Lovers in Enemy Territory

by Rebecca Winters

  The sky was the color of pitch and the gulls which called from the distance stood out like white chalk marks on a new blackboard. It took forty minutes for the tender to maneuver itself to the buoys and finally into the harbor. There were fishing boats and large trawlers off shore.

  Some of the men on the little boats were hauling in their nets and stopped to wave and smile at this strange company of nuns who seemed to come out of nowhere. The carrier was already receding into the distance. Catherine's heart lurched again. It was on its way to the Gibraltar Straits and Jeffrey.

  The tender rode up and down on the waves with an occasional sudden dip which took everyone's breath. Once they were inside the safety of the bay, the water became as glass and the tender shot ahead quickly toward the dock. There were sailors waiting to tie up the craft as it pulled into a slip.

  Hands reached out to help the sisters up the wooden ladder to the cement walkway. Catherine put her feet on land and sighed with relief. The first leg of the journey was over and so far, they were safe. But the motion of moving up and down was still upon her. She started to take a step and found herself falling forward. One of the sailors caught her arm.

  "Be careful. The sea is still with you," he laughed aloud, several teeth missing in his grin. Catherine smiled back and tried to keep herself upright. Several of the other sisters were having the same problem.

  "Sisters, soon that sensation will leave you. Walk slowly and take a deep breath."

  "Yes, Mother," they sighed and began walking, trying to keep up with the spry Mother General. Their loss of equilibrium began to dissipate. Catherine turned for one last look at the carrier, but it was a mere speck, almost out of sight, and she heaved a deep sigh.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Come. We must find a taxi and get to the station. There isn't a moment to lose. It will take two days to reach the priory, and knowing the Spanish, it could take much longer. They only run the trains three days a week because of the lack of coal," said the Mother General cheerfully.

  The sisters rolled their eyes heavenward and prepared to follow. Two hours later they were on a train, headed north. The supplies brought along by the Holy Mother were piled high in the entrance of their car. Catherine was worn out and rested her head against the uncomfortable seat of the train, which was packed to overflowing with men, women and children. The smell of unwashed bodies was thick in the air, and it was warm. Her habit was sticking to her arms and legs. Everything was damp from being at sea. She longed to bathe in cool water.

  It was evening when the train reached the Spanish border, and it was there they saw the first German soldiers of the trip. There were half a dozen of them at the lonely frontier station of Braganca where the nuns deborded. The sisters would have to wait an hour or so for the other train which would take them to Palencia, Burgos, and finally Bilbao. From there they would go by bus to the sanctuary in the mountains.

  They sat in the station house and waited while the Mother General went through the tedious process of explaining their business and producing the proper documents and visas. The supplies were brought inside on a cart. The two German officers, boots gleaming and impeccably uniformed, were both tall and young and blond, looking remarkably healthy in comparison to the Latins.

  One began inspecting the supplies while the other walked over to the sisters and called each one by name to make sure of the count. His eyes fastened on Catherine and he appraised her outrageously before returning to the desk. She lowered her head and fidgeted with her rosary.

  Everything appeared to be in order, and the Mother General took her place among the sisters as casually as if she had just returned from market. The officers stayed in the room and both of them leaned against the wall and continued to stare at Catherine till the train pulled into the station.

  The nuns quickly boarded, anxious to be away from the soldiers. There were no incidents to Catherine's relief, but as she stepped into the corridor, the officer of arrogant demeanor called to her, "Good journey," and saluted with a smile. She hastened inside.

  The interior was worse than that of the Portuguese train. It was filthy. The smell of spoiled food and urine produced a nauseating stench. Dirty children and peasants crowded the seats so there was barely room to stand or sit. To Catherine's horror, she saw ravenous toddlers putting the garbage they found on the floor in their mouths.

  Her eyes wandered from one person to the next, repulsed at the condition of their persons and their clothes. It was shocking to see such poverty. It sickened her. For several hours she was forced to stand in the aisles, hanging on to the railing above.

  When the train pulled into Palencia, many of the passengers got off. She wondered where they were going, what would happen to them. It was growing hotter and perspiration soaked her garments. Window panes were missing, yet the air was muggy and close.

  They rode on in silence, the train slowing down time and time again. Once it was for cattle stranded on the tracks, another time there was an engine breakdown which it took three hours to repair. The flies buzzing about Catherine's face drove her to distraction. She noticed bugs crawling on a child's arm and recoiled. She was certain they would never reach the Pyrenees.

  Evening came and the Mother General broke off a portion of bread for each sister. Catherine discovered hungry eyes fastened upon her as she started to put a piece in her mouth. A mother with two youngsters was seated across the aisle, and none of them looked as if they had eaten for days. She took the bread and divided it between the three of them.

  She wasn't hungry, just thirsty, and there was no water. The children gobbled the bread as though they'd never seen food before and she sighed, wishing she had more to give them. The mother timidly gave Catherine a grateful smile.

  Catherine bowed and closed her eyes to try and sleep. She would think about Michael and Jeffrey, and that would sustain her until they reached the mountains.

  Night fell and still the air was sour. They came to Burgos, and welcomed the few minutes they were allowed to get off the train and buy mineral water. The Mother General complained loudly that they were being robbed for having to pay so many pesetas for the precious water, but it could not be helped. Then they were off once more and Catherine, slept fitfully the rest of the night.

  By noon of the next day, the city of Bilbao came into view and Catherine was encouraged, as were the rest of the sisters, that the long train ride was almost at an end. Bilbao seemed to be one big industrial complex crammed with traffic and humanity.

  She could see the harbor and the beaches. The sky was still dark, and the view reminded her a great deal of Liverpool and the Mersey river which ran through it. She’d been there once on a visit with her mother. To Catherine, both cities looked somewhat the same. The sand on these beaches was a muddy gray, the scene as dreary as the docks of Southampton.

  The train pulled into the busy station and once more the group of hungry, exhausted nuns waited in the lobby till a bus pulled up in front of the station. It was antique, and the driver smelled so of garlic and wine that Catherine was positive they'd never make it to Saint Theresa's alive. There were more Germans at the station, but now that the sisters were not in a border town, the sight of them did not cause a stir.

  They were hustled out of the station and onto the creaky bus along with families and farm workers, a few business men, even a policeman. The Mother General said they had an eighty kilometer ride ahead of them. It took four hours to reach the base of the mountains. They’d stopped at every town and village along the way, even in the middle of the road with nothing in sight but fields.

  But eventually they were paralleling the coastline and Catherine saw that the sand turned a soft yellow color as they neared the mountains. She noticed a drop in temperature, and the air was softer. Slowly the bus began rattling into the low hills and the sun, which she hadn't seen since leaving Castle Combe, made an appearance from behind the dark clouds, bathing briefly the lushness of the spring grass in golden light.

&n
bsp; Flocks of sheep covered the hillsides and the slopes were astonishingly green. Now and then, red and white Basque chalets which hugged the slopes came into sight. Suddenly the jutting summits of the magnificent Pyrenees came into breathtaking view. There wasn't a sister who didn't gasp at the beautiful sight.

  The small town of Irun was soon visible. To Catherine's eyes it appeared to be badly damaged and a gray color. The bus let out the other remaining passengers in the square and the driver turned around.

  "We go up to the top of the mountain now." The Mother General nodded, and he started up the motor which coughed and spit. Catherine closed her eyes in silent prayer.

  Again they followed the coastline along a winding dirt road which was so narrow in spots that the bushes scraped the sides of the bus. They came to the town of Fuenterrabia. It resembled an English country garden. The houses were painted various colors, and most outstanding of all was the profusion of flowers which were clustered against the balconies of wood and wrought iron on every street.

  Below the houses in the harbor were the fleets of fishing boats whose sails were of every color imaginable. They passed through the original town entered into by a gate of the city wall, and followed the cobbled Calle Mayor to the Plaza de Armes, an open square lined with tall, balconied houses.

  There was a massive castle built into the wall, and the sisters filled their eyes. They passed out of the walled city and the bus began to climb steeply through the rolling hills of the wooded country. Catherine caught her breath as the superb view of craggy mountains and green valleys came into view.

  Behind her was the heavenly panorama of the French Basque coast. They drove past the fort of San Telmo and wound higher and higher, where the pines were thick and dark. She could have feasted her eyes forever on the majesty of the steep hills which rose from the sea below. It was the most beautiful sight her eyes had ever beheld. She wished Jeffrey could be seeing it with her for the first time.

  "We’re almost there," the driver muttered. "I don't come up here very often," he called back. Catherine was enchanted with the various shades of green and gold which blended together so harmoniously. A few farm houses nestled beneath the trees lent a timeless peace to the scene.

  She felt they’d left the war and civilization behind. Here all was serene perfection where the mountain peaks reached toward Heaven in the pure air. Finally the walls of the priory of Saint Theresa's could be seen at the top of the mountain.

  The sisters oohed and ahhed. The square structure was of Moorish design with few windows resting on a pinnacle out of reach. It looked more like a fortress, very white and stark against the tall green trees surrounding it. The bus coughed and lurched its cumbersome way up the final steep ascent and came to a standstill before the wooden doors of the convent.

  The Mother General stood up. "Sisters, we’ve arrived. The long ordeal is over and the Father above has protected us so we may begin His work. Let us be thankful for this supreme blessing.”

  Catherine's heart was full of thanksgiving. She wiped the tears from her eyes and studied the small, indomitable figure of the Mother General. She was a fearless, dedicated woman of God. She personified the selflessness of the ideal nun. Catherine's life could have been that way if she hadn’t met Michael and Jeffrey.

  But God had another plan for her, and she rejoiced in it. She would never forget the sisterhood, the tremendous spiritual strength of the Holy Mother, the Mother General, and the other sisters whose goodness was truly Christ-like.

  "Come.” They filed out of the bus. The Mother General tugged on the bellpull and in a moment a portress, accompanied by the Mother Superior, opened the door. Her round brown eyes opened wide in happy surprise to see the group of English sisters in the company of the Mother General herself.

  "Welcome," cried the Mother Superior. "Welcome! How we’ve prayed for this moment!” They were ushered into a large hallway of Moorish design, with pillars and alcoves of white sculptured wood. It was very beautiful. This would be Catherine's home for the next few months.

  The sisters were shown to the dormitory and then ate a spartan meal of lentil soup and black bread. They bathed and went to bed. Catherine was asleep almost before she had time to finish her prayers.

  *****

  In one grueling week, Jeffrey and the airmen whom he'd briefed at Coastal Command Headquarters had flown to West Africa and had begun setting up bases in the remote, undeveloped regions. To add to their problems, they had to put up with some of the worst climatic conditions known anywhere in the world.

  The mosquitoes in the swamps carried malaria, and the drenching tropical rain storms which hit without a moment's notice had penetrated every piece of equipment, including the bedding.

  On their second day, they were hit by a tornado. Jeffrey's heart swelled with pride when he saw how adaptable the men were to the change in weather conditions. Only months before, the men had battled the Icelandic climate, but that hardly compared to the incidents of dysentery, malaria, and fever the men encountered here.

  Some of the natives had promised the crewmen use of their buildings, but they proved to be so inadequate, Jeffrey instructed the men to set up tents for temporary housing. It was under these taxing conditions that the escorting of convoys began.

  When the first tornado hit, the rain literally washed the men right out of their tents, bedding and all. The rain had become an incredible nuisance, and Jeffrey decided to install the squadron in a local chapel in order to dry everything out.

  The housing was anything but satisfactory. However, he found the area to be the ideal place for aircraft. There were no heights around to hinder their approach, just a stretch of flat country consisting mostly of mangrove swamps and palm scrubs. The ground staff encountered the most difficulty, owing to inadequate supplies.

  Much equipment required for servicing the Sunderlands was due to arrive on the next carrier from Southampton. The men had to come up with substitutions until the supplies arrived. Packing box nails were converted into usable split pins, and oil pipeline joints were packed with sheets of brown paper.

  Jeffrey conceived the ingenious idea of covering the absence of marine craft which were also due to arrive later. They needed tenders for the flying boats, so he told the pilots to remove the engines from some of the decrepit lorries and fit them into the dinghies, thus constructing makeshift motor boats.

  He recruited truck drivers and crews for the marine craft from the local labor who worked with great enthusiasm. In just a few days, Jeffrey decided to keep the natives on permanently. When word arrived over the radio that an aircraft carrier was docked at Gibraltar with twenty-four new Hudsons, a cheer went up from the men.

  Jeffrey immediately dispatched a crew to pick up the new planes and equipment which were sorely needed. Now the Coastal Command could join with the naval forces to protect the adjoining waters, and Jeffrey was pleased that things had happened so quickly.

  "That's a beautiful sight, Commander," Officer Dudley exclaimed as the last group of Hudsons flew into base camp. "I thought you said we wouldn't be seeing them for some time yet."

  "Headquarters must have pulled some strings. Things are going better and faster than I’d anticipated despite the rain.”

  Dudley said, “I never thought it possible to establish a camp here. When we flew over this route last week, all I could see was swamp and surf. How did you know about this spot?"

  "In March I flew over this area and scoured it thoroughly. I know it's inhospitable. Just clearing that eight foot high stretch of grass was something of a miracle, but you have to admit this is the ideal spot to station our aircraft. And then I spotted that old air field up the coast. We can use that for our aerodrome."

  "It's amazing," he spoke with awe, and wiped his forehead, sweltering in the intense heat. "Did you know it got up to 130 degrees out there yesterday?"

  Jeffrey squinted from the sun's rays as the last Hudson touched ground. "I thought as much. Quite a change from Iceland, isn't i
t?"

  "Yes, sir.” He slapped the bugs from his face. There were so many mosquitoes and other insects infesting the area, it drove the men to distraction.

  A plane taxied in and Jeffrey walked over to speak to the pilot. His eyes fastened on the Hudson. By tonight, they would be going on regular patrols.

  "Commander," the pilot saluted as he jumped down.

  "Captain, how does she handle?"

  "The landing speed is a little high and it's rough coming in on that swamp. Had to use all the flaps."

  "Right, but you'll be glad you're in this when you've got a Dornier on your tail."

  "Yes, sir.” He grinned. .

  "What's it like out there? Any news from Gibraltar?"

  "The carrier saw no action this trip. I know because I have a buddy who was working flight deck duty. He said it was a peaceful crossing."

  "No U-boats?" Jeffrey's eyes narrowed. He couldn't help thinking about Catherine and the possible danger to her. He didn't know where she was, or if she'd even left England for that matter. It tore him apart.

  "Not a one, sir. Too much bad weather. Even the Jerries wouldn't venture out in it."

  "That's unusual," he muttered.

  "It was fortunate since they had an unusual group of VIP's on board."

  "Oh?" Jeffrey answered abstractly, his thoughts far away.

  "Yes, a group of sisters. You know, nuns!"

  "What in the hell were nuns doing on board a carrier?" Dudley blurted.

  “I don't know."

  "Are you absolutely sure?" Jeffrey questioned.

  "I'm certain, Commander. Reggie, that's my buddy, got acquainted with one of the sisters. Apparently she was a looker. He said she was the only one who wasn't sick, and he also said she knew more about airplanes than he did. Couldn't figure it out. Just when he was getting to know her, the nuns left the ship at Lisbon. He said it was the damndest sight you ever saw. Never did know why they were there, or where they were going."