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

by Terri Wangard

  The whine of the engines altered as Steve coaxed a little more speed out of them. They couldn’t outrun a fighter though.

  The rattle of a waist gun vibrated through the bomber. Answering bullets smashed into the bomber. The fighters roared by and flipped around for another pass.

  They were over the Baltic Sea now. Land shimmered in the distance. Sweden. Just a little closer and the fighters would have to break off and go back to Germany.

  Guns fired again.

  “They got me.”

  Dan!

  “Rusty, get back to the tail.”

  Rafe dropped down to the passageway to go help Dan, but stopped. Steve’s order made sense. He had to stay at his gun.

  Rusty swore. “Dan’s bleeding like a stuck pig. He got it bad in the shoulder.”

  The fighters weren’t coming around to the front. Rafe started for the passageway again, but checked outside the windows first, and groaned. More bad news. “Engine three is smoking.”

  Cal answered. “Fighters at twelve o’clock level.”

  Rafe spun around. How could they have slipped in front? Those were strange airplanes. “Those are Swedish planes.”

  “Two of the Krauts turned back, but one of ‘ems still after us.” Rusty was manning the tail gun, not helping Dan.

  Rafe yanked off his oxygen mask, no longer needed at their lower altitude, and scrambled up to the cockpit, squeezed past Alan in the top turret, dashed down the catwalk over the bomb bay and the open mangled door below, and ran through the radio room and waist compartment. Dan slumped in the passageway by the door, one hand pressed against the opposite shoulder, his face chalky white. Rafe fumbled in the escape kit attached to Dan’s parachute harness for the morphine and administered a shot. He disconnected Dan’s cables.

  “We need to get you to the radio room. Can you walk?”

  They shuffled forward, passing George, still firing the waist gun. “That guy just won’t quit. Is he going all the way to Sweden with us?”

  In the radio room, Rafe busied himself with the medical kit, removing Dan’s cold weather gear, and pressing a pad to the wound. Blood continued to seep out. Too much blood.

  Harold had plugged in Rafe’s communications cable, so he heard Steve’s announcement. “Alan, throw out the bomb site. Everyone to the radio room. Brace for a crash landing.”

  Rafe had to take care of his own equipment. “Harold, keep pressure on Dan’s shoulder.”

  Without waiting for Harold’s compliance, he dashed back across the catwalk and swung down into the nose. With a sweep of his arm he dumped his instruments and log into his briefcase. The maps went into a sack he weighted with empty .50 caliber casings. The rice-paper flimsie containing the secret codes for the day could be eaten to avoid falling into enemy hands. He hesitated. It would quickly decompose in the seawater. He shoved it into the sack. Alan added the top secret Norden bombsight. They tied the neck and hurried back to the radio room, dropping the sack through the open bomb bay door on the way. From the bottom of the Baltic, it would reveal no secrets.

  Rafe relieved Harold to keep pressure on Dan’s wound. Mickey, George, and Rusty piled into the room.

  A loud bang, and the plane lurched to the left.

  “There goes engine two. Fuel is shut off.” Strain filled Cal’s voice. “It won’t feather.”

  “No matter now. This isn’t going to be pretty. Brace!” Steve yelled.

  They weren’t in level flight. Their left wing gouged the ground. With a screech, the plane swerved and plowed into the ground. The men were tossed about. Rafe hung on to Dan, pressing his wound. His head smacked something hard and lights exploded in his eyes. A large section of the fuselage peeled away, leaving the radio room exposed. The plane jerked sideways to a stop.

  Other than the thundering of his heart, only silence filled Rafe’s ears. Boy, did he have a headache. Someone tugged at his shoulder.

  “Rafe? Can you hear me? You’re bleeding, Rafe. Let go of Dan. We’ve got him.”

  Hands pulled him upright. His vision swirled. Did that groan come from him? “Wasser, bitte?”

  “Speak English, buddy. We’re in Sweden at your request.” Was Cal amused?

  From their new opening, they saw a man run toward them, calling something in a foreign language.

  “What’s he yelling about?” Mickey looked uneasy. “We are in Sweden, aren’t we?”

  “He probably wants to know why we plowed up his field.” Trust Rusty to wisecrack at a time like this.

  Rafe gritted his teeth. He would not embarrass himself by throwing up. He shouldn’t. Breakfast was twelve hours ago and his stomach ought to be empty. Why was it churning?

  A truck pulled up. An officer greeted them in stilted English. “Welcome to Sweden, gentlemen. The war is over for you.” He nodded to Dan and Rafe. “You have wounded. We have medical personnel here.”

  Alan directed Harold and George to help him lift Dan. Cal and Steve helped Rafe to his feet. Carefully avoiding ragged edges, they stepped down to Swedish soil. The wing was missing. Rafe turned his head to see where it had gone, but dizziness canceled that movement. He slumped to the ground beside Dan.

  Dan opened his eyes. “Hey, lieutenant, d’ya mind? You’re dripping blood on me.”

  Lots of people crowded around them. Medics set to work on Dan. One tried to assess Rafe. He leaned away. To lie down and sleep was all he needed. A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. “Rafe?”

  His vision blurred as darkness threatened. He tried to focus. “My Jennie Lind?”

  The darkness won.

  Part 2

  Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,

  He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

  He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword―

  His truth is marching on.

  Julia Ward Howe

  Jennie’s heart thundered in her chest. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined recognizing the men stumbling out of the plane. So often she’d wondered how Rafe fared in the war, and now here he was. And he remembered her, even in his wounded condition.

  His Jennie Lind. Her face heated as his crewmates stared and Dad’s eyes popped.

  “Who have we here?” Dad’s voice sounded congenial, but a thread of steel girded it.

  The enlisted men babbled answers.

  “The peach from the ship.”

  “Hey, you’re the lieutenant’s girl.”

  Dad’s brows slammed down at that tidbit.

  “Ah, no, boys, you misunderstand. My father’s asking who the lieutenant is.”

  “Your father?”

  Suddenly, they were all stricken dumb.

  “The lieutenant’s girl, hmm?”

  Their lips unsealed.

  “They’re good friends.”

  “The lieutenant’s a swell guy.”

  “Even if he is German.”

  A medic waved smelling salts under Rafe’s nose. He groaned and raised a shaky hand to his forehead. His left eye crept open, and slammed down.

  If they weren’t surrounded by his crew, Dad, and a bunch of Swedes, Jennie would have held his hand.

  His eye opened again and settled on her. Its mate wrenched open. One blink threatened to keep them both closed. “Did I die?”

  “What are you talking about?” The copilot, the one who liked to gamble, crouched beside him. “We’re in Sweden. You know that.”

  After loading Dan into a truck, the medics returned with the backboard.

  Rafe pointed a wavering finger. “I see an angel. She looks just like my Jennie.”

  Her face had to be glowing like a torch. What were the chances Dad hadn’t heard his mumbling?

  “Man, when you hit your head, you knocked out all your sense.” Cal stepped away so the medics could move Rafe. “I’m telling you, we’re in Sweden and that is Jennie.”

  Jennie walked alongside Rafe as he was taken to the ambulance. Asking to go wit
h him would bring a firm no from Dad and probably the medics as well. She stood aside and watched the ambulance drive away, bumping over the field.

  One of the crewmen sidled up to her. “Miss, here’s your case.”

  The married bombardier so in love with his gem of a wife, Ruby. Alan. Why did he press a briefcase into her hands?

  He whispered, “It’s Rafe’s, filled with his log and navigation tools. The Swedes don’t need it.”

  Rafe’s case! She hugged it to her chest. None of the Swedes looked at her as Alan stepped away. How sweet that they remembered her. They shouldn’t mind being photographed. Two Swedes questioned the stiff pilot. Stu. No, Steve. He assured them the plane held no bombs, but ammunition remained in the guns.

  Dad instructed the crew to find places in the trucks for the ride to the office. Jennie ran for her camera and snapped pictures of the crew with the plane in the background. She added her notepad to Rafe’s briefcase. It tangled with something. She fished out some strange circular slide things. One was labeled pressure altitude at ground in feet. That made no sense, nor the spiraling line of numbers. She turned the dial. This is how navigators determined their positions? Rafe must be a genius.

  #

  Not until the next morning could Jennie visit Rafe at the hospital. He sat in an upholstered waiting room chair, clad in a faded yellow bathrobe. His color looked more natural. A bandage on his forehead hid the damage from the crash landing.

  His eyes widened when he saw her and he came to his feet. “I really did see you yesterday? I thought I must have been hallucinating.”

  “You do say the sweetest things when you hallucinate.” Jennie smoothed a hand across her skirt. She’d worn the prettiest dress she’d brought along. A rich maroon showered with polka dots, the V neckline was edged in lace and featured a fabric flower at the point.

  He groaned and pressed a hand alongside his head, now bandaged. “All I remember is a wild ride down to a very rough landing.”

  He reached for her hand, then pulled her close for a hug. “You really are here.”

  Jennie laughed. “I’ve been here. It’s you who is unexpected.”

  She laid a hand on the side of his face.

  He turned his head to kiss her hand. “I’ve thought about you.”

  Jennie rested her head on his shoulder as she stood in his embrace. Who cared if anyone saw?

  Rafe sighed. “Dan was shot in the shoulder. He had surgery and now he’s wrapped up like a mummy. Do you know where the rest of the crew is?”

  “They’re staying in the barracks at Bulltofta Airfield for now. As belligerents in a neutral nation, you’ll be interned. They’ll take you to a town in northern Sweden in a day or two.”

  Rafe eased back down in the chair. “No more war.” He stared at the linoleum floor. “No more bombing missions over Germany. No more flak. No one trying to kill us.” He looked up at her. “Like a switch has been flipped.”

  Jennie sat in the chair beside him. “Has it been difficult for you? Being at war with your old homeland?”

  “We bombed Cologne. Or what was left of Cologne.” He reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers. His were cold and she rubbed them.

  “My father’s still alive. I saw my cousin Christoph in an English prison camp. He’s glad to be out of the war. And you know?” He glanced around. “I am too. Germany’s going to end up being one huge heap of rubble. I don’t want to be part of that anymore. I should have been in intelligence or a translator or something else. I understand the need to smash Germany’s ability to continue the war, but…” His head drooped, and he raised shaky fingers to massage his temple. “Last Monday, one of my friends didn’t come back. Jennie, I’m so tired of it.”

  Jennie raised a hand to his shoulder. “You may be an American now, but Germany will always be your homeland.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded slightly. Then a determined smile grew. “So, how have the last two months been for you? You obviously survived Scotland alone.”

  She laughed. “I stayed with a wonderful couple in Gourock, and as I traveled across to Leuchars, I did count sheep. You were right. They have a lot of them.”

  Rafe’s eyes brightened, glistening with humor as they had on board the Queen Mary. “And you have magnificent paintings prepared for your exhibit?”

  “Well, not exactly, not yet. But I’ve got direction now. It’ll showcase the airmen’s internment experience. That’s why I came to Malmö with Dad.” He looked interested, so she kept going. “I’ll have a series of photographs interspersed with paintings and maybe small Swedish objects. The photos will show planes arriving, like yours yesterday. A local newspaper photographer promised me copies of his shots to go along with my own.”

  She jumped up and paced in front of him. “I also took photos of men working on the planes, and I’ll take more at the camps, so it’ll be a photographic record.” She clapped her hands. “And since you don’t live far from Chicago, you can come to the exhibit.”

  He was laughing at her. She laughed, too. He must think she was camp happy. Isn’t that what the men called someone off his rocker? The war may still rage, but here she had a good friend at the legation, a wonderful new cousin, and now Rafe. She couldn’t ask for more.

  “Do you think Dan would mind if I take his picture? I don’t want to hide the ugly side of war.”

  “He won’t mind because I’ll tell him he won’t.” He rose and took her arm. “This way. I’ll probably be able to leave the hospital today, but they took away my clothes.”

  “You’ll need to buy civilian clothes anyway. You aren’t allowed to wear your uniforms in a neutral country.”

  #

  Jennie accompanied the crew to a men’s clothing store. Her jaw dropped as George tried on a grass green and black plaid suit. The garish outfit made him look like a clown, but he admired himself in a mirror with satisfaction.

  She sidled up to Rafe. “Is he seriously thinking of buying that?”

  Rafe pulled a cocoa brown, doubled-breasted suit from the rack. “At least he looks better than Rusty.”

  Jennie turned around, and slapped a hand over her mouth. Rusty wore a mustard-colored suit coat, loud plaid slacks a Scotsman wouldn’t be caught dead in, a blue striped shirt, and a red tie. “He can’t be allowed to dress like that. He’ll be a laughingstock, and you represent America here.”

  “You tell him, honey.” Rafe held up the brown suit with a pinstripe shirt. “Would I be presentable in this?”

  “Very nice.” She snatched a brown felt fedora from a hat rack. “And this will complete your look perfectly.”

  She marched over and tugged burnt orange trousers from Harold’s grasp.

  “Definitely not. Too gaudy.” She assessed Harold’s choices. “Nice charcoal suit. The matching trousers go with it. If you want to add some color to go with it, try this forest green shirt.” She pulled out a suit he hadn’t selected. “I recommend these black and white pinstripes for a dignified appearance.”

  She had the crewmen’s attention. “Gentlemen, the suit coats and the trousers go together as a set. No more than two colors per outfit unless you have a plaid, but then,” she eyed Rusty, “don’t mix patterns. Pair a plaid with a solid. If you want bright colors, keep them in your ties.”

  Rafe stepped up beside her, clad in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt. His navy tie featured thin diagonal stripes of gold and red. She slipped her hand around his arm.

  “Here is the look you want. The lieutenant won’t be embarrassed by his attire.” She swung her gaze back to Rusty and bit her lip. He was the guy with the attitude. Best to be frank. “Unless you’re applying for a position as a clown, I strongly suggest you start over. And lose the mustard suit. Please.”

  “Do we have to wear suits all the time?” George tugged at his collar like it was a noose. “All I ever wear at home is overalls.”

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunity for casual wear.” Jennie pointed to a display of knit
ted apparel. “Those sweaters and vests are popular. You’ll want sportswear, too.”

  After Rafe admonished the men to listen to Jennie, she was the artist, their choices improved. If she raised a brow, the selection was discarded. A smile meant they kept it. The shopping trip continued smoothly until they were handed their bills.

  “Two hundred fifty?” Alan blanched. “I can’t afford this.”

  Jennie held up a hand. “Remember, these amounts are in kronor. That’s what the S-k-r means. One dollar is about equal to four kronor, so to figure your dollar amount, divide your total by four. Alan, yours is about sixty dollars.”

  He still looked ready to bolt. Jennie edged over to him. “As a second lieutenant, what is your monthly salary?”

  “One sixty, plus fifty dollars for flying status.”

  “You’ll still be receiving that, plus a per diem of seven dollars while you’re away from your base. The average Swede doesn’t make seven dollars in a day. So you can afford this.” She patted his new light brown suit. “And I think Ruby will be pleased with your new wardrobe.”

  His eyes brightened at that, and he added a wallet to his purchases.

  She returned to Rafe. He looked a bit peaked and could use some rest. “You should have waited to get to the internment camp to do your shopping.”

  “I’m fine. Headache’s almost gone. Besides, you don’t expect me to travel there in my underwear, do you?”

  If he could be blasé about a mild concussion, so could she. “We would have found you a bathrobe.”

  He smiled. “What would we do without you to shepherd us through all this?”

  His appreciation warmed her.

  She led them out to Gustav Adolfs Torg, a large open square where they waited for a tram ride to the train station. The enlisted men ogled the foreign cityscape in silence. George especially seemed intrigued with the stairstep-like façade of steeply-pitched gabled buildings, rather than having flush roof lines. Mickey appeared uneasy with the indecipherable language of the people around them.