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

by Terri Wangard

  The department store was the fanciest he’d ever seen. Several stories high, the center atrium allowed shoppers to view the floors above and below them. The building’s exterior had prompted Dan to question whether it was a store or a museum.

  Dan looked through the records as well. “Here’s one, Lieutenant. Vera Mills. She sings the White Cliffs song. Get this one.”

  Rafe shook his head. “You know, Dan, no matter how loud Cal plays that in Rättvik, you won’t be able to hear it in Falun.”

  “Yeah, I know, but maybe he’ll get tired of it and pass it on to me. Someone in Falun with a record player might let me use it.”

  Cal tossed it on his stack with two more as Steve and Alan joined them.

  “Yikes.” Steve’s eyes popped. “I hope the store will ship all this for you.”

  Rafe chuckled at the image of his crewmates attempting to board the train, peering around towering armloads of packages which would promptly spill into the aisle. By staying in Stockholm, he might miss out on a first-rate comedy act.

  Alan picked up one of the records. “Do you know this guy is a Jew?”

  Rafe stepped back. Alan may as well have delivered a blow to his solar plexus. First he had lambasted the Germans and now he espoused anti-Semitism? What was going on in Rättvik?

  Alan sized up the mounds of Cal’s purchases, showing no awareness of the affect his comment had on Rafe. “Have you tallied your final bill? And have you considered that you’re unlikely to be able to bring all this back to England or to the States?”

  Cal shrugged. “So I’ll leave it behind. Our Swedish friends will be pleased to take it off my hands. As far as the cost,” he shrugged again, “easy come, easy go. I’m using the winnings I made on the Queen Mary blackjack games, not my service pay. Two thousand dollars of mad money.”

  “Two thousand dollars?” Dan nearly dropped the records he held. If his eyes got any bigger, they’d pop out of his head.

  Cal’s nonchalance with his money was amazing. If Rafe had such easy-come money, he’d save it for the future, when he got out of the military. He calculated Cal’s total expenditure. A couple hundred dollars, tops. A small dent in two thousand.

  What would he do if he had two thousand dollars of mad money? Nothing in a quick survey of the store’s departments tempted him. Nope, he’d save it. A nice car cost one thousand dollars, like his Milwaukee neighbor’s new green Oldsmobile with automatic transmission. Yes, sir. He was saving his money.

  He accompanied them to the train station and shook hands with Steve and Cal, promising to see them again during their next month’s pass. Dan surprised him with a fierce hug, a big smile, and a “See ya, Lieutenant.” A chuckle broke free. Jennie had said he was good for her. Dan was good for him.

  Bertil was good for him, too. Now might be a good time to snoop around Bromma Airfield.

  “With Rafe’s crewmates and Astrid’s departures, shopping is the perfect cure for the post-holiday letdown.” Phyllis’ comment drew Jennie from the window they were passing. “What kind of reception do you need this dress for?”

  “The naval attaché is hosting a get-together for our attachés plus several from the Allied nations’ legations. It’ll be a hoity-toity affair, so I want something elegant.”

  “And Rafe will escort you. Are you two getting serious?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” First Astrid, now Phyllis. Jennie pressed her lips together. Maybe Phyllis could help her figure this out. “I’ve never had a serious relationship that got beyond a casual level. I’d get the feeling I was being evaluated and found wanting. With Rafe, it’s been different. From our first meeting, I’ve been comfortable with him. Maybe because we met on the ship and didn’t expect to see each other again after the crossing. But we haven’t spoken of life beyond the war.”

  “You wait. He’s not going to let you go. If you think he needs prodding, remember that American women are in short supply here. Let him think someone else has caught your eye.” Phyllis caught her hand. “Just promise me you won’t use Stanley.”

  Jennie wouldn’t have been surprised if her cheeks ignited. “I couldn’t do that. Pretend an interest.” She spun around, getting her bearings. “We better get to the store. Which way did you say it is?”

  With a smile saying she would allow the subject to be changed for now, Phyllis indicated their direction. “What kind of elegant dress do you hope to find?”

  “A touch of sophistication but simple. Something that can be worn to either church or museum exhibit openings.”

  “Here we are.” Phyllis opened the dress shop’s door.

  The first dress Jennie spotted was one Mom might suggest. What better to wear to a naval base reception than a sailor dress? With a shudder, she moved on.

  “May I help you?”

  Jennie turned to a saleslady clad in a long, tight-fitting dress with contrasting bolero. Respectable, but definitely not her style.

  “I need a dress for a naval reception.” She nodded toward the sailor dress. “Nothing like that.”

  The saleslady smiled. “No, that might be overdoing it for an evening affair. How about something over here?”

  She led Jennie to another section.

  The dress shouted “Pick me” the moment Jennie laid eyes on it. She caught her breath as she held the dress to herself in front of a mirror. “Oooh, this is it.”

  A fitted bodice swept down into a full skirt. Ruffles extended from the shoulders to the waist, bracketing four heart-shaped buttons below the V neckline. The solid, muted blue focused attention on the ruffles and the same-fabric sash tied at the waist.

  What would Rafe think of it? Still holding up the dress, she pivoted to the saleslady. “This is it.”

  Phyllis seemed mystified as they left the shop. “You go in, you try on one dress, and you buy it. We were in and out in less than a quarter hour. Don’t you like to shop?”

  Jennie laughed. “I know what I want and go for it. Spending hours trying on dress after dress isn’t my idea of fun.” She glanced across the street. “Oh, there’s Rafe.”

  His posture as he stared in a shop window suggested dejection. His crewmates must have already left on the train. Jennie shoved her dress box into Phyllis’ hands.

  “Would you mind taking this back to the legation? I shouldn’t be too far behind.” She hurried across the street, leaving Phyllis sputtering in her wake.

  #

  Rafe stared at the window display. Someone stopped beside him, but he didn’t look up until Jennie spoke.

  “Mmm. Mohrenkopf. Going to get some?” Apparently his mouth didn’t smile as he intended, for her own smile faded. “What’s wrong? Did your crewmates leave as scheduled?”

  “Yes, they’ve gone.” His words sighed out of him. He shook his head to dislodge his gloom. “I intended to go visit Bertil at the airport, but I couldn’t. Remember Alan’s angry words regarding the Germans when we walked to the Grand Hotel?” At Jennie’s nod, he continued. “While shopping, Alan said something about a man being Jewish. He never talked like that in England. It’s unreasonable, but I feel like he was attacking me. After seeing the guys off on the train, I went to Tyska Kyrkan for a chat with Jurgen instead of going to see Bertil.”

  The pastor’s counsel was dead-on. He’d shared Bible verses that left no wiggle room. If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift. He needed to talk Alan, for both their sakes.

  Rafe crossed his arms across his chest. “I hate confrontation, but I’m going to have to find out what’s going on with Alan, even if it means the end of our friendship. I don’t know when.” He briskly rubbed his arms before pulling open the shop door. “But now, let’s get some mohrenkopf.”

  “I know when you can talk to him. Next week we go back to Malmö for the funerals. You can go up to Rättvik for a visit before ret
urning to Stockholm.”

  “That’s an idea.” He paid for the bag of sweets, and they left the store. “Do you suppose mohrenkopfs will be among the treats served at tomorrow’s reception? That’ll be something to look forward to.”

  #

  They arrived back at the legation to find Jennie’s dad waiting for Rafe.

  “Several evaders have arrived from Denmark, Rafe. Ready to go solo on questioning some of them?”

  “Absolutely. Do you suspect any of them are Germans?”

  Major Lindquist chuckled. “We do want to be sure they’re Americans. We also want to know everything that’s happened to them from the time their planes sustained enough damage to keep them from returning to England.” He handed Rafe a clipboard. “Here’s the interrogation report with the list of standard questions to ask. If anything comes up that prompts another question, ask it. We’ll start you with a B-24 navigator.”

  Rafe took a seat across from a very young looking, rigid airman. He smiled. “Welcome to Stockholm. We’ll start with the easy stuff. Name, rank, and serial number.”

  The rigid posture didn’t relax. “Flight Officer Wendell Harrick.” He pulled his dog tags out from beneath his shirt to read his serial number.

  Rafe wrote down the information. “I’m Lieutenant Martell. I’m not in uniform because I’m an internee in Sweden since our plane landed here. You, as an evader, on the other hand, will be sent back to England as soon as possible.”

  The rigid posture relaxed momentarily before stiffening again. “Really? We have to go back to combat?”

  “No more combat, at least not in Europe. If you were shot down again, you could be considered a spy. Now, tell me everything that happened in your plane before ditching in Denmark.”

  “We’d just released the bombs on the secondary target when flak exploded underneath us. We’d already lost an engine and then the bomb bay doors were damaged and wouldn’t close completely. Then a bunch of Kraut fighters showed up.”

  Rafe had stopped writing. His own last mission was still too recent. “You’re lucky to have survived.”

  “Yeah. Lieutenant McDonnell did an amazing job. And it helped that those lousy Krauts took off.” Harrick added a colorful commentary on the Germans.

  Rafe eyed him over his clipboard. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. “What happened when you landed?”

  “A bunch of people showed up out of nowhere. We couldn’t understand a word they said, but figured they were Danish. Then a Canadian shows up. He said he works with the underground.”

  “His name?”

  Harrick blinked. “I don’t know. He just told us what to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “We ran to this really dense little woods and hid in the undergrowth. One of the Danes raked away our footprints. The Krauts came looking for us. They’re searching all around the woods, but didn’t come in. I couldn’t believe how stupid they were.” This time he commented on their parentage.

  Rafe slapped his clipboard down, causing Harrick to jump. He’d suffered Alan’s snide comments in silence. This guy wasn’t getting away with it. Rafe stood and leaned over the table. “Ich komme aus Deutschland. Verstehen Sie?”

  Harrick turned pale. His mouth opened and closed twice, and he slumped in his seat.

  Rafe sat down. “Now, if you will kindly keep a civil tongue in your head, when did you leave the woods?”

  By the time the interrogations were concluded, Rafe was ready to go back to reading newspapers. He found Major Lindquist. “I’m not sure I’m the right man for this job. After getting an earful of cussing about the Germans from the first young kid, I gave him an earful of German.”

  The major’s brows quirked. “And what do you say?”

  “I said I was from Germany. He got the message. After that, he stuck with simple answers. A little sullen, maybe.” Rafe clenched his fist. “What I wanted to do was knock his teeth down his throat. It’s okay for me to insult Germans, but not him. Not like that.”

  “Mind your own house, hmm?” Jennie’s dad laid a hand on his shoulder. “They’ve all been cleared to return to England. We’ll have him out of here in a day or so.”

  Rafe nodded. “Good. I’d rather not see the inside of a jail.”

  Tuesday, June 27, 1944

  The reception glittered with all the decorations pinned to the uniforms of the military officers. “Too bad you don’t have a dress uniform that you could wear tonight.” Jennie counted the rows of ribbons worn by a colonel. “How many medals do you have?”

  “Couple Air Medals, couple of oak leaf clusters signifying how many missions I flew. I would just as soon be incognito among all this brass.” Rafe straightened his lapels. “I’d definitely look like the junior officer here. I don’t see any other lieutenants among these career military men.”

  They circled the room. Few faces were familiar. Being included in her parents’ invitation was nice, but without Rafe accompanying her, she would have felt awkward, out of her depth. She stopped and backtracked. Rafe no longer walked with her. Someone had captured his interest.

  “Do you know if Germans were invited?”

  She frowned at his odd question. “Of course not.” She scanned the people he must be watching. Who interested him? “Do you see a German?”

  Rafe barely nodded. “Where’s your father?”

  Dad was talking with their host. Jennie sidled up to them. She kept her voice low. “Rafe spotted a possible German.”

  The naval attaché whipped his gaze from her to Rafe. “Who?”

  Rafe nodded toward a cluster of people. “The man wearing dark green pants. He has a deep scratch healing on his left temple. That’s what caught my eye. I saw him at the German church one Sunday. He spoke in perfect German to a ministry official. He should appear in one of my clandestine photos.”

  Their host sucked in a deep breath. “He’s here with the British. He was introduced as a Spitfire pilot who crashed in southern Sweden.” After drumming his fingers on his thigh for a moment, he added, “Of course, the real pilot could have landed in German territory and been captured. The Krauts could be trying to slip in a ringer.”

  Rafe watched the suspicious man. “Or he could be a former German citizen like me, fighting for his new country.”

  “But not likely. Come with me. We’ll mention your sighting to the British naval attaché.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Rafe smiled at Jennie with raised brows, and left her with her father. She tracked their progress through the room before looking again to the man he’d fingered. “What will happen if he is a spy?”

  Dad sipped his drink before answering. “The British can’t execute him here in Sweden. They can’t smuggle him to England. Can’t even arrest him. They may try to turn him into a double agent against Germany. Any punitive action would have to come from the Swedes.”

  Visions of Rafe being suspected by the Germans of spying sent shivers through Jennie. They could complain to the Swedes and appeal for his arrest. Or Gestapo agents might grab him. Probably the Germans were outside watching everyone who arrived for the reception. Would they recognize Rafe from attending church? Had he worn a disguise? Their trip to Malmö next week and his side trip to Rättvik would serve nicely to keep him off German radar for a while.

  Malmö, Sweden

  July 3, 1944

  “Have you been to many military funerals?”

  Jennie’s question jarred Rafe. While at Ridgewell, he’d been surrounded by death. “I sometimes went along to the American cemetery in Cambridge for a burial. Guys from my squadron, guys I’d seen at chow the day they died. But there are so many deaths, we didn’t have elaborate funerals like we’ll probably see today.”

  “You think it’ll be elaborate?”

  “Why else would it take place nearly two weeks after the men died? And there are ten men to bury. That’s a lot in one day.” A lot for Sweden. Not for the air bases in England. When a plane crashed on take-off, nine men died. There w
as no need to emphasize that to Jennie.

  Legation personnel met their train in Malmö and escorted them to Östra Kyrkogärden, Eastern Cemetery. Entire squadrons from Sweden’s army and air force appeared to be present. The lineup of ten flag-draped coffins twisted his gut. How many times had his crew come perilously close to not making it back from a mission? He could easily have ended up in a coffin like these men. Or vaporized in an exploding Fortress. He turned away.

  #

  “These ten men were torn from their homeland to die on foreign soil. They died at their posts. They died as heroes.” Reverend Thorell had never met the young men at whose funeral he officiated, but he excelled at tugging on heartstrings.

  Jennie hadn’t attended many funerals in her lifetime, but when she had, she’d known the deceased. She certainly hadn’t been as weepy as today, and she didn’t even know these men. Touching a hankie to her eyes, she needed to look away from those ten flag-draped coffins, but her eyes refused. Ten young American men lay silent in those boxes. They wouldn’t be going home. Well, yes, they probably would, but only in their coffins for reburial near their families. Not the way their families wanted to receive them back.

  Swedish honor guards bracketed each coffin. They effortlessly raised the coffins to shoulder height and bore them to the ten gaping graves.

  A bugler played “Taps” and tears streamed down Jennie’s face. Her handkerchief was already sodden. She wiped a finger under her nose, and Mom pressed another handkerchief in her hand. Just in time. The military snapped off a salute, prompting more tears.

  She located Rafe, standing among the American airmen present. They wore civilian clothes. Rafe had complained about that. They didn’t have dress uniforms, but they should have been allowed to wear their flying clothes. They all looked a little pale, hands jammed in their pockets, eyes down. There but for the grace of God…

  She returned her gaze to the coffins, now being lowered on straps into the earth. They wouldn’t have gotten anything like this pageantry at home. The Swedes accorded them great dignity and respect, but their loved ones had no idea what was taking place.