Night of Flames

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  She struggled to force back the bile rising in her throat and concentrated on helping the woman who leaned against her. The group inched forward.

  Soldiers cursed. Nightsticks crunched the skulls of those who stumbled and fell. The voice bellowed through the megaphone and the waiting boxcars loomed larger.

  Anna thought about Jan and tears welled in her eyes. Could this be the end? Would she never see him again?

  She heard another voice, off to her left, shouting in German. “That one, over there! That one, the redhead!”

  Two Feldgendarmes shoved their way into the crowd. Before Anna could react, one of them, a large, thick man she had seen around the camp, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the throng. The elderly woman stumbled and fell to the ground.

  The second Feldgendarme clubbed the old woman with his nightstick then shoved Anna from behind while the bigger man held her wrist in an iron grip, dragging her toward a building on the other side of the courtyard.

  Up the stairs, down a hallway, pulled and prodded. It was all she could do to keep from falling. At the end of the hallway they stopped in front of a door. The big Feldgendarme opened it while the one in back shoved her into the room. Anna stumbled and fell on the tile floor. The door slammed behind her.

  It took Anna a moment to get her bearings. As she got to her knees, she noticed the boots—shiny black boots. She lifted her head and looked into the ice blue eyes of SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Dieter Koenig.

  She got to her feet and took a step backward.

  Koenig moved closer and placed a gloved hand under her chin. “Mon dieu, look what’s become of my pretty girl,” he said in French. “Haven’t these barbarians fed you?”

  Anna turned away, swallowing, barely able to breathe.

  Koenig touched her cheek.

  She brushed his hand away.

  He laughed. “Well, it’s good to see you haven’t lost your spirit, ma chérie. We’ll get you cleaned up and give you a good meal before we leave; then you’ll feel better.”

  Anna instinctively folded her arms across her chest and backed away, glancing around the stark room. It was obvious that it had been someone’s office, but now all that remained was a metal desk and a single chair. Through the frosted glass in the top half of the door she could see the silhouette of the big Feldgendarme standing in the hallway.

  Unconsciously, Anna rubbed her wrist where the Feldgendarme had gripped it with his enormous hand. She looked at Koenig. “What do you mean, ‘before we leave’? Where are you taking me?”

  Koenig smiled and stepped over to the single window overlooking the courtyard. He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced out, then turned toward her. “Why to Germany, of course, as we discussed before the unfortunate timing of the invasion.” He paused. “That is, unless you’d prefer to join those wretched bastards outside.”

  Anna feared her legs wouldn’t support her for another second. She had to blink to keep her eyes in focus. Her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out. “That’s where I belong. So, perhaps you should let me join them.”

  Koenig removed his hat and set it on the desk. He sat down in the chair, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I think you belong with me, ma chérie. Oh, I know you don’t like me very much right now, but, in time, you’ll come around. You’ll see…it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining. After all, I’m no animal. I’m just a man who appreciates beautiful women.” He stood up and moved around the desk.

  Anna took another step backward.

  He pretended not to notice and moved slowly, circling around her, brushing his hand on her shoulder.

  He stepped away. “We certainly need to get you cleaned up and put a little meat back on your bones. But underneath all that grime lies a gorgeous creature who I—”

  Anna bolted for the door.

  Koenig lunged for her.

  He grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around, slapping her hard across the mouth.

  Anna stumbled backward against the wall.

  Koenig grabbed her throat, pressing her head against the rough plaster. His eyes were wild, his face red with rage. He screamed at her in German. “Verdammt! Don’t ever turn away from me again, you fucking bitch, or I’ll have you raped in the courtyard by every Feldgendarme in this camp!”

  He squeezed her throat until she could hardly breathe and screamed again, louder. “You’re mine! You’re coming with me to Germany!”

  Koenig leaned forward, his face close to hers and whispered. Anna could smell his breath…cigarettes, alcohol. “You’ll give me what I want, whenever I want it and as often as I want it. If you refuse, even once, I’ll have you raped until you wish you were dead. Then…Ich werde Sie töten. I’ll kill you—slowly.”

  Koenig thrust her to the ground and stepped back. He glared at her then reached down and stroked her cheek, his fingers tracing the line of her neck. Then he abruptly picked his hat off the desk and jerked the door open. “Kommen Sie!” Koenig barked to the Feldgendarme. “Get this bitch cleaned up and get her some food. Then put her in my car. We leave tonight.”

  Chapter 55

  FOLLOWING THE STRICT PROTOCOL of the White Brigade, Willy Boeynants had asked the bartender at the Café Brig to arrange a meeting with Antoine. Later that same day, the two men met near Antwerp’s Kattendijkdok in the dwindling light of the humid August evening.

  “I received some information from my colleague at the Interior Department,” Boeynants said. “General Stolberg has requested the services of a demolition engineer. He has demanded that he be sent to Antwerp as soon as possible.”

  Antoine nodded. “Oui, we’ve been expecting he might do this.”

  “The engineer’s name is Ernst Heinrich. He’s a civilian. And, according to the cables my colleague intercepted, Stolberg only knows this man by reputation. He has never met him, and neither has any of his staff.”

  Antoine shrugged. “That’s probably not all that unusual.”

  Boeynants continued. “In a stroke of luck, my colleague was on duty when Heinrich’s personnel file arrived from Berlin. His department is responsible for processing these files. He managed to look at Heinrich’s before passing it on to General Stolberg’s office.”

  “Oui, but how does this—?”

  Boeynants got to the point finally. “Ernst Heinrich is arriving in Antwerp on the train from Berlin on the 28th of this month.”

  Antoine’s eyes widened. “Mon dieu, that’s just five days from now.”

  “There’s more. The file included Heinrich’s resume—and his description.”

  “His description?”

  Boeynants handed Antoine a piece of paper with the handwritten notes his colleague had given him. The two men stood in silence for several minutes as Antoine studied the notes.

  Antoine dropped the cigarette he had been smoking and ground it out with his shoe. “We need the details on that train, the schedule at every stop along the way. Use our contact in Holland. The train will probably go through Amsterdam, and they can put someone on board.”

  Boeynants nodded.

  Antoine extended his hand. “Très bien, very good work. Now I’ve got to contact SOE.”

  Chapter 56

  IN ALL OF HIS YEARS as a military officer, Jan had never imagined a fighting force as formidable as the one that was now charging through France. When he arrived at Normandy the scope of the invading army had astounded him. Hundreds of ships moved in and out of the artificial harbors at Arromanches, disgorging tanks, armored cars, heavy-duty trucks and self-propelled guns by the thousands. Tens of thousands of troops slogged across the beaches: Americans, Brits, Canadians, Australians and Poles, all heading inland to assault Hitler’s Germany.

  A month later, the Polish First Armored Division reached the Falaise Gap, and the fighting was ferocious, as brutal as any of the battles Jan had fought in Poland, but this time it was the Germans who were crushed.

  Jan was surprised at his emotions when the battle a
t Falaise ended. He hated the Nazis for the monstrous annihilation of his country, and he had been determined to have his vengeance. But when he looked out at the vast killing field from the top of Mont Ormel, he felt only sadness—and a great emptiness. He was so tired. After five years of war, he wanted his life back. He wanted Anna. But the end seemed nowhere in sight.

  The Polish First Armored Division advanced rapidly eastward. With the First Canadian Corps on their left flank, the American Third Army on their right, and the skies overhead secured by Allied air forces, the contrast with the isolated, outgunned Polish forces of 1939 was dramatic. Jan looked around at the tanks and armored cars clanking along the dusty French roads. He watched the bomber squadrons flying overhead. The outcome of the war was no longer in doubt. Germany would be defeated. The unknown was how long it would take.

  Having successfully landed an assault force of this magnitude, the Allies would settle for nothing less than a complete and total German surrender. But, in his gut, Jan feared that the Germany that existed under Hitler and his Nazi thugs would never surrender until their country had been destroyed and Allied tanks rolled through the Brandenburg Gate into Berlin.

  How many hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians would die in the meantime, he wondered. He thought of the V-2 rockets he had seen in Poland and the destruction they had caused when they crash-landed in villages and towns. If Germany held on long enough to use this weapon, the hundreds of thousands could become millions.

  Jan stood in the front seat of the scout car, gripping the frame above the windshield for support. His goggles kept out most of the dust as he surveyed the men riding in trucks and marching alongside the road. Like him, many of these men had been at war and away from their families for almost five years. They deserved to survive and go home. Stefan had deserved to survive, but he didn’t. Irene and Justyn would never see him again—if they had survived. And Anna…

  The sound of a motorcycle broke his train of thought. Jan glanced down at the rider who was waving and yelling at him. He leaned over to hear and the man yelled again, asking him to stop.

  Jan motioned to his driver to pull over. The motorcycle pulled up behind them, and the rider stepped up, saluted and handed him a sealed envelope. Jan ripped it open and read the brief message inside.

  RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO CHAMBOIS.

  REPORT TO MR. ORTMUND AT THE HOTEL ELBE.

  The message was signed by General Stanislaw Maczek, the commanding officer of the Polish First Armored Division.

  “My instructions are to give you a ride wherever you need to go,” the rider said, wiping dirt from his goggles.

  When he entered the room on the third floor of the Hotel Elbe, a young man with short-cropped, sandy hair and wire-rimmed spectacles sat on a straight-back chair at an ornate desk. He wore a white shirt, bow tie and striped trousers. Jan thought he looked like a bank teller.

  The young man stood up and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, Colonel Kopernik, I am Mr. Ortmund. Good of you to come so quickly.”

  Jan nodded without responding. He had been through enough meetings with British civilians that he was impatient with small talk.

  The man cleared his throat, opened a small folder and withdrew an envelope, which he handed to Jan.

  Inside the envelope was a single sheet of stationery bearing the letterhead of the SOE. Jan read the handwritten message.

  To Colonel Jan Kopernik:

  You have been transferred to the Special Operations Executive on the orders of General Stanislaw Maczek. Please follow the instructions given to you by Mr. Ortmund.

  Sincerely,

  Col. Stanley Whitehall

  Goddamn it, Jan thought. Whitehall again. He dropped the paper on the desk, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out. “Well, ‘Mr. Ortmund,’ are you going to tell me what the hell this is all about?”

  The man cleared his throat again and said, “There is an airstrip just a few kilometers out of town. My instructions are to drive you there this evening where you will board an RAF plane. We have some clothes for you. You may leave your uniform with me.”

  “That’s nice,” Jan said, blowing smoke in the air. “And where am I going?”

  “I don’t know. We all operate on a ‘need-to-know’ basis. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Jan answered, sensing that he’d seen the last of his military command for awhile. He only hoped it wasn’t another trip back to Poland.

  When they were airborne the copilot of the Halifax stepped back to where Jan sat and handed him a jumpsuit and a parachute pack. “It’s a short flight, Colonel. You’d better get ready.”

  As Jan pulled the jumpsuit over the shirt and trousers that Ortmund had supplied, the copilot said, “We’ll be dropping you just outside the town of Kapellen, northeast of Antwerp, Belgium. The drop zone is a farm field—”

  “Antwerp? You’re dropping me near Antwerp?”

  “Yes, that’s right…something wrong, Colonel?”

  Jan stood motionless while it sunk in. Antwerp? Could it possibly be…? He shook his head and said to the copilot. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  The copilot continued. “The drop zone is a farm field, owned by a member of the Belgian Resistance. We’ll receive a signal…”

  Jan tried to listen, but the words were coming through a fog. Anna’s image flitted through his mind, waving at him. Her long, red hair…

  “…from the ground…torches outlining the field,” the copilot was saying.

  Jan blinked and stared at him. “Yeah, OK.”

  “Then we’ll circle around, drop down and out you go.”

  Jan zipped up the jumpsuit. His hands were trembling.

  “You’ll be met by a man wearing a plaid shirt,” the copilot said. “He will address you in French by saying, ‘Do you wish to go to Antwerp?’ You are to reply by saying, ‘Yes, but I would like a warm meal first.’ You got that?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it,” Jan said as he secured the clasps on the parachute.

  “I’m told you’ve made these jumps before.”

  “Just once. I hoped it was my last.”

  The copilot smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Well then, good luck, Colonel. Maybe we can hoist a pint together when this thing’s all over. You’d better sit down and get strapped in now. We’ll be catching some flak when we hit the coast.”

  The man in the plaid shirt was the owner of the farm, and he led Jan into a cellar below the house. A tall silver-haired man was waiting for him.

  When the farmer departed, leaving them alone, the man held out his hand and spoke French. “Bonjour, monsieur. Welcome to Belgium.”

  Jan shook his hand and peeled off the jumpsuit.

  “I understand you’re a military officer, a colonel?”

  “Oui, c’est correct,” Jan replied.

  The man motioned to a table in the center of the dimly lit, earthen floor room and poured two glasses of red wine that had been provided by the farmer. There was a plate of cheese, sliced sausage and fresh bread. Seeing the food made Jan realize he was hungry and, with a nod of encouragement from the silver-haired man, he helped himself.

  “Perhaps I should give you some background on our mission,” the man said.

  Jan took a sip of the homemade wine and nodded. “Oui, I would appreciate that.”

  “I belong to an organization known as the White Brigade. From this point on, Colonel, you may refer to me as, ‘Sam.’”

  Jan nodded, acknowledging the code name.

  Sam continued, “We are part of the Belgian Armed Resistance. One of our responsibilities is the protection of Antwerp’s port.”

  “Protection of the port?”

  “Oui. The Germans have sent a general by the name of Stolberg to Antwerp. His mission is to shore up their defenses and defend the port against the expected attack by the Allies. If they cannot defend the port, we believe they will try to destroy it.”

  Jan tried to listen but he wa
s still stunned by the stroke of fortune that had dropped him into Belgium, just a few kilometers from Antwerp. Was it possible that Anna was here? He took another sip of wine, forcing himself to concentrate on what the silver-haired man was saying.

  “…General Stolberg has received a dispatch from Berlin indicating that they are sending a demolition engineer from Berlin, a civilian by the name of Ernst Heinrich.” Sam paused and picked up the wine bottle, topping off the glasses. “Do you have any questions so far, Colonel?”

  “Non,” Jan replied. “Just waiting to hear how I fit into all of this.”

  Sam took a sip of wine and continued. “Our intelligence was able to provide us with Herr Heinrich’s travel itinerary and his description. You match his description quite well. I’m told that you speak fluent German and that you’re trained in demolitions. You will become Ernst Heinrich, Colonel.”

  Jan could barely manage to set down his wineglass without spilling it. “What the hell are you talking about? That’s the craziest notion I’ve—”

  Sam interrupted him. “Please, let me continue.”

  Jan glared at him and sat back in the chair.

  “I jumped ahead of myself,” Sam said. “It’s really not as crazy as it may sound. You see, General Stolberg has never met Ernst Heinrich and neither has any of his staff. Our orders are to take him off the train. You will replace him and report to General Stolberg at his headquarters in Antwerp. From that point forward, your instructions are to find out everything you can about the enemy’s plans for destruction of the port and pass the information on to our organization. I will be your contact.”

  Jan stared at the silver-haired man, not knowing which of a dozen questions to ask first. His previous missions had been dangerous…but impersonating a German demolition engineer? Becoming part of a German General’s staff in occupied territory? It was absurd. This was Whitehall’s fault. He wished he could have the fat bastard alone for five minutes. This wasn’t a mission—it was a death sentence.