Arms of Deliverance

by Tricia N. Goyer

  Heavy steps took him through the flat, toward the nursery, where the cradle still lay on its side. He righted it, then leaned against the wall, letting his legs soften and sliding onto the floor.

  With one extended finger, he pushed it. Rocking the empty helm.

  Blood was everywhere. On her. On the child.

  Cries. His son’s cries had pierced the air, then faded for some unknown reason. The nurse had glanced at Hendrick, her eyes wide with fear; then she had whisked the child away. He knew then his son would not live, and that the nurse feared telling him so.

  Katrine, a Jew. A sick feeling rose in his stomach, and pain shot through his skull. He of all people should have known. How could I have missed it? He’d helped to design the racial purity posters. He’d written the text concerning the requirements for claiming Aryan lineage. It was a matter of science and genes. How could he not have realized?

  Hendrick dropped his forehead into his hands, wondering if he dared return to work. That day at the castle, he’d been so troubled by Katrine’s words and the thought of his child’s death that the realization that others had also heard her words hadn’t hit him until he’d reached the outskirts of Brussels.

  Hendrick heard the front door open and cocked his head, noting the footsteps leading down the hall. He could tell it was Lydia. She still hadn’t removed her things, but rather acted as if they’d never exchanged words. Yet he also wondered how much she’d figured out.

  He stiffened, and fear coursed through his chest. Uniting with a Jew is cause for imprisonment. Conceiving a child with one, punishable by death. Would she lead the guard here? Would the very laws he’d written be enforced on him?

  She paused outside the bedroom doorway, sucking in a breath. “Hendrick. I wanted to let you know that I understand. I’ll stay if you still want me.”

  Her footsteps neared, and Hendrick lifted his head, focusing on her slim ankles and high-heeled shoes. Would she give him away? Tell of his location? Just how much does the office know?

  Lydia stopped before him. “I’m sorry to hear about your son … and the girl’s lies. She did lie to you, didn’t she? From what you said, I guessed that she claimed to be a Jew. I’ve never heard of such a wicked woman. She knew what to say to hurt a man in your position the most.”

  Hendrick’s eyes trailed up Lydia’s legs, body, finally resting on her face.

  Lies? Of course, lies! Katrine knew she’d already lost the child. He sat up straighter.

  With four words—I am a Jew—Katrine attempted to strip me of my position, my pride, my life.

  Lydia hunched down and took his hand in hers. “Surely all you need to prove her words were untrue is inside her file. I’ll help you, Hendrick. I know just where to look. Tomorrow, in the office, I’ll help you. I know you are hurting. I know you don’t truly want me to leave.”

  She stood. “I’m going to the market now to get some things for dinner. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Hendrick listened as she exited, the front door clicking shut. He rose to his feet and spoke aloud into the empty room. “The problem is, my dear, I won’t be in the office tomorrow. In fact, I won’t be here by the time you get back.” He slowly unbuttoned his uniform shirt and tossed it to the floor.

  He was no fool. The Americans were nearing by the day. The others from his office would soon be abandoning their posts. He would simply be leaving sooner than the rest.

  He unbuckled his belt. Gott Mit Uns, it read. God is with us.

  “Katrine lied.” He removed the last of his uniform and stepped into civilian clothes. “The nurse lied.” He thought back to the fear on the nurse’s face and now understood clearly.

  “The child lives.” He slipped on his hunting jacket and tucked his pistol into his pocket, his mind working out the plan to retrieve his child, while at the same time ensuring their safety in case the Americans gained any more ground.

  And with the same intensity with which he’d preserved the blood of the Reich, Hendrick knew he must fight for his own bloodline, that pumped through the veins of that child.

  “I will find him, no matter the cost. Our government may retreat from this soil for a time … but I will not abandon my son.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A camouflage-painted army truck crunched through the thin layer of ice forming on innumerable puddles as it neared the airfield. The inside of the truck attacked Mary’s senses with the rattles and clanks of loose gear and the odors of petrol, dirt, and man sweat. The dimly lighted B-17 coming into view distracted her attention from her sensory feast. Oh, well, this is all worth it. Mary had scribbled in her notebook that military folk referred to the B-17 as a “Flying Fortress.” And she could see why.

  “Jeepers, you’re a big one,” she said as she stepped out of the truck.

  She took a breath of the fresh, crisp air and gripped her equipment under her arm—a leather helmet like those she’d seen WASPs wearing in the magazines. She eyed the ten crew members hustling around, preparing the plane for flight. She recognized a few of them from the briefing room.

  The plane, named Destiny’s Child, was battle-scarred with hundreds of flak holes. Jack the Crew Chief approached with his James Cagney steps and warm smile.

  “Yup, this ol’ bird, she’s seen her share of action.” He pointed to three riveted patches of metal on the fuselage.

  Mary laughed at Jack’s silly German jokes for a few minutes, then targeted the man she wanted to talk to next.

  The navigator, who’d sat beside her in the briefing room, leaned over the hood of a jeep that had just brought him in. He was studying some type of map. She brushed a stray lock of hair aside as she strode toward him, feeling confident in her army-issued leather flight jacket.

  She was just about to say, “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions,” when her feet nearly slid out from under her on the ice-coated runway. She wobbled and reached out, accidentally grabbing his arm.

  He let her steady herself. “Are you okay there?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Her cheeks grew warm despite the bitter cold. “Thanks.” She let go of his arm.

  “No problem.” He gave her a slight grin; then the intense look he’d had when she first spotted him returned and his eyes went back to the maps.

  “Hey,” Mary muttered, “I just wanted to thank you for sitting next to—”

  Another crew member sauntered over. Mary tried to hide her smirk at the man’s confident swagger and the slight smile she assumed most girls found charming.

  “Sergeant Vinny Rosario at your service, miss. Do you need a hand with anything?”

  From the corner of her eye, Mary noted the navigator straighten. He laid down his papers and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a hip against the truck.

  Mary lowered her head and gave the man her most fearsome glance. “Need a hand with anything? Like what, with my pencil?”

  “Well, no, of course not. I mean, if you need someone to show you around.” He raked his fingers through his dark, greased-back hair. “To assist you during the flight.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and grinned. “Thanks, flyboy, but I’ll be all right—”

  “She’s with me,” the navigator piped up. “Uh, the CO asked me to watch over her on the mission.”

  Mary noted the surprised look on Vinny’s face.

  He scratched his head, maintaining his wickedly handsome grin. “I didn’t hear him say that.”

  “Oh, yeah. He called me back in, right after the briefing, and said to set up an extra ammunition box in my area for her seat. It’s the only place with enough space for two.”

  “Sure, cowboy. Fine with me.” Vinny backed off and pointed his finger as if pointing a pistol. “Good for your initiative, Eddie. Good for you.”

  The Vinny guy walked away, and Mary turned to the navigator, flashing what she hoped was a sweet smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Mary Kelley with the New York Sentinel. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

&
nbsp; He shook his head. “Sorry, lady. Can’t say I have.” He folded his papers and tucked them into his jacket pocket. “I’ll go get an area set up for you. I’ll be just a minute.”

  He walked toward the nose of the plane to an opening. Then in one quick movement he grabbed the sides of the hatch and flung his body inside, but not before Mary noted the hint of pink creeping up his cheeks.

  She’d witnessed a lot of bold advances, like Vinny’s just a minute ago. After all, she was one of the few women many of these guys had seen in days. She had a dozen ways to let them know she wasn’t interested. But this … seeing the shy kindness of the navigator caused her heart to warm.

  Without waiting for him to return, she strode up to the open hatch. She was just tall enough to peer inside and could see him moving equipment around to make room.

  “Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but can I ask you a few questions, you know, before we get started? Since I’ll be positioned near you, it will help to know what your tasks are during the mission. I’m sure it won’t be easy to answer my questions up in the air.”

  He shook his head. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” Then he glanced at his watch. “Five minutes is all I have. I need to get this place ready—and get my things together before we take off.”

  He slid back down through the hatch so they were standing face-to-face.

  Mary cleared her throat, taking on her reporter’s tone. “Name and hometown?”

  “Edward Anderson, but everyone calls me Eddie. Whitefish, Montana. I’m the navigator of this crew, which I assume is your next question.”

  “Yes.” She wrote frantically in her notebook. “And just what does a navigator do?”

  “There’s a whole lot that needs to be done in preflight planning and debriefing that I won’t go into, but once we take off, the navigator directs the flight to the mark and then back home. It’s my job to know our exact position at all times. And just so things don’t get boring, I also man a .50 caliber machine gun at my station in the nose of the plane.”

  She flashed him another smile, wishing for Vinny to return. Eddie seemed to pay her more attention with him around. “That should be interesting to watch. And what are those?” She pointed to the pile of objects in his hands.

  “Communication maps, my logbook, and these here are mission flimsies.” He held one up so she could get a closer look. “These give the call signs and frequencies I’ll need.”

  “They look awfully thin.”

  “They’re made of rice paper. And must be eaten if we ditch or bail.” Eddie pressed a hand to his face, as if trying to warm his cheeks. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me, Miss Kelley; I really need to get back to this paperwork. I’m not sure if you understood what was happening in the briefing room, but we have orders to bomb Berlin today.”

  Mary’s opinion of him was beginning to change. Who was he to assume the cute little lady reporter didn’t understand? “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Well, I’m also not sure who signed you up for this mission, but let me lay down the facts. During our first run to Berlin in March, sixty-nine B-17s were lost. Considering each has a crew of ten men—well, do the math. The ‘Big B,’ as we like to call it, is one of the most dangerous missions possible … and why they decided to put a lady up there is beyond me.” He shook his head.

  “Listen here, bub. I know the risks, and I’m proud of our boys who died.” She poked his chest with her pencil. “That, my friend, is why I wanted this mission. Someone needs to tell the story. Show folks back home the boys, like you, risking their lives. Do you copy that?”

  The flyboy had the nerve to roll his eyes. “Fine, miss. I don’t have much choice anyway.”

  Frustrated and angry, she milled around with the other crew members, asking a few questions and forcing herself not to glance at the hatch every two minutes. Finally she was motioned to board the plane.

  She watched as a few of the guys climbed through the nose hatch by grasping the hatch edge over their heads, lifting their weight, and swinging their legs up and through.

  Mary glanced down at her bulky layers, certain she’d not be able to pull herself through the hatch … even if she could get a good handhold on the opening.

  The navigator peeked his head back through and pointed to a set of steps rising through the underbelly of the plane. She climbed them, then turned and walked up another half level from the bomb bay.

  She jotted down notes about the engineer’s position right behind the cockpit. Since he also was the top turret gunner, he had a 360-degree field of fire for his .50 caliber guns. An upright bulkhead—the funny name they used for internal walls—separated him from the bomb bay.

  Another bulkhead closed off the bomb bay from the tiny compartment of the radio operator and the left and right waist gunners. In the cockpit itself, controls seemed to cover every available space.

  “Would you like to look in the nose area?”

  It was the navigator. His handsome face peeked around the corner.

  “Sorry about what I said before.” He smiled and guided her toward the nose. “I always seem to tense up before missions. But I talked to Marty—the pilot, and you’ll be sticking by me. We even fashioned a little seat for you.”

  Standing next to the engineer’s station, just behind the pilot’s and copilot’s seats, Mary peered through a narrow tunnel under the cockpit’s floor, into the nose area of the plane. “Sounds good.”

  She bent down to climb between the two cockpit seats and under the bank of instrumentation, and into the navigator’s domain. She’d never had a fear of tight places, but the air was thick with the fumes of grease, paint, solvent, sweaty seats, and who knew what else.

  How am I gonna fly for hours in this tight spot? The nose of the plane had barely enough room to contain the navigator and the bombardier, and the navigator didn’t even have a real seat—just ammunition boxes.

  When Mary finished looking around, she found her spot—an extra ammunition box just behind the bombardier, José, and opposite the navigator.

  “You realize, don’t you, there’s a chance we won’t make it through this one,” a voice said from behind her.

  It was the small guy—no bigger than she was—that Mary knew would ride in the ball turret under the belly of the plane.

  “There are many guys who don’t. More than I can count. We’ve seen it all, you know, and it’s not pretty. No one should see what we’ve seen.” His eyes were serious, concerned, like a father’s.

  Mary’s heart sank. She’d been trying not to think about that. Instead she’d focused on her mission. “But don’t you understand? That’s why they’ve sent me. Readers need to know. We’ll be bombing Berlin today. Berlin! There are songs about this. It’s what everyone’s been waiting for. It will be a huge morale boost to our friends and family back home who are waiting to see Hitler ousted.”

  She brushed off her helmet and faced forward, ready to get going. “Besides, they need to know about you guys. You’ve beaten the odds, haven’t you? Twenty-nine missions with your whole crew intact. What are the odds of that?”

  “Yeah, but you’re a girl.” Eddie’s fingers ran up and down the wires connecting his electric suit to the plane. “They never said they were sending a girl. I mean, if something happens …”

  “Well, sometimes it’s a woman’s perspective that gets the job done.”

  “Maybe,” the ball turret guy said. “But there’s so much we can’t prepare for. Be careful, lady. Do what we tell you, okay?”

  She glanced back over at José. “Besides, this is my job, just like yours is bombing the smithereens out of the Nazis. You’re willing to die, and so am I. What I could tell all your families back home makes the risk worth it.”

  Mary did know the risks. She’d done her research. Even if the aircraft made it back, she knew about the many crewmen who’d been killed by shrapnel that cuts its way through the walls of the plane. Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, she finished
getting set up in her station.

  Eddie helped her with the winter flying helmet with built-in earphones as the engines began starting up. He looped the snap-on oxygen mask and connecting hose around her neck.

  “I’ll help you when it’s time for these,” he stated. “It’s important this oxygen is hooked up right. It only takes a few minutes for someone to asphyxiate. Oxygen’s needed at 12,000 feet, and we’ll be going up to 24,000.”

  She could barely hear him over the two engines that had already fired off.

  Over the helmet, he adjusted her flying goggles, and then he paused, holding his mouth close to her left ear. “I’m sorry, miss, but you’re gonna have to put that notebook away. We need to get these layers of gloves on, and I’m certain that pencil will be totally useless once you do.”

  She was sure he saw the panic in her gaze even behind the goggles, because he smiled as he gently pulled the notebook from her hands. “It’ll be okay. I’ll stash it over here with my maps. It’ll be safe there, and I can help you with the details when we land.”

  Eddie tenderly layered three pairs of gloves over her hands. Silk ones next to the skin, electrically heated gloves over the silk, and a pair of heavy RAF fleece-lined mittens over the other two.

  She held them up, struggling to wiggle her fingers. “How do you move your hands in these things?”

  Just then, the engines roared, and though he said something else, Mary couldn’t make out the navigator’s words. He quickly grabbed her notebook and jotted down a few words.

  Temperature—up to 55 below zero.

  Winds—clocked at 200 miles an hour.

  She nodded her thanks as she watched him return the notebook to his pile. Then he topped her bulky layers and parachute harness with a Mae West inflatable life vest. By the time he finished, she could feel the sweat rolling down her knees and pooling in her socks.

  Mary thought of a dozen things to comment on—the bulkiness of the gear, the horrible screaming of the turbo-charged engines, even the rumble of her stomach caused by the vibration of the aircraft. Yet she knew it would do no good to talk. So she nodded to the navigator, gave him two thumbs-up, and forced herself to remember every sound, every smell, every emotion, and every physical response as the plane began to move.