He could hear a loud hailer, orders from a nearby boat in German. The captain shut the motor off. Moments later, heavy boots and grating German voices rang out on deck.
Monty stiffened beside him as boots tramped down the ladder. German and Dutch voices broke the tense silence as sounds of a search reached them through the thin wall. Things tossed about. Knocking sounded on the panel. A command was shouted.
Sweat formed on Bryce’s neck as his leg cramped painfully. He tried to ease it and gave up, clamping down on a groan.
Someone came down the ladder. The captain, his voice respectful. A conversation ensued, too muffled for Bryce to hear.
Moments later, heavy boots retreated up the stairs. Then silence. Bryce sagged with relief and eased his painful calf.
With a roar, the German boat pulled away.
Their boat engine fired up again and they made headway. Monty released a heavy sigh.
The sea calmed. They must have been approaching the shore. The engine idled, then cut off.
The boat rolled gently, the waves lapping the hull. They could hear the captain yelling orders.
“I wonder where the hell we are,” Monty said in a sharp whisper.
“Let’s hope it’s where we should be,” Bryce murmured.
The panel was pulled away. Bryce blinked into lantern light after hours in darkness. The captain offered a hand to haul them out. “We are as close to land as we dare. You must wade ashore.”
Bryce bit down on a groan as he tried to straighten up, his foot had gone to sleep. Handed their knapsacks they swung them up around their necks to keep the food package, knitted scarf, and jersey dry, along with the fisherman’s knife and tackle, the fishy smell lending it an authenticity.
“You must go now. Quickly.”
“But which…” Monty began but was silenced by a gesture.
“Voices carry over the water,” the captain murmured.
Unable to understand, Monty shrugged and joined Bryce on deck. In the early dawn light, Monty’s jaw sported a heavy growth. Bryce ran a hand over his own jawline, which rasped beneath his fingers. With their knitted caps, they looked the part at least.
They struggled to balance as the boat rocked in the swell. No lights on shore, but a mass of indistinguishable black shapes. They’d been held up by the German patrol boat. Daylight wasn’t far off. Would their contact still be there? Once it grew light people would be up and about.
Their shoes tied together by their laces and thrown over their shoulders, they climbed down into the sea.
“Bloody hell,” Monty murmured.
The icy water hit Bryce with a shock. His feet found the sandy bottom. They were in water up to their backsides. Holding their knapsacks above their heads, they waded toward the shore, the sand sucking at their feet. Marshy scrub snatched at Bryce’s clothes. Behind them, the fishing boat pulled away sending a wash that almost toppled Bryce back into the water.
Earth beneath his feet, Bryce found his balance slightly askew, as if still on the boat. He gritted his teeth while the cold sea wind sent shudders through him. His wet trousers clung to his legs, slowing his steps.
They emerged into the shallows bedraggled the wavelets lapping at their ankles.
“There’s a chance we might die of pneumonia before we complete our mission,” Monty murmured, his teeth chattering.
“Entirely possible,” Bryce bit back.
Their wet clothes shed water as they climbed a grassy knoll, land reclaimed from the sea. Bryce stumbled forward, grit in his toes with Monty keeping abreast of him.
“Head for that stand of trees,” Bryce said.
They made for the copse of trees, as the faint chugging rolled over the water. The fishing boat wended its way home, fading into the distance.
As they reached the trees, a match flared.
Bryce pulled up.
Beside him, Monty went for his gun.
A man stepped from the shadows.
“Put that away,” Bryce whispered. A gun shot would bring the entire village.
“Planning to fish?” he asked the man in German. “The fish are biting.”
“A good catch?” The man replied in the same language.
Relieved, Bryce gestured to his shoes.
The man said nothing but waited as they squatted to wipe their wet, gritty feet and pull on their shoes.
When they stood again, he turned. “Come with me.” Lighting a cigarette, he limped away into the trees.
Despite his limp, he set quite a pace, the shadows swallowing him up. Bryce, his shoes rubbing his heels, followed the waving light of his cigarette with Monty cursing softly beside him.
They emerged from the trees onto a paved road which led into a cluster of red-roofed brick houses. The glow in the east as the sun rose revealed a seemingly peaceful scene. Bryce inhaled the briny air. No sound reached them except for the roar of the eternal sea.
Somewhere a dog barked. Their contact entered through a gate and walked up the path to a house. He stamped out his cigarette and opening the front door waved them inside.
Bryce and Monty waited in the compact room as he pulled the curtains across, then lit a small kerosene lamp. “Sit down please,” he said in English, gesturing to a pair of faded armchairs and a sofa, the springs bursting through the fabric. “I make coffee.”
He disappeared into another room and they heard the clatter of china.
Monty gazed after him. “German?”
Bryce nodded.
“Can we trust him?”
“Do we have a choice?”
“I guess we don’t.” Monty bent to roll up his wet trouser legs. He lowered himself gingerly onto a chair and pulled off his shoes. Taking the scarf from his bag, he vigorously dried his feet. “God, it’s good to be on land.”
“Yeah.” Bryce put his knapsack down beside him in case they had to leave in a hurry. He moved around seeking a comfortable spot on the sofa which emitted a serious of squeaks and groans.
The man returned carrying two cups. The aroma of coffee wafted in the air and Bryce’s stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since he left England. There was food on the merchant ship on the way to island, but his stomach roiled at the prospect.
“You call me Hans. It is not my name. I don’t want to know yours,” he said. “I can give you food. Not much. Some sausage, bread, and cheese. Something hot later.”
“Sounds mighty good.” Monty rubbed his hands.
“We are grateful.” Bryce took the cup from him. He wrapped his hands around the hot cup. It didn’t matter that the black coffee was weak. The watery liquid helped to thaw the icy knot in his stomach, and his shivers eased.
“You can remain here until midnight and then you must leave. I shall give you directions to his house. I have been watching him. He is a man of habit. He goes every morning to the shop. What he buys I do not know. There is little here, now.”
“We have seen a picture, but can you describe him?” Bryce asked.
Hans nodded. “He is medium height.” He held up his hand to about his ear. Hans, aged in his forties perhaps, was tall and well-built. “Hair is fair. A hard man.”
“In what way hard?” Monty asked. “His manner?”
Hans nodded. “Arrogant. He is not liked here. His eyes are very pale. Like ice.”
“Anything else which might help us?” Bryce asked.
“He is always alert,” Hans said. “Careful. He will not be easy to take by surprise.” He picked up a pair of thin blankets and tossed them over. “I get the food. You eat. You sleep. Then I will wake you tonight.”
After they ate, they tried to improvise beds with the sofa cushions. “Why is he doing this, do you think?” Monty’s voice sounded heavy, as exhausted as Bryce was. “If they catch him, he’s dead.”
“Maybe for the same reason we are,” Bryce said. He’d given up on the dangerously sagging sofa and settled in the other chair which was not a great deal better.
Monty fought for a
better position on his chair, his legs dangling over the arm. “I keep wondering what that was. I seem to have forgotten.”
With a reluctant grin, Bryce edged away from a broken spring poking his side and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. His ears attuned to every sound; it would be a miracle if they could sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Addie made her way back to the house with Fran. An army officer walking toward them down the drive. Tall and attractive, he was somewhere in his mid-thirties. He removed his hat, his brown hair curling over a broad forehead, his smile encompassing them both. “Lieutenant Hatton. Ladies.” He turned to Addie. “Am I addressing Lady Adelaide Sherringham?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, and this is Miss Brightmore.”
He nodded. “Miss Brightmore. I trust my men have been no bother to you, ladies?”
“Not at all, Lieutenant “
“You would have heard that Mrs. Felsted of Sutley Manor has turned her manor over to the army as a hospital for wounded soldiers. The good lady is holding a concert to raise money on Saturday evening.”
“Mrs. Felsted kindly sent me an invitation, and I have accepted.” It arrived yesterday. Addie had promptly sent the boot boy around to deliver her acceptance along with an offer to help.
He had a pleasant smile. “As transport of any sort is in short supply, the army would like to offer an escort.”
Addie returned his smile. “That is most gallant of you and the army, Lieutenant Hatton.”
He looked apologetic. “It must be the army truck, I’m afraid.”
“For which we will be most grateful,” Addie said warmly.
“It will do my men no end of good to have, er…” he cleared his throat, “some attractive feminine company. I believe there is a piano. We’ll have a singsong to liven us up before some of us ship out.” A serious light darkened his hazel eyes. “Until Saturday, then.” He replaced his hat and strode back to his waiting vehicle.
Beside her, Fran gave a gusty sigh.
“Did you like him, Fran?”
Fran looked brighter than she had for days. “No. He’s too old for me. But to laugh and sing again. It will be like old times back home.”
But it wasn’t anything like those times, and Addie couldn’t bring herself to hope it would ever be again.
They entered the hall where today’s post lay on the tray. Addie darted over to the refectory table and snatched it up. She hadn’t expected a letter from Bryce, but disappointment still pulled her down. Should Bryce be hurt, would the telegram be sent here? His parents were both dead. It could go to Gordon Phillips-Smythe. As they climbed the stairs Fran discussed the sorry state of her clothes.
“I can find something for you to wear,” Addie said. She barely registered the girl’s thrilled response.
Was no news good news? She steadied herself and smiled at Fran. “I have a blue dress which will suit you.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Good as his word, Hans woke them late in the afternoon. Through the window, the setting sun painted the sky with rose.
He rustled them up a glutinous German dish. Bryce had no idea what was in it. Nor did he care. He ate ravenously, as did Monty, then wiped out the bowl with hard crusts of bread. They drank more of the weak coffee as they made their plans.
“I saw the German you seek again this morning,” Hans said. “He spoke to the shopkeeper of his imminent departure. You might only have tonight. Best you leave here well before midnight. I’ve made a map.” He placed a sheet of paper on the table and traced their course along the water’s edge with his finger. “It is quicker by road, but safer to stick to the shoreline,” he explained. “This street leads to the sea. At the shore, turn left. A mile or so on, you will find the lane to the cottage. It’s a two-story house like any other, but with a high brick wall. It stands alone, no close neighbors. Big garden. A tall tree grows beside the house.”
“Any guards?” Monty asked.
“I’ve seen no one but the sister.”
“And after it’s done?” Bryce asked.
“Go back to the water and continue south. You will come to the Ems River. It’s sixteen miles wide at its narrowest point, a few miles before Emden. You must cross by boat to the Netherlands. That I must leave to you. Do not venture down as far down as the ship works, I beg you. The Nordseewerke are building minesweepers for the war, and the place is crawling with German soldiers and personnel. The entire area is heavily guarded.”
“No picnic by the sound of it,” Monty said.
“Be careful of the bogs and marshes. It is hard to find solid ground there.” Hans placed two wrapped packages inside their knapsacks. “It will be difficult to get food until you cross into neutral territory. I cannot do more.”
“You have done more than enough. We are very grateful to you.” Monty slapped him on the back.
“England owes you a great debt,” Bryce said. “Conscription will soon come to England. Do you fear the same?”
Hans shrugged. “I cannot fight because of my leg. So perhaps they will let me alone.”
Monty took the bag from him. “You are taking a big chance in helping us. Why?”
“My wife is a Jewess. There is antisemitic sentiment here. Her relatives in Berlin have suffered hardship. She spoke out against the war. Someone in the village alerted the authorities. They arrested her and took her away.”
“I am sorry,” Bryce said, and Monty echoed the comment.
He shrugged. “I do not hold with the gas. It is not honorable. Nor do I like how my country has changed.”
Bryce laid a hand on the man’s thin shoulder. “I hope you and your wife will be together again after this war is over.”
“It is my hope.” Hans did not look confident. “I shall look for her. This is not my house. It belonged to my cousin, Jan, killed in the fighting. I found it stripped. Someone had stolen everything. I had to rustle up some furniture, and it is not good, for which I apologize.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a palace.” Monty chuckled.
Hans’ dour expression lightened into the semblance of a grin.
The hours dragged as they waited. Close to midnight, after wishing Hans well they slipped from the house. Grateful for the clear sky and the moon lighting their way, they moved steadily along the deserted streets toward the water. They saw no one. Hans had said people retired early to save on fuel and candles.
The houses petered out and gave way to grasses rippling in the stiff salty breeze off the water. Faint lights pin-pricked the dark, which would be Borkum. As Hans instructed, they turned left to follow the coastline. With the roar of the sea, making themselves heard was difficult. It was unwise to raise their voices. The sandy soil beneath their feet softened their foot fall. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. A light flicked on in a house they had not been aware of. A door banged open, followed by rapid-fire curses.
Exposed in the silvery moonlight with no cover, Bryce hissed, “Drop!” He and Monty hit the ground and lay flat.
Bryce inhaled the aromatic greenery and sandy soil with each nervous breath. He kept his head down. Shortly afterward, the dog fell silent, and the door slammed shut.
The light went out and darkness fell again.
Up on their feet they broke into a sprint and only slowed when they came to the road leading inland to the cottage owned by Hirsch’s sister. Hans had been right. Tracts of bare land separated the cottage from other houses. Its distinctive high wall and the towering tree reaching past the eaves confirmed it to be the one they sought.
Lamplight flickered through the leaves. Creeping forward, they levered themselves up to peer over the wall. The light came from a room downstairs. A lamp on the desk. Someone moved about out of sight, casting shadows.
They dropped back down. “It must be Hirsch working late,” Monty said grittily. “I don’t see the sister, but she could be there.”
Hirsch appeared with a raft of papers in his hand and sat down at the desk. He took up his pen and bent his head over
his work. They watched him for several minutes. He spoke to no one.
“She must have gone to bed,” Monty said.
“There’s a luger on the desk beside him,” Bryce said. “We need to get into the garden.”
They scaled the wall and dropped onto the grass on the other side, squatting down behind shrubbery. There was an area of lawn, the house set well back from the wall.
Bryce signaled with a finger to show he would circle the house.
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