by Maureen Lang
Isa could not stand the sight of the Hauptmann shouting and standing there without even a coat. “It doesn’t matter, does it, Hauptmann? An hour, more or less? What’s that in a lifetime?”
“Fräulein Lassone!” He rushed to the side of the cage, pulling on it and shaking the entire wagon as if it would open. “It is unacceptable that the orders have been changed. You were to have until dawn—”
She nodded but couldn’t guess if he saw her. Suddenly she heard the whip and the horse bolted forward. She flew along behind, this time unseated and landed with a thud over Henri’s massive legs. The Major skidded beside her, except his wooden leg had caught in one of the bars and it swung him back to the edge of the cage like a life-size doll.
Fighting to regain her seat with Henri’s help, she looked at the Major. “What is going on?”
He too was holding on, for the horse hadn’t stopped picking up speed. “That’s Edward,” he said, taking one hand off the bars for the barest moment to point at the driver.
Isa’s heart soared.
42
In the distance we hear the beat of the guns, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes steady. It is the heartbeat of this war.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Edward shouted the horse to a run, the animal’s footing sure on the icy road thanks to the nails. They dashed down the deserted, slippery streets in the cold predawn hour.
“Halt! Halt!”
Edward ignored the shouts. No simple command would stop him from his destination. Sentries scattered from their huddle around a fire barrel, some yelling to make chase. Edward slapped the whip again, harder when he heard the pop and whistle of gunfire. The foot soldiers were no match for the strong and agile horse Edward had paid a fortune for.
And then he saw the headlights. From behind the wagon, two beams illumined the street and Edward heard an engine roar.
Shouts sounded—Isa’s voice, then the Major’s. In a moment the cage door banged open. With a quick glance, Edward saw two things: the vehicle gaining on them and Henri thrusting the empty coffin out the back. It hit the front of the motorcar with a whack, breaking one of the headlights and splintering to pieces as the heavy, unstoppable menace rolled over it.
Edward stood in his seat, cracking the whip again as they raced down the dark hill, nothing to light the way. But Edward saw the trees in the waning moonlight and counted them along the road: four, five, six . . . That was it. He pulled hard on the reins and the horse—an animal accustomed to the chaos of battle—turned instantly to the left. The horse maneuvered easily over the bumpy ground through the park, avoiding trees and bushes. Finally they approached the last hurdle, a low rise that bordered the road running along the canal’s bank. Edward nearly lost his seat over the bump, but they reached the road—one von Eckhart’s motorcar would be hard-pressed to find.
The nails affixed to the horse’s hooves worked just as Edward hoped. Like a giant polar bear with claws on the ice, the horse might as well have been on one of the smooth roads of Belgium. Ahead, everything was clear.
Edward ventured a glance behind. No sign of the single headlight on the motorcar. Edward shouted the horse on to greater speed. The drunken Hauptmann wouldn’t easily give up, and they had miles to go.
The narrow canals of Vilvorde and Brussels fed into the wide River Senne, now just northwest of them. Soon they would abandon the wagon and go the rest of the way on foot to meet the boat that would carry them to freedom.
Edward plowed through each set of sentries, grateful for their speed not only for those caged behind him but for himself as well. He’d left behind the ruckus of gunfire but sentries could be around any corner to offer more. No one on foot could follow, and there were so few motorcars in the city anymore, he had little need to worry over any but von Eckhart’s.
The trees on each side of the road opened at the river.
And then he heard it . . . subtle at first, and then louder—the sound of a motor, soon followed by the light of one beam. The motorcar was nearly upon them.
Edward had no choice. The river widened along this route, with a walkway along either side meant only for foot traffic. It might accommodate them. . . .
He whipped at the horse, urging him where he obviously had no desire to go, so close to the water’s edge and in such slippery conditions. Edward needed only to get to the rendezvous, and yet how could he with a German officer on his heels? Even a drunken one could give away the boat’s hidden cargo.
The headlight behind bounced off buildings and trees.
“Henri! I’m going to stop. I need you!”
Edward pulled the reins, alighting before the wagon had even come to a stop.
“I’ll have to face him. You’ll have to continue on to the rendezvous. Get her there. Don’t let anything stop you.”
But even as Henri freed himself from the back of the cage to come around to Edward’s place, the Major hobbled down as well.
“Go on, Edward. Go to your mother. I’ll face von Eckhart.”
“But he hasn’t seen you yet! One look at you and they’ll know—”
“We haven’t time for this. Just go!”
Edward scrambled into the back of the wagon—not before seeing the motorcar hurtling toward them. Edward barked at Henri to hurry but there wasn’t time. Von Eckhart tried a screeching halt, only to have the wheels catch on ice. The sole headlamp beamed one way, then the other; the black vehicle skidded until its back wheels left the road and the motorcar stopped with a metallic crunch, the underbelly teetering on the edge of the walkway.
It tipped upward, until it shone like a beacon into the sky.
Then it toppled over backward and was gone.
“Go, Henri!” the Major shouted behind them.
“No! Wait!” Isa called. “You’re coming too, aren’t you, Major?”
He still clutched his cane and shook his head. “No. Now go. You’re free.”
“I—I don’t know how to thank you.”
“There’s no need for that. Go now; you haven’t much time to make it to the rendezvous.”
She reached out through the open bars, long enough to draw him into half an embrace, perched as she was above him on the wagon.
“Thank you, Major. I’ll never forget—Oh! Major! Look!”
Behind him, from the edge where von Eckhart’s motorcar had gone into the river, appeared none other than von Eckhart himself.
The Major turned to him. “Go now,” he said over his shoulder again as he walked at an uneven—but quickened—pace toward von Eckhart.
But Henri, from the seat, waited for Edward’s nod.
Without looking at Isa, Edward jumped from the back of the wagon. “Go now, Henri! Get her there.”
The wagon lurched and Edward had just enough time to close the cage door once again.
“Edward, no! We’ll all go together.” Isa pushed the cage door; it wasn’t locked, but the latch was stiff. “I want to stay with you!”
“We don’t have time to argue,” Edward called. “Keep going, Henri. Take her and don’t let anything stop you.”
Without waiting for a response, he ran toward the Major just as the wagon pitched forward.
His first glance at the Major spun Edward’s head. He lay on the ground, his foot at such an odd angle he knew no one could withstand such pain. Until he realized it was the artificial foot, loosened from its proper position. The Major might have struggled to regain footing with the help of his cane if von Eckhart weren’t hovering over him, shaking him by the lapels of his jacket.
Edward approached from behind.
“You shouldn’t have stopped me, Max,” the Hauptmann said. “I had to stop you, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
“Now who’s the loyal type, von Eckhart? Not me, but you.”
“That’s right! My loyalty is where it belongs—not to a woman but to our country!”
“Yes, but it’s over now. You’ve done your duty, and I did what I needed to do. I
’ll face a tribunal, and you can play the hero.”
“True enough!” Von Eckhart let Max go, stepping back and reaching for the gun holstered at his side. “You are under arrest.”
The Major laughed. “That thing is soaked. What makes you think it’ll work?”
“I think it will work, my friend. Not that I need it to overtake you.”
Edward pressed the nozzle of his own gun against one of von Eckhart’s ears. “Mine will surely work, Hauptmann,” he whispered. “So you may drop yours.”
The Hauptmann stiffened, then let his own gun fall, but before it reached the ground, he swung around. Edward took a blow to his jaw, aimed far more squarely and solidly than he would have thought possible from a man so deep in his cups. Perhaps the frigid water of the Senne had reinvigorated the man’s senses.
Von Eckhart grabbed for the gun and Edward pulled back, caught by the force of the Hauptmann’s lunge. His gun fell harmlessly to the ground.
Edward dodged a second punch and managed a single blow to the side of the man’s head—a reflex action from the pain he’d already suffered. It was clear already that Edward’s relatively sheltered upbringing by a pacifist father left him no match for von Eckhart’s training, even marred by whatever alcohol he’d consumed.
Edward blocked yet another strike but his return missed von Eckhart altogether. He took a second swing and that connected, but he didn’t move quickly enough to miss von Eckhart’s fist to the same jaw he’d already hit.
Another swing—another miss. And yet von Eckhart went down. His head hit the pavement behind them with a crack and he lay there, unmoving.
Edward looked behind him, where the Major, still on the ground, held up his cane. He’d landed it to the Hauptmann’s middle, who was just unstable enough to be knocked off-balance.
Edward stood over the fallen opponent, seeing he was unconscious.
He went to the Major, who was shifting his artificial foot back into position and tightening the straps. “You have no choice now, Max. Even drunk, he’ll identify you. If you go back now, you’ll lose everything.”
“I already have,” Max said.
“No. You haven’t.” Even as he spoke, he reached to help the Major up. “You’re coming with me.”
Edward shoved one arm under the Major’s weak side and pulled him along. It wouldn’t be long before guards from the prison found their trail or some street sentry caught up.
“Leave me, Edward,” the Major said. “You’ll never make it in time hobbled to me like this. Go.”
“Shut up and run like we’re in a three-legged race.”
And despite his protest, the Major ran.
* * *
The boat wasn’t large, little more than a tugboat.
But this boat was headed south, not north. Isa wasn’t at all sure Henri had taken her to the right place.
“Henri,” she said at the gangplank, “this can’t be right. It’s headed the wrong way. The North Sea is north.”
Henri shook his head, pushing her forward but not stepping onto the plank.
She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Aren’t you coming?”
He shook his head again.
“But, Henri—”
Someone from inside the boat called out, “Get aboard!”
The voice, though quiet, held unmistakable anger. Henri pushed her again.
“I’ll go,” she said. “But, Henri . . . thank you. Thank you for everything you did to help me.” She hugged him close, enveloped in warmth as his massive arms circled her. “I’ll see you again. When this is over.”
She might have said more, but the voice from the boat called again and Henri gently nudged her forward.
The boat looked empty. It was an old, sturdy tugboat with a tall smokestack shooting up into the dark sky. She climbed the gangplank quickly because it had no grab rails and she knew any pause would bring fear. Once aboard, she looked for the owner of the voice but saw no one.
“Go below.”
She looked up. The voice had come from the bridge.
Isa glanced back ashore, but Henri had already disappeared. Confused longing ran through her. The city was behind them, the Brussels she knew and loved. She couldn’t go back, perhaps not ever. And yet what lay ahead?
She found the portal leading below. Halfway down, she stopped. The entire belly of the tug was crowded with people all pushed together, mostly men, no doubt escaping the deportations or hoping to join the Allies. There was barely enough room for her, let alone Edward when he came.
Because surely he would.
“Isa! Oh, Isa!”
It was Genny, nestled in the furthermost corner.
Isa scrambled over limbs and feet, past smells and sounds, falling into Genny’s open arms. Pulling apart proved difficult. They wedged together into the single spot Genny had vacated.
“Where is Edward?”
“He’s coming.” She told herself to believe her own words, otherwise she was sure both of them would scurry ashore. “We were separated from the Major, and Edward went for him.”
“Max!”
“Yes, of course. Without the Major, I don’t think—”
Genny trembled so fiercely Isa quivered with her, squashed together as they were.
“Are you saying Max has been with Edward? that he helped plan this escape?”
“He must have! The Major came to see me in prison, and Edward told me he was planning something. He didn’t tell me who was involved, but it was the Major himself who came for me in my cell this morning.”
“I . . . didn’t know. I thought Max was in Germany.” She looked at Isa, who saw both fear and fervor in her eyes. “And he’s coming with us? over the border?”
“I—I think so. Why wouldn’t he? How could he stay after helping me? He’ll be arrested!”
Suddenly the engine roared to a start.
Isa’s heart crashed against her breast. “We can’t be going—not yet!”
“We should have left ten minutes ago.” The voice came from one of the men on the other side of the ladder.
“That’s right,” another said. “We must get past the Brussels checkpoint before the sun is up or we’ll be like ducks at the carnival, ready to be picked off.”
“But there’s someone else coming,” Isa insisted. “We can’t leave him behind!”
“And risk the rest of us? I don’t think so, mademoiselle.”
Isa struggled to her feet. Yet she didn’t make it far. The two men closest to her shifted just enough to block the way.
Isa sank to the floor, sending an anxious glance to Genny. Oh, Lord, deliver them now! Hurry them to us!
Then the tug started to move.
43
Our resolve against the enemy must not melt in the German furnace. Be strong as we await our day of liberation!
La Libre Beligique
* * *
Every muscle in his arms, legs, and back threatened collapse, but Edward didn’t give in. The Major moved nearly as fast as he, his body strong. Once they found a similar stride, they moved with surprising speed—fast enough to win any Sunday school three-legged race.
They stayed along the river’s edge, which was blessedly deserted at such an early hour. It couldn’t be much farther.
Then he saw the outline of the tug in the middle of the river. Heading, as expected, southward and away from the dock to reduce attention. Boats headed north—toward the border—were more likely to be subject to unexpected searches. So at least until they were well away from the nearest checkpoint, the boat would be heading south, toward them. The scheduled turnaround wasn’t far before it would head away and out of Belgium altogether.
“Come on.” From somewhere inside, Edward’s strength increased, and so did the Major’s—Edward felt it. Like angels prodding them forward.
“We’ll have to swim toward it. Can you make it?”
Max withdrew his arm from Edward’s shoulder and spoke as he removed his uniform jacket. He started to
unhook his helmet but must have thought better of it, leaving the protection in place. “Member of the Berlin Swim Club for five years. Let’s go.”
He dove in and Edward rushed after him without taking the time to get out of his own jacket or metal helmet. He knew the water would be cold, and with the jacket loose enough, he hoped it would help and not hinder.
Edward nearly blacked out when he hit the icy river. The water pierced every fiber.
Someone from the high bridge of the tugboat must have spotted them; a Jacob’s ladder appeared down the side. The Major reached it first and fairly hopped from one rung to the next, his upper body pulling him along until someone reached him and finished the job. Edward followed.
“You’re late.”
“Not too late, though. We’ve made it.”
“You said there would only be one more. There’s no more room below.”
“Then we’ll stay above.”
But the sailor eyed the Major, who stood leaning on the gunwale. “Not him.” Though the artificial foot was in place, the Major’s wet trousers clung to the wooden appendage, revealing his handicap. “Go here. Stay inside.”
He opened the door to a compartment at the bow, little more than a forepeak, in which were stored coiled ropes and hitches with barely enough room for anyone to hide.
Nonetheless the Major did as he was told, somehow fitting himself to the cramped quarters.
“What do I do?” Edward asked.
“Stay low. I can use your help, especially dressed as you are. Your uniform might buy us a moment if we’re spotted.” The man shoved a rifle into his hand. “I am Rémy,” he said quickly, then looked toward the prow. “A guard station lies not far ahead. If they spot us, we may have to use these, but for now, keep out of sight.”
The man crouched and Edward did as well. He waited, knowing there was nothing else to do but pray as the little boat chugged down the Senne, steadily picking up speed. Now northward, toward freedom.
A beam shone on the deck. Edward stood tall, hoping his German uniform would be enough to let them through.
A shout—German. “Halt!”