by Diane Moody
The soldier belched, sending a waft of the same disgusting odor Danny remembered from the manure-like cigarettes Frederic often smoked. “Guten tag, Herr McClain,” he said, clicking his heels together and throwing out his right arm in the familiar salute. “Heil Hitler!” Then he promptly turned and spat on the ground.
“Lock them up. Let’s go,” Eduard barked, emerging from the back door. He too wore the uniform of the Gestapo, still fastening the collar of his jacket. “Anya, you and Lieutenant McClain must keep utterly silent, especially when we are stopped. Not a sound.”
“I know,” Anya answered as she and Frederic helped Danny up into the back of the truck. They made their way through boxes and trunks all labeled in German. Liquor, cigarettes, firearms, and numerous other black market goods, all containers stenciled with the menacing swastika. Anya opened the camouflaged secret door and helped Danny into the compartment. She guided him toward the bench on the right side.
“How is this—?”
A metal door rolled down closing them in, effectively answering his question. In the pitch black, Danny held his breath, hearing a succession of thuds from the other side.
“They stack the trunks two-deep all the way to the top in front of the door,” she explained, her voice placing her directly across from him. “From out there, it looks like a packed cargo of goods—all bound for German officers of the highest rank, according to our false paperwork. At the roadblocks, Frederic and Eduard will donate a crate filled with booze and cigarettes. The guards are used to these gifts and always let us through. At least they always have before.”
Danny tugged at his collar. “Is there sufficient ventilation in here?”
“Yes, of course. When your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, you’ll see a random cluster of small holes above us in the roof. Undetectable from outside, but we must always be silent whenever the truck is stopped. Always.”
The engine came to life followed by a grinding gear change. Then the truck backed up, changed gears again, and began rumbling over the rough ground, bouncing them around. He reached across the darkness, searching for her hand and found it. At first she entwined her fingers with his but said nothing. Then, a few moments later when the truck hit a particularly deep rut in the road, she moved to sit beside him.
“Not exactly the romantic setting I had in mind, but I guess it will have to do.”
“Always, you find the humor.”
“I can’t see your face yet so I have no idea if you’re smiling.”
“Only a little.”
“I can do with a little.”
“We shall soon pick up the others, so any romantic intentions will have to wait.”
“Let’s see if Eduard and Frederic will let these other pilots ride up front with them. Then we’ll have more time. Alone.”
She didn’t say anything, and even though his eyes were starting to see the pinpoints of light from the holes above them, he still couldn’t see her face. “You’re quiet. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I wish I could have met you when you were that boy writing me letters in the back of your father’s movie theater.”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t know, of course, but I always loved getting those long letters. Always I waited for the postman to bring our mail.”
“And I used to race upstairs after school to my bedroom. Mom used to place your letters on my pillow. Finding one there was always the favorite part of my day.”
“Mine too. Except if you wrote about those silly cowboy movies.”
“Hey! Those are my favorites. Have some respect.”
“Those and your Cubs baseball. Such a boring sport.”
“Ah, but you’ve never been to a real live baseball game. I’ll take you when all this is over. We’ll ride the trolley car to Wrigley Field, we’ll eat hot dogs, and we’ll try to catch home run balls.”
The truck hit another rut and bounced them again, but she said nothing.
“What? You won’t even try one single Cubs game with me?”
Silence.
He pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head. “Look, I know we can’t be sure how all this will end. I know it’s mostly wishful thinking to talk about baseball games and all that. But I need to believe there’s a future for us. Together. That’s why I want you to come with me.”
“Danny, please don’t ask that of me.”
“What is so wrong with asking you to come with me? Your country is still at war and still extremely dangerous. I mean, look at us! We’re hidden in a truck driving across German occupied territory. Why is it so wrong for me to care about your safety?”
The truck slowed down. Anya stiffened. “Shh! Say nothing,” she whispered.
The complaining gears once more groaned as the vehicle came to a stop. Danny held his breath. He could hear German voices, obviously barking orders. Eduard responded in fluent German in a tone that suggested nothing unusual, merely routine. Next, he heard Frederic’s additional comments in a much more animated version of German. Laughter rang out as the guards clearly enjoyed whatever Frederic had said. Danny allowed himself a breath, relieved to hear laughter instead of gunfire.
The conversation continued, back and forth. He could hear the squeal of the outer rear door opening. Anya squeezed his hand. Then, the door slammed shut again. Danny visualized Frederic handing over a crate of stolen goods. The resulting comments from the guards sounded favorable. In a moment, the truck roared back to life and they were on their way.
“Thank goodness,” he said just above a whisper.
“We should be near Apeldoorn shortly,” Anya said. “It is not far now.”
“Then I haven’t got much time to convince you to come with me, do I?”
“No, you don’t, and I will not change my mind, so save yourself the effort.”
“What is it that holds you back? What could you possibly have here that’s worth risking your life every single day?”
She stiffened again and pushed away from him. “And what right do you have to tell me what to do? To tell me I must go with you? What if it were your country under occupation? Would you run away? Would you have someone tell you to leave? To simply—”
“To simply do whatever it takes to save my life? Of course, I would! Who in their right mind prefers living in a war zone when they have a chance to live in freedom?”
“Oh, so now you would say I’m crazy? That I am a fool because I won’t drop everything and run away with you?”
He could hear the passion in her voice, the rising anger he’d stumbled back into. “Anya, no. I would never say that. I just—”
“You just want to protect me. I know. I’ve heard it all before.”
“So that’s it?”
No response.
“There’s nothing I can say or do to convince you to come with me?”
They rode together in silence for several minutes until the truck made a quick turn and lurched to a stop. Someone inside the cab knocked twice then once then three times.
“That is Eduard’s signal that we’re at the safe house. No, Danny. There is nothing you can say. Please do not bring this up in front of the other men when they join us.”
He could hear a flurry of commotion on the other side of the compartment, then the door was rolled up. Frederic stood there with his hands on his hips, silhouetted against the darkness. “Well, then. We must make this quick. If you need to go to the—”
“Yes, I do.” Anya slipped out the door, leaving Danny behind.
Even in the darkness, he could see Frederic’s eyebrows disappear beneath his helmet as he looked back at Danny. He lit an actual cigarette, no doubt one of the stolen Lucky Strikes. He blew the match out with a teasing smirk. “Again the fumble?”
Danny ignored the comment. “How much farther once the other men join us?”
“It is not the distance. Distance means nothing. It is the many stops along the way. Tonight we try a different route to avoid the man
y blockades. We will try to stop in Utrecht.”
“Gentlemen,” Eduard interrupted from the rear of the truck. “Make your introductions after we get going. All the way to the back. Hurry now.”
Three individuals dressed in civilian clothing like Danny’s hopped up into the truck and crouched their way forward around the trunks and crates before entering the compartment. Even with both doors open, the light remained almost completely dark as the men crowded into the close quarters. He moved as far against the wall abutting the cab as he could, hoping to keep his foot from getting stepped on.
“Come on in,” he said, trying to ease the tension. “It’s crowded, but I think we’ll all fit.”
“Danny?”
He recognized the voice at once. “Charlie?”
“Oh, thank God!” his friend cried, climbing over the others to reach him. They stood in a clumsy embrace, patting each other on the back.
“I can’t believe it! How did you end up here?” Danny asked.
“Move it!” Anya shouted sounding like a kindergarten teacher losing patience with her young students. The metal door was rolled back down after she entered. “You’ll get used to the darkness in a moment. Until then, sit still and don’t move around.”
“Danny! It’s so good to see you—well, to almost see you. Can’t we light a lantern or something? It’s pitch dark in here.”
“No, we cannot light a lantern,” Anya answered. “Unless you would like to send up a flare to let the Germans know you are here?”
“It’s okay,” Danny added. “You’ll see pinpoints of light from the roof soon. Charlie, what happened? Were you shot down?”
“More like shot to hell and back. Yesterday we caught anti-aircraft fire on our way back from a run to Kiel. It was unbelievable. Only Banks and Kearney bailed out ahead of me. Haven’t seen them since.”
“The rest of your crew?”
“Lost them all. All of them,” he said, his voice cracking.
Danny patted his friend on the back. “It’s tough. I’m so sorry. I know what that’s like. Only five of us made it out of Sophie. And as far as I know, Pendergrass is the only other one who made it.”
It took Charlie a moment to compose himself. “I’ll be glad when all this is over and we can all go home.”
The other two men echoed in agreement. They introduced themselves—both crew members from Crazy Lady out of the 95th Bomb Group—tail gunner Gerald Morrison and waist gunner Larry Fogelman. Finally getting used to the tiny shafts of light, they shook hands and exchanged more small talk. When the conversation stilled, Danny remembered Anya.
“I forgot to introduce our ‘guide’ on tonight’s excursion. This is—”
“Eva. My name is Eva.”
He wasn’t sure why the cover names were necessary at this point, but he wasn’t about to go against her wishes. “Eva. She has been most helpful.”
“Nice to meet you, Eva,” Charlie and the others said. “Thank you for your help getting us back to our bases.”
He hated that she was across the cramped aisle at the other end, even if it was only four or five feet away. Every moment that passed was one moment closer to watching her go. He knew he could never convince her to change her mind. She made that abundantly clear.
With the tight quarters and sparse ventilation, Danny fought the slight tinge of claustrophobia that crept through him. The men obviously hadn’t had a chance to clean up, filling the stuffy air with a combination of sweat and stale tobacco. Uncomfortable with the awkward silence, Danny asked them to update him on the war news, which they did.
“It’s just a matter of days now,” Charlie said. “At most, maybe a few weeks.”
Danny noted Anya’s silence. He could see her silhouette and wondered if perhaps she had fallen asleep. To be so near yet so far from her as their time together evaporated, so crowded in this stifling box drove him mad. He leaned his head back against the panel and closed his eyes. Instantly the image came to his mind as it so often did—that of his mother on her knees praying for him.
For now, that would have to do.
57
Late morning, 03 April 1945
The truck slammed to a stop sending all of them toppling into each other.
“What the—”
“Shhh! Say nothing!” Anya whispered. Thankfully, the men stopped their bewildered comments and heeded her warning.
She could hear the angry voices shouting German demands outside as well as the distinct report of numerous guns locking into place. Bright lights outside illuminated their hidden cabin from above so they could see each other better—most likely from headlights of several vehicles pointed in their direction.
Something was very wrong. Eduard would have signaled had this been a routine stop. Wait . . . She thought she heard a gentle tapping against the front wall. “Let me through,” she whispered, climbing over the airmen’s tangled legs. She pressed her ear against the wall, listening for further instructions. The coded message made her heart stop.
Mercenaries. Better they had encountered Hitler himself than these ruthless thugs.
Danny leaned over to whisper in her ear. His warm breath did nothing to stop the icy fingers of fear in her stomach. “What should we—”
She clamped her hand over his mouth as Eduard began speaking on the other side of the wall.
“Ah, a victory celebration! Mind if we join?”
“What is your business here? Where are you going?” the soldier barked.
“On our way to Utrecht to deliver supplies to Reichskommissar Seyss-Inquart. Here, you can see our orders.”
“Ah, yes, yes. Always the orders. Your papers are of no value to us.”
“No? And why is that?” Eduard asked.
A sudden blast of gunfire erupted. “Down down down!” Anya whispered frantically as several bullets pierced the cab wall. In a split second between shots, she heard a loud grunt across from her. The man in the middle fell limp, a stream of blood pouring from his head. The other two men attended to him but it was too late. The man nearest the front—the one named Charlie—must have ducked just in time, leaving a straight path to the young man named Fogelman. The tail gunner held a hand over his own mouth to stifle a groan as he pulled his dead crew mate against him, rocking in silent grief.
Anya held a finger to her lips and stretched out her other hand, shaking it in the men’s faces. “Shhh! Not a sound!” Anya mouthed silently. “They must not know we’re here!”
She didn’t have to see the gory evidence of what just happened to know Eduard and Frederic were dead. Her heart pounded as her mind sought a means of escape.
Danny pressed his mouth against her ear. “Can they find us in here?”
“Yes,” she answered against his ear, “but only if they loot all of the cargo first.”
The soldiers’ voices moved toward the back of the truck. Anya held her hands up again, cautioning them to remain silent. Even the shaded sight of Morrison’s tears didn’t deter her sense of urgency. She slowly dug her firearm from the back waistband of her pants and slowly, silently cocked the hammer into place.
A single shot at the back of the truck drew laughter. “What shall we find?” one of them teased. The others joined in, obviously anxious to see what treasures could be pillaged.
She could feel the slight movement of the truck bed; probably several men hopping up inside.
They could hear the cracking of crates being pried open, and with each one a swell of laughter at its contents. Through their shouts of joy, she knew they’d found the many crates of liquor and cigarettes, readily pronouncing themselves the luckiest men on earth. The weapons were discovered, delighting the mercenaries with their good fortune and the promise of huge profits from their sale.
Inside their compartment, Anya and the men held their breath. From time to time they’d look at each other, wondering what was going on just feet from where they hid. When confused eyes would turn on her, she shook her head and held her finger to her
lips again.
Eventually the Germans took their party back outside, removing crates and boxes from the back of the truck. Anya knew the truck was packed from back to front—the most valuable goods nearest the back door; the more mundane things such as socks and kitchen utensils and soap farther in. The strategy worked. As the men opened the boxes closer to their secret hideout, they soon grew bored, weary of the quest when their comrades were already imbibing in the spoils.
Convinced no one remained inside the truck, Anya leaned forward, motioning the three men toward her. “We will wait them out,” she mouthed more than whispered. “We have no choice.”
The others nodded in agreement. Charlie quietly pulled the scarf from his neck and placed it over Fogelman’s head. They couldn’t risk making noise by attempting to move his body, so it remained slumped between Charlie and Morrison. The young tail gunner dropped his head in his hands. She watched as Danny reached over to gently pat the young man’s knee.
Through the long hours before daybreak, the Germans drank and sang and danced. Anya could smell wood burning and assumed they had built a bonfire to keep them warm. As the headlights of their vehicles grew dim, she caught the flicker of firelight dancing through the air holes above.
Her mind worked all the angles of their predicament as she tried to determine their options. Even if every last one of the German swine fell sound asleep in their drunken revelry, it would be much too risky to crawl their way out and attempt to escape. Or would it? She pictured herself crawling out of the compartment, foraging through the heavy boxes stacked just on the other side of the rolling door—then imagined herself jumping from the truck bed only to find an armed soldier watching her every move.
But to stay? Eventually the soldiers would wake up and drive their stolen truck to wherever they happened to go. At some point, they would empty the remaining cargo and find the hidden door. They would be shot—or worse, tortured before execution.
They had no choice. They had to escape and do it now. Anya knew their only chance was to slip away before the sun came up.
In whispered tones, she told the men what they must do. They understood the urgency of her plan and agreed to it. Quietly, Charlie and Anya moved to the door. She reminded him to help her lift the rolling metal door as slowly as possible to alleviate any potential noise. Inch by grueling inch they raised it, until it was all the way up. They could see slices of light between the trunks but nothing beyond. They knew they must work swiftly, moving the trunks without making a sound.