Of Windmills and War (42 page)

58

Danny
hated this. Twice he’d tried to convince the others to just leave him and go,
but they wouldn’t listen. He’d never known such pain as that in his injured
foot each time it made contact with the ground, and now his headache seemed
intent on competing with the pain in his foot. Charlie was doing his best to
help lug him through the forest, but the frustration was wearing thin.

“Charlie,
please. This is ridiculous.”

“So
help me, Danny, if you say that one more time, I’ll punch your lights out and
hoist you over my shoulder. Knock it off. We’re not leaving you, so shut up,
will you?”

“We’re
not far now,” Anya said, falling back to join them. “We should be near
Utrecht
soon.”

“What
is your plan, Eva?” Charlie asked.

“I will
find some place for you all to hide, then I shall make my way into town and
survey the situation.”

“We
can’t let you go by yourself!” Danny argued.

“It’s
far less risky for me to go alone. You three would draw too much attention.
You’d be walking targets.”

“Anya,
please!” Danny pleaded, then caught himself. “I mean, Eva. Please let Charlie
or Sergeant Morrison go with you.”

“I know
you may find this difficult to believe, Lieutenant, but long before you
Americans finally decided to come to our rescue, we learned how to play this
game called war. So don’t insult me by treating me like some helpless damsel in
distress.”

“I
didn’t mean to insult you. I’m simply—”

“Over here.”
Anya cut a path to their left. “This will be a good place for you to hide until
I get back.”

They
followed her into a dense covering. Charlie helped Danny onto the ground. The
relief of being off his feet overwhelmed him. He laid his head back against a
tree and tried to compose himself.

“Ma’am,
I mean no disrespect,” Morrison began, “but I have to agree with the
lieutenant. I’m sure you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself and
all, but I’d sure feel better if you’d let me come along. Just in case
something happened.”

Danny
could have hugged the guy. Surely Anya would listen to reason—even if it had to
come from someone else.

“I
appreciate your offer, Sergeant, but it’s much safer for a woman to travel
alone under the circumstances. Most every man in our country has been carted
off by the Germans to work in ‘volunteer’ labor camps. So if the Germans should
see you, they’d know something was wrong.”

“So how
did Eduard and Frederic elude their detection?” Danny countered. “Weren’t they
also making frequent ‘deliveries’ just like you?”

She
looked at him a long time before answering. He couldn’t believe he’d said
something so insensitive. Her fellow Resistance workers had just been gunned
down. “Anya, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Who’s
Anya?” Morrison asked.

“I am
Anya. Apparently Lieutenant McClain is unable to keep a confidence. We do not
use our real names in our work because it is far too dangerous.” She cocked her
head at an angle, folded her arms over her chest, and turned her gaze on Danny.
“But at this point, we’ll have to forego all of that, and try to get through
this without getting us all killed.
If
that is all right with you,
Lieutenant?”

He
looked away, unwilling to see the fire in her glare.

“Fine,”
she snapped. “Now stay out of sight until I return. Under no circumstances are
you to leave. Is that understood?”

They
all nodded, though Danny did so under protest.

“Good.
I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She turned to go then stopped. “Oh, I almost
forgot. Here are some bulbs if you get hungry,” she said, digging them out of
her deep pocket. “Hopefully I can find something more substantial once I get
you settled.” She handed Charlie the bulbs and started to make her way out of
the thicket.

“Anya?”
Danny called out to her.

She
stopped and looked back at him.

“Please . . .
please be careful.”

For a
split second, he thought he saw a trace of tenderness in her eyes as she
nodded.
Then she was gone.

How
many times had she walked these roads? How many miles had she put on her feet?
Long ago, they’d bled and cracked and ached when she had walked long distances.
Now they were calloused and rough to the touch, but that didn’t stop the
aching. If she thought about it long enough, she would drop down where she was and
never get up again. At this point, she could easily convince herself to give up
and be done with it all. But that was not an option. Not with three Allies
needing her help. And so she must focus on them and keep going.

Anya
was torn. The closest place to go was the Boormans’ farm, but she couldn’t. She
didn’t have the stomach to face the demons of that place and what happened the
last time she was there. No telling who was occupying the house now. Where
could she go? Eduard had said all the safe houses were compromised after
Enschede was infiltrated. She couldn’t bear to think of them all murdered, but
neither could she risk going there.

Home?
Can I go home?

How
desperately she wanted to run the rest of way, fling open the door, and find
her family waiting for her with open arms. But that would never happen. They were
all gone. Did she have the courage to go there? And if she did, would she find
refuge for herself and the three Allies? For Danny?

No. I
can’t bear it. I refuse to go there now. But where else can we find shelter?

She
wouldn’t pray. Even though they escaped from the German mercenaries in an
impossible situation, she wasn’t ready to give God credit for saving them. And
she certainly couldn’t thank Him. Wasn’t she the one who came up with the plan
to leave before the soldiers woke up? Wasn’t she the one who found the courage
to lead them out of that situation? Of course she was. So why should she
resurrect the God who had long forgotten the Dutch just to thank Him for
something
she
did?

Think.
Where can I go? Where can I take these men and be safe?

It came
to her immediately. She picked up her pace, determined to find the help she
needed and the one she knew would give it. Another kilometer north then two
blocks over.

Fifteen
minutes later, she spotted the familiar house and ran up the front walkway and
the six steps up to the porch. She knocked quietly, afraid to call out. She
knocked again, trying to see through the lace curtains on the door’s window.

The
door flew open. “Anya!”

“Oh,
Helga!” Anya rushed into her friend’s arms. “I’m so glad you’re home! I didn’t
know where else to go.”

“I can’t
believe you’re here! Are you all right?” the kind woman asked, steering Anya
toward the kitchen.

“Yes, I
am fine. But I need help.”

“Sit. I
shall make us tea.”

“I
don’t have time, Helga. I have three Allied airmen hidden outside of town. I
must get them to safety, but I—”

“Don’t
go to the safe house! Haven’t you heard the news?”

“Yes,
Eduard told us we’ve all been compromised after Enschede was infiltrated.”

“Yes,
we’ve abandoned ours as well. They have names and descriptions and they know
our routines. None of us are safe. None. Please, sit. Just for a moment. We
must figure out what to do with your airmen.”

Anya
took a seat at the table then Helga joined her, placing her hand over Anya’s.
“Where are Eduard and the others?”

Anya
looked her straight in the eye and shook her head.

“Oh no,
Anya, no!” she cried. “What happened?”

As
quickly as she could, she relayed the events of the past day. Even hearing the
words coming from her own mouth, she couldn’t believe they’d escaped. It
couldn’t have happened but it did.

“Helga,
I must hurry. Will you let me bring the men here? Do you have some place to
hide them?”

“Of
course. I have a place much like the one your parents had. We can hide them
here until we can find a way to get them to the coast. I will get word to
someone.”

Anya
stood and hugged her. “Thank you. I will go and bring them back as soon as I
can.”

“Good.
Be careful, dear,” she said, following her to the door. “Try to be back before
curfew.”

“I
will.”

Anya pulled
her cap over her head and hurried back the way she had come. She dismissed any
thought of danger, focused solely on returning where she left the men. She had
seen hardly anyone on her way into town, weaving her way in and out of trees
and shrubbery to stay out of view as much as possible. She hoped the same would
be true on the way out.

The
rumble of a truck sounded in the distance behind her. She scoped her
surroundings and found nothing but a small tree in the distance. But to run to
it now would draw attention to herself.
I have nothing to hide. I’m merely a
Dutch woman walking to a farm somewhere to bargain for food. Women do this
every day. I can do this.

She
didn’t look back but knew the truck was approaching. She heard the gears change
as it slowed alongside her.

“Fräulein,
would you like a ride?”

She
paused and looked at the man on the passenger side who’d spoken to her.
German
soldiers. Play the game.

She
scratched her head through her cap. “No, I appreciate very much the offer,” she
answered in German, “but I would like to walk.” She scratched her elbow
vigorously and continued walking.

“But it
looks as if it could rain,” the soldier asked as the truck kept pace with her.
“Would you not prefer a dry ride to a wet walk?”

She
played the idiot, raising her face to the cloudy sky while scratching under her
arm. “Oh, I see what you mean.” She stretched out her neck like a giraffe and
gave it a good scratch, then leveled her gaze back their direction. “Well, I
suppose—”

The
gears changed and the truck started rolling. “Sorry, Fräulein, but we just
realized we have no room.” And off it went in a cloud of dust.

She
pressed her lips together to stifle her smile. How many times had she used this
ploy, always with the same results? Her imaginary infestation of lice had
always served her well, scaring off many a German. She blew out the breath
she’d been holding, thankful for the ruse and thankful for the German aversion
to all things crawling.

Once
again she picked up her pace, anxious to get back to Danny and the others.

Oh
Danny . . . why must it be so complicated?
He was
absolutely right. She had nothing to stay for. No family. Only a handful of
Resistance workers, all scattered and under the radar now. And of course, Helga.
But how could she leave her beloved country? How could she desert the other
workers when so few were left to fight?

Behind
her, she heard the rumble of another truck.
I can’t believe it. With no fuel
left, still the trucks roll.
She fought her frustration and gave her head a
good scratch. Just in case.

As the
truck drew closer, it too slowed down. She fought the urge to look, preferring
ignorance.

“Anya?”

She
slowed, but didn’t respond.

“Anya, Helga
has sent me for you.”

She
turned to find a familiar face, but one she couldn’t immediately place. Better
to act dumb until she could remember. “Helga?”

“Yes.
She got in touch with us. I was not far so they sent me to help you.”

“Yes?”

“You
don’t remember me, do you?” He smiled and she vaguely recalled seeing his kind
face . . . and the same truck, but—

“I gave
you a ride into
Utrecht
. You and your friend. You had
stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Hildebrand after—”

“After
getting off the train with the children. Yes, I remember you now,” she said,
approaching his truck. “Though I can’t seem to recall your name. I apologize.”