They had just passed through a Belgian town called Eupen and entered a densely forested area, when Daley received a message from Major Andersen. They were stopping to wait for artillery units.
Two hours later, Daley was summoned by Major Andersen.
The major and one of the scouts had a map spread out on the hood of a Jeep.
As Daley approached, Andersen called him over and pointed to their location on the map. “This is the road we’re on now,” he said. Then his finger traced a thin, barely legible line that intersected the road and headed northeast. “The scouts have just found another road, about a kilometer ahead. It could be a shortcut into Aachen.” Major Andersen looked at Daley. “I want you to lead a patrol four or five kilometers up this road and make sure it’s secure.”
It was exactly the type of assignment Daley hated. Going off with a few Jeeps and a half-track in unknown territory wasn’t his idea of excitement. Doing it just a few kilometers from the German border was nuts.
They set off a half hour later. The dirt road was narrow and bumpy with thick pine forests on either side. Four scouts were on foot a kilometer ahead to give them advance warning if anything came down the road. Sitting in the lead Jeep, with the machine gunner standing behind him, bouncing along at less than ten kilometers per hour, Daley did not find that very comforting.
Anna’s heart was in her throat as they approached the guardhouse at the German-Belgian border in Aachen. It was different from the checkpoint she had passed through going into Germany. There was no tunnel and the terrain on either side was flat. The concrete bunkers, anti-tank ditches and fencing came right up to the side of the road. Wehrmacht soldiers were everywhere. She was certain they were all looking for her.
She closed her eyes to shut it out, but then the vision of Mueller and the other SS officer lying in the gravel came back. They hadn’t taken the time to bury the bodies, just dragged them into the barn, closed the door and drove off.
Anna had never fired a gun before, never even held one in her hand. But she felt nothing. Not regret, not sorrow, not elation. She didn’t feel anything. She was numb.
The city of Aachen was busy, the streets clogged with soldiers, tanks and trucks. Windows were boarded up, and civilians carrying trunks and suitcases trudged out of the central city. It reminded her of Poland in 1939.
During the drive, she and Otto had discussed what name she should use in the event they were stopped or if she eventually met up with Allied soldiers. They finally agreed that sticking with “Jeanne Laurent” was best. If Anna made it to Belgium she would want to identify herself as a Belgian woman rather than Polish since she needed to stay in Belgium. If she was arrested in Germany, she was in trouble no matter what.
They sat behind a truck at the barricade. A Wehrmacht soldier talked with the driver and checked his papers. Off in the distance, Anna heard the thumping sounds of artillery fire.
They were the only other vehicle heading west, into Belgium. Heading east, into Germany, was a stream of military vehicles at least a kilometer long. Trucks laden with Wehrmacht troops, automobiles carrying officers, armored cars and flatbeds loaded with artillery pieces, all retreating behind the West Wall for the final struggle to save the Fatherland.
The truck moved off, and Otto pulled up to the barricade. Anna stared straight ahead, praying she wouldn’t have to say anything. Just a few hours ago she had murdered two SS officers…and now she was sitting at a German checkpoint with no papers. How could she have been so stupid?
Otto rolled down the window and handed his identification to the Wehrmacht officer who peered into the car. He gave it a cursory glance and handed it back.
“And your companion’s?” the officer asked.
“She would rather not show her identification,” Otto replied.
The remark caught the officer by surprise, and it took him a few seconds to respond. “Nein, that’s not possible. I must see her identification.”
The noise from the artillery shelling and the trucks passing through the other side of the checkpoint made it difficult to hear. Otto motioned for the officer to lean toward the window so he could speak without shouting. “I am a special aide to SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Dieter Koenig, and this lady is his mistress.”
The officer leaned in but didn’t respond. Anna could feel his eyes looking her over.
“The hauptsturmfuhrer has entrusted me to escort her safely out of the country,” Otto continued, his deep voice as calm as if he were ordering lunch. “He would prefer that she not have to produce her identification. Verstehen Sie?”
Anna glanced at the officer with a quick smile then stared straight ahead. She wore one of the slinky dresses, her hair was made up, her cheeks red with rouge and her lips glossy with lipstick. She felt like a whore…Koenig’s whore. If they didn’t move on quickly she was certain she’d vomit.
The officer cleared his throat. “This is highly irregular…I’m not sure…”
Otto leaned out the window. “Was ist Ihr Name? I will pass it along to the hauptsturmfuhrer. I’m certain he will be grateful for your discretion.”
The young officer hesitated. He glanced around then leaned in and said, “Herzog…Leutnant Karl Herzog.” He stared at Anna for a moment then stood erect and saluted. “Tell the hauptsturmfuhrer I am pleased to be of service.” He waved to the gatekeeper to raise the barricade.
Otto rolled up the window and accelerated away from the checkpoint.
They drove for several kilometers before Otto pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. There were still German military vehicles heading in the opposite direction, but they were farther apart now. Otto stared straight ahead, breathing deeply, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Anna closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her forehead. Her temples were throbbing. “A brilliant performance,” she whispered, “although I could hardly breathe.”
“Fortunately he was young—and they were busy.”
“Now what?”
Otto produced a map and unfolded it. “Koenig had this. I took some time to study it last night. We should come to a crossroad in another kilometer or so that heads to the southwest.” He pointed it out to her. “It doesn’t look like much on the map, probably a dirt road, but it cuts through a wooded area and leads to a town called Eupen. You should be able to find help there. I’ll take you that far. Hopefully we won’t encounter troops from either side.”
Anna touched the big man’s arm. “What will you do, Otto?”
“I’ll return to Germany.”
Anna expected that might be his answer. The prospect sickened her. “But you’ve been involved in the murders of three SS officers. You can’t just go back.”
“Nein, I can’t go back as a Feldgendarme, or a soldier of any kind. I’d either be shot for desertion or tried for murder.”
“Then what…?”
“Once I get back across the border I’ll continue on into the interior of the country. Germany is doomed, Anna. Russia is attacking from the east and the Americans and British from the west. Der Führer will demand a fight to the finish, but it can’t last much longer. Germany will be in chaos. I’ll just find a way to blend into the population. It’s the best chance I have.”
“Why not surrender to the Americans or the British, whomever we meet first? I’ll vouch for you, Otto. I’ll tell them how you’ve saved my life.”
“I know you would, Anna. And I’m grateful, but it would never work.”
“Yes, it could. Otto, please—”
“Anna, listen,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Sooner or later, the Allied armies will discover Auschwitz—and the other camps. The world will be outraged.” He gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “Believe me, Anna, I was there; I saw what happened. We Germans keep very good records, especially the SS. The Allies will find out I was there. My only chance is to melt back into Germany and hope for the best.”
Anna stared at him through her tears. The man had saved her life. H
e was still putting himself at risk on her behalf. Yet, his own prospects were bleak. She knew he was right, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Otto put the map away and they continued on in silence. A kilometer farther on they came to the crossroads and, darting between two eastbound trucks, Otto turned down the narrow dirt road.
The radio operator sitting in the backseat of the Jeep tapped Daley on the shoulder and handed him the headset. Daley took it and put his hand up to halt the patrol.
It was one of the scouts. “A car is approaching from the east, sir.”
“A car? Only one?” Daley questioned.
“Yes, sir. It appears to be alone. It just passed our position. We heard it coming and got off the road in time. I’m sure they didn’t spot us. The driver is wearing a German uniform. It should be approaching you in just a few minutes.”
“Understood. Two of you get on the road and head back this way to block them if they turn around. Leave the other two there to cover your backside.”
“Roger, that. Out.”
Daley waved for his lieutenant to come up alongside the Jeep. “A car is approaching. Get your men out of the half-track and into the ditch on each side of the road.”
The soldiers scrambled out of the half-track and took up positions on either side of the narrow road. The machine gunner in the Jeep readied his weapon, and they waited.
Two minutes later the car appeared. The driver slammed on the brakes.
Daley heard the gears grind as the driver threw the gearshift into reverse and started backing up.
“Fire!” he yelled.
The machine gunner fired off a burst that ripped through the car’s radiator and front tires.
The car careened to the left and skidded to a stop. The infantrymen charged forward with their weapons pointed and ordered the passengers out.
Daley was surprised to see a very attractive redheaded woman emerge from the passenger side of the car.
Major Andersen took Captain Daley by the arm, and they walked off by themselves to discuss the fate of their unusual prisoners. For the last half hour, they had been listening to the articulate, strong-willed woman as she pleaded her case for the German Feldgendarme.
Daley was convinced she was telling the truth. If it was up to him, he’d give the big guy a medal and let them both go. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Andersen was a by-the-book career officer.
“It’s all bullshit,” Andersen said. “This guy is a German Feldgendarme. The woman has no identification, dressed like a streetwalker. What the hell were they doing out here all by themselves in a fuckin’ car? For all we know, they’re both German spies.”
“She says she’s Belgian,” Daley said. He knew it was stupid the instant it came out of his mouth.
“Yeah, right. It’s bullshit and we don’t have time to fuck around with it.” Andersen took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.
“So, what do we do with them?” Daley asked.
“The only thing we can do. You found ’em so you get to take the big hulk and his girlfriend back to Liege. Tell the MPs they’re German spies and let them sort it out from there.”
Chapter 75
IN THE FINAL ASSAULT on Merksem, the Second Canadian Division overpowered the German garrison holding the last remaining bridge over the Albert Canal and attacked from the east. The Royal Hamilton Light Infantry Division and the White Brigade attacked from the west, over the Groenendallaan. And from the south, under the cover of an intense artillery barrage, the Fourth Canadian Infantry Brigade managed to get a pontoon bridge across the canal.
By the second day of the battle, the Germans were in a panic and their officers lost control. Trucks overflowing with Wehrmacht troops roared through the streets, maneuvering around bomb craters and abandoned cars, retreating out of the city. German soldiers ran for their lives, stealing bicycles and ransacking homes for food as they fled.
By dawn on the third day it was over. Allied tanks rolled across the Albert Canal and down the Bredabaan, restoring order. The citizens of Merksem emerged from the cellars and poured onto the streets, cheering their liberators.
On the Antwerp side of the canal it was quieter. Having been liberated for more than a month, the euphoria had subsided and people had set to the task of rebuilding their lives. In the early afternoon, Willy Boeynants sat at a table in the Café Brig sipping a beer and reading the newspaper, which had just resumed publication.
On the front page was an article about a mysterious explosion, two days ago, destroying several houses in the community of Brasschaat, eight kilometers northeast of Antwerp. The article went on. Yesterday, another explosion, this one in Antwerp, on Schilderstraat. A dozen people were killed, and an eyewitness reported seeing something “just dropping out of the sky.” Boeynants knew what was happening. Jan had told him about his mission to Poland.
The V-2 had arrived.
He tossed the paper aside and took another sip of beer. It was still the same watery, tasteless brew, but he didn’t notice. Nor did he concern himself any further with the V-2 attacks. There was nothing that could be done except to end the war, and that was in the hands of others.
Boeynants had other things on his mind. He had spent nearly every hour of the last week trying to find a trace of Anna and had come up empty-handed. Frustrated and disheartened, he glanced at his watch. It was quarter to two. He tossed some coins on the table and left.
Fifteen minutes later, Boeynants sat in a conference room with a dozen other people at the Antwerp City Hall, waiting for a meeting to begin with the British SOE. The British had wanted Antoine to attend, but the White Brigade leader and his forces were with the Second Canadian Division, pursuing the Germans in the Schelde estuary, fifty kilometers north of Antwerp.
At precisely two o’clock a portly, disheveled man entered the room and introduced himself as Colonel Stanley Whitehall. Boeynants was curious. He had never met Whitehall, but he knew that he had been the one who had selected Jan to impersonate Ernst Heinrich. It had also been Whitehall who had selected Jan for the V-2 mission in Poland.
Toward the end of the meeting Whitehall informed the group that a German Gestapo agent had been captured by the British and was being held in Antwerp. The Gestapo agent had decided to cooperate and had given up a significant amount of information having to do with the arrests of Comet Line agents. When Whitehall mentioned the agent’s name, Boeynants felt a knot in his stomach. It was Rolf Reinhardt.
After the meeting, Boeynants lingered behind and, when the others had left, he approached Whitehall who was stuffing papers into his briefcase.
“Colonel Whitehall, may I have a word with you?”
The heavyset man peered at Boeynants over the top of his glasses. “Of course,” he said, glancing around the empty meeting room. “Please, take a seat, Mr. Boeynants.”
“Colonel, do you know a Polish officer by the name of Jan Kopernik?”
Whitehall appeared startled. He didn’t respond.
Boeynants went on. “I was the sole contact with Colonel Kopernik while he was impersonating Ernst Heinrich inside the German garrison in Antwerp.”
“Yes, I know Colonel Kopernik.” Whitehall paused. “Did he…?”
“He survived the mission,” Boeynants said.
Whitehall looked relieved.
“He was wounded in a subsequent action in Merksem, but he’s recovering.”
Whitehall pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Pleased to hear that. Good man, he is.”
Boeynants nodded. “Yes, he is. Colonel, did you know that his wife, Anna, escaped from Poland and was living here in Belgium?”
“Why no, I had no idea. He told me his wife had been arrested by the SS. That’s quite remarkable. How is she?”
“Well, that’s the problem. We don’t know where she is. She was an agent of the Comet Line, and we believe she was arrested on a mission escorting a British aviator out of the country.”
Whitehall’s ey
es widened. “Where? Do you know?”
“No, we don’t,” Boeynants said, shaking his head. “But we do know that she was using the code name, ‘Jeanne Laurent.’ We also know that Rik Trooz was aware of her mission.”
“Rik Trooz?” Whitehall sat upright in his chair and leaned forward. “Rik Trooz was SOE’s primary contact with the Comet Line. And we know that this animal, Rolf Reinhardt, was involved in his arrest. In fact, we’re quite sure that Reinhardt was the one who had him tortured…and murdered.”
“Yes, I know,” Boeynants said. “Our own contacts confirmed that. In fact, Reinhardt has been hunting for me, but that’s another story.”
Whitehall stared at him.
Boeynants shrugged then asked, “But Reinhardt has said nothing about a redheaded woman using the name Jeanne Laurent?”
“No.” Whitehall’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Boeynants. “Apparently this chap hasn’t told us quite everything he knows. Would you like to pay him a visit?”
When the guard brought Rolf Reinhardt into the interrogation room, Whitehall and Boeynants were seated at a metal table. Boeynants thought he spotted a flicker of recognition in Reinhardt’s eyes.
Whitehall motioned for Reinhardt to be seated, and the guard shoved him into a chair, then stood back, in front of the door.
“This is Willy Boeynants,” Whitehall said. “I believe you were looking for him a while back.”
Reinhardt’s face paled, but he didn’t respond.
Whitehall stood up and walked around the small room.
Reinhardt stared straight ahead.
“When we last talked, Herr Reinhardt, you assured me that you had told us everything you knew about agents of the Comet Line.”
Reinhardt remained silent.
“Tell us about ‘Jeanne Laurent,’” Whitehall said, standing directly behind Reinhardt.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” Reinhardt said, in heavily accented English.
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