thought about the meeting with his father where he had discussed their commitment to fight for freedom, no matter the consequence. Had that time arrived?
The next day, Manus had set to work diligently carving many different stamps, as precise replicas of the official seals. He found plenty of pieces of granite in the Great Hall.
When Arie came by to collect the first batch of stamps, he was surprised at the quality of his work and the speed at which his brother had completed it.
“Brother, I want you to know how much this means to the downed aviators and Jews in the underground escape program,” Arie said gratefully. “The presses completed the blank ID cards and passports … all we needed were these stamps to affix to the documents. Tomorrow, we deliver passports to two hundred Jewish children waiting in a secret location in Amsterdam. Through the underground escape program, they will travel through Belgium and France and cross the Pyrenees to Spain on their way to Lisbon, Portugal. There they will board a ship heading to the United States of America. Know you played a key role in rescuing these children.” Manus let the weight of his help sink in and felt a sense of pride to be a part of the mission.
“You should also know that we need more stamps to arrange for falsified documents for the resistance couriers, who make regular deliveries of newsletters and pamphlets at the risk of being arrested and executed,” Arie told him, delving deeper into the importance of Manus’ work.
Manus was unaware that Danya had attended a few meetings with the local resistance group. Arie was not sure how much Danya had told him about her toil as a designated resistance courier. True to his role as double agent, even with his brother, Arie remained silent about Danya’s involvement.
Danya felt lost amongst the large crowd in attendance at her first meeting of the resistance in the basement of a church, until she saw Arie. At the head of the giant table, she spotted the team leader, who announced the presence of the recruits for the week. Danya’s name was on the list. Arie, dressed in civilian clothes, addressed the group.
“We are glad that Danya has joined our team. She has already suffered the death of a family member in the war. She has demonstrated her courage to transport downed British aviators.” By stating this, it resulted in the group immediately understanding why Danya had joined the resistance: getting even with the Germans. The resistance considered this a prime motivator for joining their group.
The team leader took over and reviewed the organization’s protocol, to which everyone had to adhere if they were to survive. He started by focusing on how the enemy “agents-provocateurs” held false conversations in public places and followed with the Rules of Conduct for all resistance members.
“Stay quiet about what you hear or learn in our meetings … no conversations, even with husband or wife. Make no new relations—even a friend of a friend can be a Nazi. The shortest route into custody is to give your address or telephone number.” Danya was a fast learner and had no problem comprehending the importance of the rules.
When she came home, she found herself in an uneasy situation, unable to share with Manus what she had learned at the meeting. She must stick to the rule of talking to no one about the goings on at the meeting, and that included Manus. During the day, she carried out her daily routine with an air of self-determination. She had found direction in her young life. At the same time, she became withdrawn from Manus and their relationship became strained.
As time passed, Danya rose in the ranks as a trusted resistance worker. She proudly accepted the lead role in the downed aviator assistance mission. She could be counted on to deliver British airmen to their designated locations. When she wore her disguise, looking like an elderly Dutch woman in wooden shoes, she enjoyed deceiving the Germans. At checkpoints, she knew how to look flirtatious without giving in to the advances of the German guards. She knew exactly how to play on höflichkeit (the German way of gentlemanliness). However, she fully understood the danger of being killed if the Germans captured her with an aviator in transport. However, in no way would it deter her from fulfilling her obligations.
Her assignment had shifted to delivering essential packages. Today, she was in charge of transporting three hundred falsified food coupons one hundred kilometers from Mill by train. When she stepped on the train, she carried the German language newspaper Deutsche Zeitung. The train was packed. Boldly, she opened the door to the first-class compartment, where she took a seat opposite a German Army Officer. She smiled, and he took the bait.
“I invite you to sit with me in first class, reserved for German officers,” he gallantly invited. Danya thought he wanted to impress her with his hoflichkeit (courtesy). She unfolded her newspaper and read page after page without showing any interest in the subject matter. The officer left her to herself until they arrived at her destination.
“Auf wiedersehen,” he said, smiling. He stayed on the train. As soon as she arrived at her destination, her local contact picked her up, and she delivered the coupons without incident.
Not all of her disguises were pleasant. On one occasion, she used the olfactory disguise technique, packing four hundred coupons in the pockets and seams of her clothing. Then she added a sun-ripened sea bass in her handbag. The idea was to keep the Germans at arm’s length because of the fish stink. What she had not counted on was the stench of rotting fish becoming overwhelming, even for her. The Gestapo agents wrinkled their noses and gave her a dirty look. In the end, she made a successful delivery.
The Dutch girls who walked around the city with German soldiers on their arms enraged Danya. They were known as “Moffen Maidens.” She had a difficult time accepting how they could lower themselves to drag the honor of the Dutch women through the mud. It left an indelible impression on Danya, while she sacrificed her safety every day as a resistance worker. She must not forget these “Moffen Maidens”—they must pay the price when the war is over—she would personally see to it.
It was a cold, blustery night when the sky lit up with an enormo
us explosion. Two of their best explosives experts in the resistance had flawlessly executed their plan. There was much celebration about the mission’s success among the resistance workers. Their joy was short-lived when they realized they had to go deep underground if they were to avoid arrest immediately.
The explosion had severely damaged the town’s electrical grid, interrupting electricity at the prison, where resistance workers were locked up for execution. A number of them belonged to the “Orange Militia,” a top-echelon leader group captured during the “Beinema Affair.” Beinema was the founder of the underground movement and had played a vital role in organizing a network of secret shelters in farmhouses. His capture was a severe blow to the morale of the resistance. A call went out to the local “Knock Team” to liberate Beinema from jail. These teams specialized in kidnapping and killing the enemy in revenge for the Gestapo’s roundups. They were fierce fighters with total disregard for their own well-being.
As soon as the electricity went out, the entire prison fell in total darkness, putting the German guards on high alert. They grabbed their rifles and spread throughout the facility as best they could, groping through dark cellblocks as if moving in a blackened maze.
Knock Team A-1 immediately put their plan into action. The team consisted of twenty-three members. With the lights out, they launched their attack. The group split in two: half executed the rescue and exit strategy, and the other half waited in a nearby school for Phase 2. Around 8 o’clock, the “School Team” slipped into the library and moved to the second floor, where they ate doughnut balls and smoked cigarettes. The boys checked their weapons and loaded their pistols. Notwithstanding the mounting tension in anticipation of the raid, the atmosphere was ebullient.
Around midnight, Arie, dressed in Gestapo uniform, made another round walking the darkened streets outside the prison. He was in constant contact with the two knock teams and gave the okay to proceed. By 2 a.m., the door opened every two minutes to secrete the boys of Knock Team A one by one. They slid through the night as ghosts, stopping at every street corner, skulking for danger. Moving close to the houses, they shuffled onward, ever alert for any noises, taking cover in alleyways. At every street crossing, they listened with sharpness, piercing the dark, with every nerve in high tension.
Killing the prison guards was the most dangerous work the underground had undertaken so far. They walked close to the houses, avoiding German detection, hiding a sten gun under their jackets, hand grenades in the pockets, pistol in hand. The boys knew all too well the danger they were facing. They did not hesitate for a moment. What made them so determined? At the meeting a few hours earlier, they had made it clear: the rescue of their leader Beinema. Arie provided the cell numbers where each inmate was housed, adding a personal touch to the rescue mission. Each of the boys had a particular reason to participate: revenge for the horrors of torture endured by their friends.
It began snowing by the time the attack started. The boys’ footprints left tracks in the snow, causing concern about being detected by the guards. After quick deliberation, they decided to walk backward to confuse the Germans into thinking they had stepped in the opposite direction. A few of the resistance workers were on bicycles, causing more of a problem. So as not to leave tracks in the snow, they had to carry their bikes on their backs.
The orders for the prison attack were explicit:
Let nobody pass you
Kill every German
Do not retreat
Blow up any automobiles helping the prison guards.
Despite the difficulty of the mission, not only did the liberation of Beinema depend on them, so did the safety of their comrades. The attack team consisted of six tough boys who marched in the dark of night to the prison gate where they pushed the doorbell. The wait felt like an eternity. At last, they heard the rattle of keys. A little porthole in the gate opened. The leader of the knock team, dressed in German uniform as a disguise, told the guard in a perfect Elzas accent that he was delivering five prisoners suspected of plotting sabotage. The guard told him to wait. To their surprise, the gate opened with the prison commandant in pajamas. As soon as the gate opened, the team leader yelled, “Attack!” In unison, they pointed their pistols at the German.
“Hände hoch!” (Hands up!) The rescuers killed him instantly. They found the keys to the cells on the guard’s dead body. Quick as lightning, they opened the doors and gathered the freed prisoners in the street where they escaped on the waiting bicycles.
Arie had kept himself in the dark of night, allowing the team to do their rescue work. When everyone was safe, he took the keys to the prison cells and threw them in the nearest ditch, where no one could find them.
Later that night the wind was howling, and he heard a light knock on his front door.
He often stayed behind after work hours at the Census Bureau. He told the commandant that he needed overtime to clean up the files. He needed more time to search the town’s archives.
That evening, he received a call from a trusted resistance worker, who urgently needed a hiding place for two individuals in imminent danger of arrest for blowing up the pumps at the water and sewage plant in Mill. Arie immediately set to work and contacted the Brecht family. Speaking from his office, he was cautious and spoke in duplicitous language.
“I have two packages for our Gestapo colleagues, which I must deliver tomorrow,” he said. The message was clear: Arie was looking for underground housing. “Be ready to receive one colossal packet and one tiny one,” he added. “Okay, then … we will see you tomorrow.” Brecht had never operated without passwords. The one chosen for tonight was “The Tulip is Yellow and Black.” For two days, they waited for the delivery. About 6 o’clock in the evening, the doorbell at Brecht’s home rang four times. A large man, Flab, filled the doorframe; he delivered the correct password. Brecht remained suspicious. There was only one “colossal package” at his door. Where was the tiny packet?
“We expected two packages. Where is the other one?” Flab looked confused, then confessed. “I lost him on the way over here … my mate comes in a small packet; he is a dwarf named Troll. He never speaks much.” Brecht was astounded that the resistance had members from all walks of life, but who came up with the idea of using a dwarf for their dangerous actions involving dynamite? Brecht organized a search party, and they backtracked to the place where Flab said he had his last contact with Troll. Cautiously, they knocked on the door.
“Are you looking for Troll?” asked Brecht, who opened the door. Flab answered affirmatively.
“He is in the back room with his wife … she just gave birth to a baby boy. My spouse is a midwife,” he explained.
“Is it a midget baby?” was the only thing Flab could think of asking. They snickered.
Chapter 14
Wewelsburg Castle
Rumors began floating that Manus was sheltering a resistance worker. He wondered if his friend Jope was the culprit. Perhaps he had picked up signs that Danya was staying with him. As a result, Danya spent day and night in the dungeon, hiding from the Gestapo. A fat candle sat on the floor making a miniature volcano of wax. She made her bed on an earthen bench, with a mattress made of straw, a pillow, and blanket. Like a little girl with her rag doll, Danya firmly held her only prized possession: the wooden box with the fragrance flask.
It was late at night, and all was quiet in the castle. Danya closed her eyes and rested, wrapped in her blanket on her makeshift bed. It started slowly, but before she knew it, six inches of water had pooled on the floor. With her meager possessions, she climbed out of the hideout, stumbling over blocks of granite. When Manus saw her, he rushed to her side and reassured her that she was safe. They agreed that she did not have to go back into hiding. In case of another raid by the Gestapo, they would find a better solution.
They were out of bread, butter, cheese, and anything to eat. Manus, looking sheepish, sipped
ersatz coffee.
Dressed in her old woman disguise, Danya took the streetcar to the grocery store in the hope of exchanging coupons for whatever food the Nazis had not shipped to Germany. A half loaf of bread, a slice of cheese, and coffee would make her happy.
In town, people aimlessly walked along the sidewalks, pedaling down the streets with empty baskets or queued for food in lines that extended for blocks. With defeated looks on their faces, they hurried past the German soldiers without making eye contact. They watched them goose-stepping in the middle of the street, singing their favorite Heimat (country home) songs. It was the German way to win over people’s hearts. After all, the Dutch were of the same Germanic origin. The truth was the German songs heaped nothing but scorn and anger upon the Dutch.
In the streetcar, on the seat next to her, someone had left a newspaper. She noticed a special news bulletin on the front page: “Political Enemies of the Reich Arrested in Holland and Belgium.” She read the names of people who had been rounded up in citywide raids. In horror, she read her parents’ name, Mandraskit, among those arrested and jailed in Brussels. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she remained motionless. She must not show her emotion publicly. They might question the cause of her distress. Nobody must know her name was Mandraskit.
Madonna On the Bridge Page 14