Of Windmills and War (41 page)

No
response.

“There’s
nothing I can say or do to convince you to come with me?”

They
rode together in silence for several minutes until the truck made a quick turn and
lurched to a stop. Someone inside the cab knocked twice then once then three
times.

“That
is Eduard’s signal that we’re at the safe house. No, Danny. There is nothing
you can say. Please do not bring this up in front of the other men when they
join us.”

He
could hear a flurry of commotion on the other side of the compartment, then the
door was rolled up. Frederic stood there with his hands on his hips,
silhouetted against the darkness. “Well, then. We must make this quick. If you
need to go to the—”

“Yes, I
do.” Anya slipped out the door, leaving Danny behind.

Even in
the darkness, he could see Frederic’s eyebrows disappear beneath his helmet as
he looked back at Danny. He lit an actual cigarette, no doubt one of the stolen
Lucky Strikes. He blew the match out with a teasing smirk. “Again the fumble?”

Danny
ignored the comment. “How much farther once the other men join us?”

“It is
not the distance. Distance means nothing. It is the many stops along the way.
Tonight we try a different route to avoid the many blockades. We will try to
stop in
Utrecht
.”

“Gentlemen,”
Eduard interrupted from the rear of the truck. “Make your introductions after
we get going. All the way to the back. Hurry now.”

Three
individuals dressed in civilian clothing like Danny’s hopped up into the truck
and crouched their way forward around the trunks and crates before entering the
compartment. Even with both doors open, the light remained almost completely
dark as the men crowded into the close quarters. He moved as far against the
wall abutting the cab as he could, hoping to keep his foot from getting stepped
on.

“Come
on in,” he said, trying to ease the tension. “It’s crowded, but I think we’ll
all fit.”

“Danny?”

He
recognized the voice at once. “Charlie?”

“Oh,
thank God!” his friend cried, climbing over the others to reach him. They stood
in a clumsy embrace, patting each other on the back.

“I
can’t believe it! How did you end up here?” Danny asked.

“Move
it!” Anya shouted sounding like a kindergarten teacher losing patience with her
young students. The metal door was rolled back down after she entered. “You’ll
get used to the darkness in a moment. Until then, sit still and don’t move
around.”

“Danny!
It’s so good to see you—well, to almost see you. Can’t we light a lantern or
something? It’s pitch dark in here.”

“No, we
cannot light a lantern,” Anya answered. “Unless you would like to send up a
flare to let the Germans know you are here?”

“It’s
okay,” Danny added. “You’ll see pinpoints of light from the roof soon. Charlie,
what happened? Were you shot down?”

“More
like shot to hell and back. Yesterday we caught anti-aircraft fire on our way
back from a run to
Kiel
. It was unbelievable. Only Banks
and
Kearney
bailed
out ahead of me. Haven’t seen them since.”

“The
rest of your crew?”

“Lost
them all. All of them,” he said, his voice cracking.

Danny
patted his friend on the back. “It’s tough. I’m so sorry. I know what that’s
like. Only five of us made it out of
Sophie.
And as far as I know,
Pendergrass is the only other one who made it.”

It took
Charlie a moment to compose himself. “I’ll be glad when all this is over and we
can all go home.”

The
other two men echoed in agreement. They introduced themselves—both crew members
from
Crazy Lady
out of the 95th Bomb Group—tail gunner Gerald Morrison
and waist gunner Larry Fogelman. Finally getting used to the tiny shafts of light,
they shook hands and exchanged more small talk. When the conversation stilled,
Danny remembered Anya.

“I
forgot to introduce our ‘guide’ on tonight’s excursion. This is—”

“Eva.
My name is Eva.”

He
wasn’t sure why the cover names were necessary at this point, but he wasn’t
about to go against her wishes. “Eva. She has been most helpful.”

“Nice
to meet you, Eva,” Charlie and the others said. “Thank you for your help
getting us back to our bases.”

He
hated that she was across the cramped aisle at the other end, even if it was
only four or five feet away. Every moment that passed was one moment closer to
watching her go. He knew he could never convince her to change her mind. She
made that abundantly clear.

With
the tight quarters and sparse ventilation, Danny fought the slight tinge of
claustrophobia that crept through him. The men obviously hadn’t had a chance to
clean up, filling the stuffy air with a combination of sweat and stale tobacco.
Uncomfortable with the awkward silence, Danny asked them to update him on the
war news, which they did.

“It’s
just a matter of days now,” Charlie said. “At most, maybe a few weeks.”

Danny
noted Anya’s silence. He could see her silhouette and wondered if perhaps she
had fallen asleep. To be so near yet so far from her as their time together
evaporated, so crowded in this stifling box drove him mad. He leaned his head
back against the panel and closed his eyes. Instantly the image came to his
mind as it so often did—that of his mother on her knees praying for him.

For
now, that would have to do.

57

Late
morning,
03 April 1945

The
truck slammed to a stop sending all of them toppling into each other.

“What the—”

“Shhh!
Say nothing!” Anya whispered. Thankfully, the men stopped their bewildered
comments and heeded her warning.

She
could hear the angry voices shouting German demands outside as well as the
distinct report of numerous guns locking into place. Bright lights outside
illuminated their hidden cabin from above so they could see each other better—most
likely from headlights of several vehicles pointed in their direction.

Something
was very wrong. Eduard would have signaled had this been a routine stop.
Wait . . .
She thought she heard a gentle tapping against the front wall. “Let me
through,” she whispered, climbing over the airmen’s tangled legs. She pressed
her ear against the wall, listening for further instructions. The coded message
made her heart stop.

Mercenaries.
Better they had encountered Hitler himself than these ruthless thugs.

Danny
leaned over to whisper in her ear. His warm breath did nothing to stop the icy fingers
of fear in her stomach. “What should we—”

She
clamped her hand over his mouth as Eduard began speaking on the other side of
the wall.

“Ah, a
victory celebration! Mind if we join?”

“What
is your business here? Where are you going?” the soldier barked.

“On our
way to
Utrecht
to
deliver supplies to Reichskommissar Seyss-Inquart. Here, you can see our
orders.”

“Ah,
yes, yes. Always the orders. Your papers are of no value to us.”

“No?
And why is that?” Eduard asked.

A
sudden blast of gunfire erupted. “Down down down!” Anya whispered frantically
as several bullets pierced the cab wall. In a split second between shots, she
heard a loud grunt across from her. The man in the middle fell limp, a stream
of blood pouring from his head. The other two men attended to him but it was
too late. The man nearest the front—the one named Charlie—must have ducked just
in time, leaving a straight path to the young man named Fogelman. The tail
gunner held a hand over his own mouth to stifle a groan as he pulled his dead
crew mate against him, rocking in silent grief.

Anya
held a finger to her lips and stretched out her other hand, shaking it in the
men’s faces. “Shhh! Not a sound!” Anya mouthed silently. “They must not know
we’re here!”

She
didn’t have to see the gory evidence of what just happened to know Eduard and
Frederic were dead. Her heart pounded as her mind sought a means of escape.

Danny
pressed his mouth against her ear. “Can they find us in here?”

“Yes,”
she answered against his ear, “but only if they loot all of the cargo first.”

The
soldiers’ voices moved toward the back of the truck. Anya held her hands up
again, cautioning them to remain silent. Even the shaded sight of Morrison’s
tears didn’t deter her sense of urgency. She slowly dug her firearm from the
back waistband of her pants and slowly, silently cocked the hammer into place.

A
single shot at the back of the truck drew laughter. “What shall we find?” one
of them teased. The others joined in, obviously anxious to see what treasures
could be pillaged.

She
could feel the slight movement of the truck bed; probably several men hopping
up inside.

They
could hear the cracking of crates being pried open, and with each one a swell
of laughter at its contents. Through their shouts of joy, she knew they’d found
the many crates of liquor and cigarettes, readily pronouncing themselves the
luckiest men on earth. The weapons were discovered, delighting the mercenaries
with their good fortune and the promise of huge profits from their sale.

Inside
their compartment, Anya and the men held their breath. From time to time they’d
look at each other, wondering what was going on just feet from where they hid.
When confused eyes would turn on her, she shook her head and held her finger to
her lips again.

Eventually
the Germans took their party back outside, removing crates and boxes from the
back of the truck. Anya knew the truck was packed from back to front—the most
valuable goods nearest the back door; the more mundane things such as socks and
kitchen utensils and soap farther in. The strategy worked. As the men opened
the boxes closer to their secret hideout, they soon grew bored, weary of the
quest when their comrades were already imbibing in the spoils.

Convinced
no one remained inside the truck, Anya leaned forward, motioning the three men
toward her. “We will wait them out,” she mouthed more than whispered. “We have
no choice.”

The
others nodded in agreement. Charlie quietly pulled the scarf from his neck and
placed it over Fogelman’s head. They couldn’t risk making noise by attempting
to move his body, so it remained slumped between Charlie and Morrison. The
young tail gunner dropped his head in his hands. She watched as Danny reached
over to gently pat the young man’s knee.

Through
the long hours before daybreak, the Germans drank and sang and danced. Anya
could smell wood burning and assumed they had built a bonfire to keep them
warm. As the headlights of their vehicles grew dim, she caught the flicker of
firelight dancing through the air holes above.

Her
mind worked all the angles of their predicament as she tried to determine their
options. Even if every last one of the German swine fell sound asleep in their
drunken revelry, it would be much too risky to crawl their way out and attempt
to escape. Or would it? She pictured herself crawling out of the compartment, foraging
through the heavy boxes stacked just on the other side of the rolling door—then
imagined herself jumping from the truck bed only to find an armed soldier watching
her every move.

But to
stay? Eventually the soldiers would wake up and drive their stolen truck to
wherever they happened to go. At some point, they would empty the remaining
cargo and find the hidden door. They would be shot—or worse, tortured before
execution.

They
had no choice. They had to escape and do it now. Anya knew their only chance
was to slip away before the sun came up.

In
whispered tones, she told the men what they must do. They understood the
urgency of her plan and agreed to it. Quietly, Charlie and Anya moved to the
door. She reminded him to help her lift the rolling metal door as slowly as
possible to alleviate any potential noise. Inch by grueling inch they raised
it, until it was all the way up. They could see slices of light between the
trunks but nothing beyond. They knew they must work swiftly, moving the trunks
without making a sound.

This
will take a miracle.
Anya shook off the thought.

Carefully,
slowly, urgently they worked. It seemed like hours but Anya knew it was
probably no more than half an hour at most. Finally they could see the rest of
the truck bed, its contents strewn haphazardly. She spotted an open box of
weapons and silently by way of hand signals told Charlie to grab a few along
with some ammunition. He worked silently as Anya walked back into the
compartment, every step made slow and deliberate.

“Morrison,
you will need to help Lieutenant McClain, but you must both be absolutely
silent. Take it slow and watch your step.”

“But
what about Sergeant Fogelman? We can’t just leave him here,” his friend
pleaded.

She
placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we have no choice.”

The
young man blinked a couple of times, took a deep breath, then nodded.

She and
Morrison quietly helped Danny to his feet.

“Anya,
are you sure?” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll slow you down. You know I will.”

“Not
another word. Just hang on.”

They
continued their slow journey around the trunks and crates of the long truck
bed. Charlie handed them each a loaded gun, filling his own pockets with
ammunition. Anya went first, peeking just enough to get a lay of the situation.
The German mercenaries appeared to be sound asleep around the dying campfire
which was several meters
from the truck’s side.
If they carefully exited the truck and immediately moved to the other side of
it, they should be able to remain out of view of the sleeping pigs. She turned
to face her three charges, giving them directions again with silent hand
motions. Morrison gestured the sign of the cross. She hoped his silent prayer
helped.

Charlie
and Morrison helped Danny down from the truck, each movement measured and
silent while Anya kept them covered. Hidden from view once they moved to the
other side of the truck, Anya considered their options. Daybreak was moments
away. They needed to get out of there and fast. Charlie pointed toward a cluster
of trees and they slowly made their way in that direction.

Suddenly
a soldier emerged from behind the trees, his attention focused on his zipper.
Anya was on him in a flash, shoving a scarf in his mouth at the same instant
she kneed him hard in the groin. His eyes bugged briefly before rolling back as
he passed out. She helped him fall to the ground to avoid a loud thud, then
grabbed his head and swiftly snapped his neck. She relieved him of his pistol
and rushed back to join the others.

They
stared at her with stunned expressions as if paralyzed until she waved them
forward, motioning with her gun. “Move it!” she whispered angrily.

As the
men disappeared into the trees, she looked back over her shoulder for one last
glance. There, Eduard’s lifeless body hung half way out of the truck’s cab, his
unseeing eyes staring wide. Just beyond him, Frederic’s body sat slumped over,
his head resting against the blood-smeared window.

She
fought the despair, swallowing hard against the bile in her throat, then forced
herself to follow the Americans.