No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

by Terri Wangard

  The American Legation’s home occupied the forefront on the left side, with the vanishing point on the right. She frowned. That ferry blocked her view. Of course, all the trees between the wharf and the buildings didn’t help either. What she needed was an elevated viewpoint. That building behind her offered a choice prospect. Excuse me, sir, could I borrow your window for the day? Ha! Be grateful for what you have.

  Now, what exactly was the shade of that roof? Something between muddy tan and reddish brown. Her pencil collection didn’t offer that color. She grabbed her notebook and jotted down a description. This painting would be beautiful. The folks at Svithiod would be pleased to include it in a Swedish exhibit.

  Once the sketch was complete, she picked up the camera and twirled the dials. The foreground came into focus. Another twirl and it blurred while the background sharpened. She’d shoot both options. Too bad the clouds rolled in. Oh, here comes the sun. Click.

  “What are you photographing?”

  The sudden demand nearly caused her to drop the camera. Swedish security police? Did they prohibit picture taking? No, she’d spotted someone photographing the royal palace just the other day. And that voice reminded her of, she pivoted slowly, Lars. His eyes devoured her.

  “Scenery.”

  “What is so special about those buildings?” He spared them a glance. “They are just buildings.”

  She frowned. His accent pegged him as a foreigner and his behavior reeked of Gestapo, so he had no right to interrogate her. Still, he was quite capable of causing an embarrassing scene.

  “Good architecture.” She tucked the camera back into its case and snatched up her sketchpad. Time to leave.

  He didn’t take the hint. Instead, he reached for her sketchpad. “You are an artist.”

  She stuffed it into her tote bag along with her pencil case. Take a deep breath and count to ten. This guy was no art connoisseur. “It’s a drawing.”

  His hand remained outstretched. “May I look at your drawings?”

  Phrased like a polite question, but spoken like a demand. Easy for Ed to suggest turning the tables on him. Since he wasn’t going to leave, she would. “Oh, look at the time. I’ll be late for the Active Housekeeping meeting.”

  His sour expression suggested he’d puckered up with a lemon. Tsk. If he wanted to succeed in the spy business, he really needed to control his expressions. Still, he’d recognized the government title and hadn’t objected to her statement. Maybe they really did have meetings. Mom had only mentioned that its objective, that of educating Swedes in using limited, rationed resources, was aimed at women. She’d guessed right that Lars wouldn’t care to join her. She hurried away and refused to glance back.

  Half an hour passed as she wandered about before doubling back to the legation. She burst in on Phyllis. “Any word on Lars’ allegiance?”

  Phyllis’ head snapped up. “Jennie! Here, help me finish this and let’s go for lunch.” She shoved a file into Jennie’s hands. “Lars must be a recent arrival. Sightings are reported, but last I heard, his specific task hasn’t been identified.”

  “Yes, it has. His task is to bother me.” Jennie described their latest encounter.

  “Oh, that gives me an idea.” Phyllis clapped her hands. “Let’s see if Emma can join us for lunch at Regnbågen. Gestapo agents often go there. You can get a good look at the bad guys.”

  Phyllis’ idea of an interesting lunch made Jennie’s hands clammy as they entered the restaurant an hour later. Her gaze swept across the diners as they joined Emma at a corner table by the window. If these were Lars’ pals, the girls should stay far away. Emma folded a newspaper in fourths and pointed to the movie reviews as a waitress brought bowls of soup.

  “Why don’t we plan on seeing For Whom the Bell Tolls? Fabulous story, that is. The righteous vanquish evil.” She closed her eyes with a blissful sigh, missing the glare from the man at the next table. Her eyes popped up and she looked at Jennie. “Have you seen Mrs. Miniver?”

  Jennie lowered her soup spoon. “That was beautiful.” Discussing films couldn’t be too bad. “Too bad It Happened One Night isn’t showing here. Claudette Colbert is my favorite actress. I believe I’ve seen all of her films.”

  “Clark Gable was her costar. Ooh la la.” Phyllis sighed, her eyes dreamy before she straightened. “What’s really too bad is the State Cinema Office hasn’t approved The Great Dictator. Charlie Chaplin is hysterical.”

  Jenny smiled. “I saw it at home and laughed so hard. But it really isn’t funny when you consider it’s based on real events that aren’t humorous at all.”

  Now the man glowered at her. These guys really did eavesdrop. And they were speaking quietly.

  Her friends nodded.

  Emma ran a finger around the rim of her tea cup. “How about Casablanca?”

  Phyllis raised her coffee cup. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  “Ah, Bogart and Bergman.” Now Emma sighed with a smitten look. “The Swedes have every right to be proud of Ingrid. Not like Zarah Leander. She won’t be welcome back home.”

  The Swedish actress working in Germany was said to be a favorite of Hitler’s.

  Emma held up the paper. “Look at this.” Whispering behind the pages, she said, “Our listener is tasked with monitoring German activity, making sure everyone stays loyal. And the balding man over there? He’s with the German Tourist Office. Who wants to tour Germany now? Any travel he arranges can’t be legitimate.”

  Two more diners entered the room, a man and a woman. Jennie ducked to the side so Phyllis hid her from their view.

  “Lars just came in,” she hissed.

  Her frantic whisper prompted Emma to open her paper and extend it to Jennie. She pointed to an article while her eyes sought the newcomers. “Ah, yes. His name isn’t Lars. A report just came in on him from the Danish office. He’s Werner Kratz, a recruiter who tries to entice Swedes into the Waffen SS.”

  Jennie held up the paper as though reading. Nothing good could happen if Lars—or Werner—whoever—spotted her. “So why is he after me? Surely he doesn’t expect to get me to join the SS.”

  “No, but he could hope to learn something from you. Steal papers maybe. Or plant false information with you. Maybe embroil you in a scandal to embarrass the Americans. Who knows?” Emma pulled the paper from Jennie’s grasp. “He sat with his back to us. You’re safe for now.”

  Jennie dipped her bread in her spinach soup. Suddenly, lunch held no appeal. She wasn’t cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff.

  Phyllis took a quick look at the couple. “Who’s the woman?”

  “A Swedish secretary employed at the French Legation.” A frown momentarily marred Emma’s brow. “The French need to be warned they may have a security leak.”

  #

  In the afternoon, Jennie strolled around Staden, the old town. It possessed an Old World charm unlike anything in the Chicago area. Her feet slowed as she matched locations to her map. The Royal Palace was easy, and the cathedral next door. The narrow cobblestone alleys, while quaint, hampered visibility of what was ahead.

  A chilly breeze nearly snatched the map from her hands. It also brought a mouth-watering fragrance. Jennie took a deep breath. Mmm. A bakery must be nearby. Too bad she just had lunch.

  Lunch at Regnbågen had been interesting. Emma certainly was daring. Phyllis had described her as a file clerk, but that was a euphemism for any intelligence job. Deliberately annoying Germans seemed a good way to land themselves on an enemy watch list. Ed better not expect her to initiate such encounters.

  The church spire marking the highest point in Staden belonged to Tyska Kyrkan, the German church established over a century ago. It had been described as lavishly decorated, and she headed in its direction. German words adorned a mantle. Fürchtet Gott! Ehret den König! Something about God and the king.

  The door was unlocked and she slipped inside. And smiled. Entering a quiet German church constituted the high mark of her own derring-do.


  The vaulted ceiling soared high, creating an atmosphere of light and airiness. Colorful stained glass windows, gold filigree, and carved wood offered a visual feast. Reverent silence whispered peace. She eased into a pew and drank in the calm. Let all mortal flesh keep silent.

  Someone sat beside her. Lars? Before she could jump up, a quiet voice murmured, “Wie geht es Ihnen?”

  She gulped. German words in a German church. “Fine, um, danke.”

  The clergyman had a gentle smile.

  “You are English?” His accent resembled Lars’, without grating.

  “American.” She jerked her eyes away and waved a hand. “I’d heard this church is beautiful. It’s so peaceful.”

  He joined her in looking around. “Yes, touched by God, unlike most of the world.”

  Sadness shone in his eyes. His shoulders slumped as though burdened by a heavy weight.

  “That saying above the gate, about God and the king, what does it say?”

  “‘Fear God. Honor the king.’ Fortunately, those in the Fatherland are not aware of it, or they may insist on changing it a bit.” His mouth smiled, but not his eyes. A sigh from the depths of his soul escaped him. “So much good has come from the church in Germany. The Gutenberg Bible, the Reformation.” Organ music began softly, and he nodded toward it. “So much music.”

  The tune sounded familiar.

  The reverend didn’t hesitate. “‘O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.’ How God’s heart is wounded now.”

  “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded.” Of course. Tears pricked her eyes. Jennie blurted, “I met a man on the ship crossing the Atlantic.” She had his attention. “He’s fighting for America now, but he used to be German. The Nazis found out he has some Jewish ancestry, and he and his family had to flee. Except his father. His father divorced his mother rather than protect his family. My friend is angry. At Germany, at his father.”

  She stopped to catch her breath. “I realize I’ve led a sheltered life, growing up in a single-culture neighborhood with classmates like me. I know the Negroes don’t have the same opportunities, but it never touched me. I don’t know any.” She swallowed hard. “But Rafe is… he’s wonderful. Why can’t the Nazis see that? I’m glad he’s American now, but why’d they run him off? Why did the Germans let that happen?”

  The reverend glanced around. He kept his tone low. “Hitler seized power so quickly. At first, folks were enthusiastic because he brought great reforms. Employment, stable currency, no more of those foul reparations from the Great War. You have to understand the wretched conditions that existed in Germany. By the time people saw the danger, it was too late. He has the nation in a stranglehold.” His chest rose and fell. “Those who know better are afraid to speak out. If they help the Jews or other unfortunates, they end up sharing their fate. Some try, but it is not healthy to be a dissident.”

  Someone entered the sanctuary, looking for the reverend. He patted Jennie’s hand as he rose. “‘Let him that thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.’”

  That had to be a Bible verse, but what an odd choice. Was he warning her to be careful, or describing what happened in Germany?

  If she lived in Germany, she wouldn’t have spoken out. She would have been afraid. Maybe the reverend thought she felt superior to the Germans. No, spineless as she was, she identified with them. What about Rafe’s father? How much of his choice had been prompted by fear? Just look at what his fear had cost him.

  The music soared. It spoke of being caught up to heaven, sending a chill through Jennie. The beauty of the stained glass blurred as her eyes welled. A tear trickled down her cheek, followed by a twin. She murmured a prayer. “Father in heaven, keep Rafe safe in Thy loving care. And grant me courage. I don’t want to disappoint those who love me.”

  #

  Ed called her into his office as soon as she returned to the legation. “I have a job for you. A file needs to be delivered into the hands of a contact in Uppsala. You can do it.”

  In Uppsala? “Can’t it be mailed?”

  “It’s too sensitive. We can’t take the risk. And make sure no one knows what you’re doing.”

  Jennie’s breath whooshed out. “I’m not a field agent.”

  Ed waved a hand, cutting off her protest. “This is a simple courier job. Your mother can go with you. Since her family is from Uppsala, a trip to see the old town will be natural. Hand over the pouch to the contact, visit a few sites, and come back. It’s an easy task that will get you out of the city for a change. You’ll leave on Friday.”

  Jennie swallowed. Mom wouldn’t go along with this. Would she?

  Ridgewell Air Base

  Friday, April 14, 1944

  “Today’s target is,” the major swept back the curtain, “Cologne.”

  Rafe’s heart dropped down to the seat of his pants before bouncing up to lodge in his throat. Cologne! His family’s apartment, the yacht club, the cathedral, all the places he’d known. Did they still exist? The Brits had staged their thousand-bomber raid on Cologne two years previously and were supposed to have destroyed nearly the entire city. Numerous missions had targeted the city since. What could be left to bomb now?

  If he were paying attention, he’d know. His stomach churning, he focused his attention on the major. “The train marshalling yards are important to the Krauts because Cologne is strategically placed in the industrial Ruhr Valley, which follows the Rhine River, and also its proximity to the occupied countries.”

  The marshalling yards. His father’s place of employment. Right next to the cathedral. Not far from their apartment.

  He rose on shaky legs to head for the navigators meeting, and slumped into a back row seat. Classmates, neighbors, relatives. How many were still alive? How many had died? What about his father? Nausea grew. Maybe he should beg off. He definitely did not feel well. But he was a navigator in the United States Army Air Force. He’d sworn his allegiance to America. Directing his crew to bomb his hometown was now his duty.

  #

  Aboard the Pella Tulip, he hunched over his desk, hands clenched, knuckles whitening.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  He looked up into Alan’s concerned face. “Ja, es geht mir gut.” Alan’s brow furled. Oh, great. Now he was speaking German. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Alan picked up the briefcase that had fallen to the floor and pushed it against Rafe’s arm. Rafe unclenched his hands to accept the case but didn’t open it. Time enough later to pull out the maps and directions for bombing Cologne. He shuddered, tossed his garrison hat on the table, and raked a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t their squadron have been on stand down today?

  Their flight over the North Sea passed without incident. Belgium slid by beneath them and they crossed into the Third Reich. As they passed the Initial Point to start the bomb run, Rafe assumed his usual spot, standing behind Alan to watch for the target.

  There, in the distance, it lay. He’d recognize the Cologne Cathedral anywhere. Amazingly, the Hohenzollern Bridge still spanned the river. But something was wrong. Why did the rest of the city look so, so blotchy? His eyes followed the Rhine. Chills that had nothing to do with being at twenty-five thousand feet swept through him.

  Cologne was no more. The reports on the devastation of the British raid were accurate. Rafe grabbed his binoculars and zeroed in on the neighborhood near the cathedral. Skeletal remains stood amid stretches of nothing. Walls without roofs. Black windows that didn’t reflect the sun because they had no glass.

  He aimed at the cathedral and sucked in his breath. Holes speckled the cathedral’s roof. The cathedral had been bombed. Roaring filled his ears that had nothing to do with the engines. The Kölner Dom was the pride of the city, of Germany.

  Orders may have been given to avoid bombing the cathedral, but it had been hit. It still stood, but how bad was the damage? Had the beautiful stained glass windows been removed before the bombing started? The bells? Or had the Nazis melted them down? He’d had his first communion th
ere. His mother had been so happy, his father so proud.

  He staggered back and collapsed on his chair. His oxygen mask hampered his effort to breathe and he pulled it off.

  Pella Tulip jumped as the bombs fell away. Alan turned away from his bombsight, his eyes crinkled in a smile that disappeared. He jumped up and put Rafe’s oxygen mask back in place. “Rafe, are you all right?”

  Alan’s voice came from a distance. Other voices buzzed in his ear phones like annoying insects.

  “What’s going on down there?” Steve. Would he get mad again?

  “I think he’s in shock. His eyes are open but unresponsive.”

  “What’d you expect? Cologne’s his hometown. His mom’s in America, but his dad’s down there.” How did Cal remember that?

  “We bombed his dad?” Dan’s incredulity rang through the intercom.

  “His dad worked for the railroad.”

  Blessed silence reigned. Everyone must understand the implication. They’d just dropped their bombs on that huge rail yard next to the cathedral.

  “We bombed his dad.” Dan’s voice held quiet amazement.

  But they didn’t bomb his dad. No mistake about that. Father wouldn’t risk his precious job to save his family, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his life for that job either. He’d probably been the first one into the shelters. Anger straightened Rafe’s spine.

  Air. He needed air. He left the oxygen mask in place this time, but he needed to get out of here. How much longer until they landed? He pivoted to his desk, grabbed his maps, scanned the instruments, and tested the Gee Box for range. As his rapid breathing eased, he caught Alan’s eye and pointed to the bombardier’s drift meter. Alan’s eyes brightened at their familiar sign language and he swiveled around to take a reading through his bombsight’s superior optics.

  Upon hearing Alan’s drift reading through the intercom, Dan piped up. “Are you okay, lieutenant?”

  Four lieutenants were in the crew, but everyone would know which lieutenant Dan questioned.