Of Windmills and War (48 page)

Still,
in a crazy way, Danny knew he’d miss it—for all those
other
reasons. The
built-in, easy camaraderie of guys all experiencing the same life-and-death
missions, day in and day out. The cozy ambience of the Officer’s Club where a
guy could sit by the fire and read or write letters home, or have a nice chat
with a fellow officer—or even a colonel. The colorful characters he’d met along
the way, especially his crew on
Sweet Sophie.
He still grieved the loss
of those guys, but he wouldn’t have traded knowing them for anything in the
world.

And
that was the thing he’d miss most of all—the friends he’d made, and no one more
than Charlie Janssen. Danny never had a close buddy when he was growing up. He
had plenty of friends, but no one who came close to being the kind of friend
Charlie was. Maybe having a big brother like Joey had filled those shoes. It
wasn’t until he got to know Hans through all those letters that he understood
what it meant to have a good friend. And then, Hans was gone.

Which once
again brought him back to thoughts of Anya. How in the world could he ever even
think of going home without her? He couldn’t. Nor would he. But he still didn’t
have a clue how to do that—short of going AWOL, stealing a Fort, and flying back
over here to find her.
Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

“Coast
of
Holland
straight ahead,” Charlie announced, breaking Danny’s thoughts. “This may seem
like a milk run, men, but keep those eyes sharp for any Krauts still carrying a
grudge. We’ll do a fly by then circle back for the drop as instructed.”

Once
again they passed over flooded fields, identical to those they’d seen Tuesday.
But Danny reminded himself this time it wasn’t Vogelenzang—it was
Utrecht
.
Anya’s
Utrecht
. Butterflies
flitted through his stomach.
In a couple of minutes, I could literally be
within a few miles of her.

As they
neared the city, he was surprised to see colorful tulip fields surrounding the magnificent
windmills. For some reason he’d assumed the beautiful structures would have
been leveled in all the bombing. Even from such a low altitude he couldn’t tell
which one had been the backdrop in the picture of Anya’s family.

And the
tulip fields—what a sight. They seemed to stretch for miles in every direction.
In his naiveté, he’d assumed they too had all been dug up, their bulbs one of
the few remaining sources of nourishment in this war-ravaged region. Yet there they
were—vast carpets of vivid colors laid out like so many enormous blankets.

And
then came the people. Everywhere they looked, folks rushed toward the field. “I
don’t know how it’s possible, but it looks like there are at least three times
as many folks down there as we saw the other day,” he said.

Masses
of men, women, and children crowded on either side of the field, many waving
Dutch flags. As they made their initial flyover, he spotted a handful of people
in a church steeple waving wildly. At exact eye level, he gulped hard and waved
back wanting to believe Anya was with them.

As if
on cue, Charlie dipped the wing in their direction. “You never know,” he said
with a smile.

“You
never know,” Danny echoed. Just then he spotted the large white cross. “There’s
the drop zone marker straight ahead.”

“We’ll
circle and make the drop a bulls-eye on the way back, what do you say?”

The Fort
banked to the left to circle back for the approach. As it did, the crew men
tossed out their makeshift parachute gifts to the crowds below.

“Enjoy
the candy, kid!”

“Here’s
some chocolate from Uncle Sam!”

“Give
these Lucky Strikes to your moms and dads!”

“Whoa,
Krauts on the rooftop, up ahead at
two o’clock
!”
Billy broke in.

Danny
spotted the German soldiers, their anti-aircraft weapons pointed at them,
tracking their slow circle. Not a single shot was fired. As the Fort leveled
out, Charlie flew straight at them, as if to crash into them. The soldiers ran
for cover—all except one. He stood indignant, shaking his fist at them and
yelling as they passed barely over his head.

“Take
that, you Nazi pig!” Charlie yelled, pulling up on his steering column.

The waist
gunner named Rocko cheered. “Whoa, Lieutenant! That was close!”

“Yeah,
and I’m guessing ol’ Jerry there needs to change his skivvies about now.”

The
crew laughed hard and swapped some other colorful suggestions for the soldier.

“All
right men, prepare to open the bomb bay,” Charlie said.

“On my
count, Danny said. “Five, four, three, two, one, let ‘em fly!”

They
all cheered again, enjoying the chance to play the ultimate Santa Claus to the ebullient
Dutch folks below.

“I
brought my camera this time so you can all see what I’m seeing!” the tail
gunner said. “What a sight. Lord have mercy, what a sight!”

As the
bomb bay doors closed, Rocko said, “Will you look at that?”

“Look
at what, Rocko?” Danny asked.

“
Two o’clock
, way
on top of that red brick building. An old man and a kid. See ‘em?”

Danny
searched and quickly found the building. They were so close he could clearly
make out their faces. It was just the two of them—an old man standing at
attention, saluting them as they passed by, the little boy also saluting with
one hand while waving a small American flag in the other. Danny returned his
salute and once more fought the boulder in his throat.

“I’ll
never forget that as long as I live,” Billy croaked.

“None
of us will,” Charlie said. “Gentlemen, let’s head back to the base.”

PART
VI

64

06 May
1945

Utrecht
, The
Netherlands

After
five years of German occupation, liberation unleashed a myriad of emotional
responses in those who had survived. But to the Dutch who had witnessed the
Allied food drops on their starving nation, they all wept—tears of joy, tears
of relief, and tears of gratitude that the nightmare might actually be coming
to an end.

Throughout
the Occupation, Queen Wilhelmina and her government kept in constant contact
with her people. By fleeing her homeland before the Germans invaded, she alleviated
the risk of her country’s “beheading” as so many other European leaders had experienced
by remaining in their homelands. Tucked safely away in
England
,
Wilhelmina had served her people valiantly by working with Allied leaders to
fight the German oppressors.

At no
time was that more evident than her plea to Prime Minister Winston Churchill,
President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and King George VI on behalf of the almost
four million starving Dutch who had suffered under German Occupation:

“Conditions
have now become so desperate that it is very clear that if a major catastrophe,
the like which has not been seen in Western Europe since the Middle Ages, is to
be avoided in Holland, something drastic has to be done now, before and not
after the liberation of the rest of the country!”

To Anya
and everyone else in
Holland
, such pleading on their behalf
by their beloved Queen was perhaps the last gasp of hope left in them. Words of
hope, but would they translate into actual relief? How could they possibly put
food into the mouths of so many before it was too late? Anya’s main concern was
the children walking about on toothpick legs, the haunting appearance of their
sunken faces and vacant eyes, and the few surviving elderly whose shriveled
bodies gave them precious little warmth on the still-chilly days of late
spring.

She’d
heard the rumors and reports of low-flying aircraft dropping huge quantities of
food at various locations. But at this point, she didn’t believe anything until
she saw it with her own eyes. Besides, after walking for two days on her way home
to
Utrecht
, she
was bone weary and simply didn’t have a single ounce of energy to waste on
rumors—even rumors about food.

Anya
might have been encouraged by the absence of German soldiers along her way home.
She wanted to believe the announcements of liberation crackling over the radio
day and night—first this section, then that, each followed by ecstatic
descriptions of dancing in the streets. But deep down she could only dream of
something good to eat and a nice warm bed to sleep in. She was just too tired
to care about anything else.

As need
for activity by the Resistance had slowly waned, Anya found herself thinking of
home. She had no illusions—she knew it wasn’t really home anymore. It didn’t
really matter to her if it had been ransacked by the Germans. As long as it was
still standing, she just knew it’s where she belonged. Throughout the long
Occupation, after hearing her parents had been arrested, she had refused to
think of going home. It would be too much, to walk in that house knowing both
her mother and father were dead now. The house would surely feel betrayed and
vacant, as though its family had deserted it somehow.

A house
feeling betrayed, as if it were a living, breathing organism? What a silly
notion.
But such ridiculous ideas seemed to constantly imbed
themselves in her mind—especially at times like this when she hadn’t slept or
eaten in days.

Then
came the fantasies. They flitted through her weary imagination most often as
she walked long distances. Giving in to them for a while helped numb her mind
to the excruciating pain of walking such a long distance in shoes so badly
worn, they offered no support whatsoever. No amount of rags wrapped around them
could cushion the miles she’d accumulated over the past several years.

And so
she dreamed. She imagined the younger, happier version of herself waking up in
heaven. There, her steps brought no pain, and in wonderment she looked down to
find the prettiest of wooden shoes upon her feet. Colorfully painted,
comfortable, soothing reminders of her Dutch heritage. Then, looking up she
gazed into the faces of her family—Mother, Father, and even Hans, all standing
there at the pearly gates, their arms open wide to welcome her home.

Home.

The
word rankled through her heart. Blinking, she looked around and remembered she
wasn’t in heaven, and she wasn’t home. She was still on this crater-pocked
road. She refused to cry, her tears long since dried up along with her hope.
But as she looked around, she realized she wasn’t far from Helga’s house. She
hadn’t seen her since that day . . . well, it had been weeks. If
she could just get there, she would find a bed, crawl into it, and sleep for a
month or two.

Barely
able to hold her eyes open, she finally spotted the little house. She had to
tell her feet to keep moving—one step, then another—because she knew she only
had a few more in her. As she turned to walk up the path to Helga’s porch, the
front door flew open.

“Anya!
Oh, thank the Lord!” she cried, rushing out to meet her. “I have been so
worried about you!” She smothered Anya in her arms.

“Hello,
Helga,” she mumbled. “If I could just come in for a few—”

“There’s
no time! You must come with me!” Helga turned toward the gate, pulling Anya
along. “The planes are due any minute!”

“What
planes?”

“Haven’t
you heard? The Allies are bringing us food! And today is our turn. Hurry! We
don’t want to miss it!”

Anya
stopped. “No, I can’t. I can’t take another step. I’m so tired, Helga.”

Helga
turned around. “Oh my dear child, I know you’re tired, but you need to see
this. You, of all people, need to see this miracle from the sky! You have
worked so hard—we
all
have—and to miss this would be
just . . . well, you mustn’t!”

“Helga,
please—”

“Come.
You’ll thank me when this is all over. Here, loop your arms with mine and lean
on me. We don’t have far to go. If I could pick you up, I would. Oh, Anya! It’s
all so exciting!”

They
plodded along and soon neared the crowds of people rushing toward the field on
the west side of
Utrecht
. Young and old, everyone was excited
about the planes. Already people were pointing toward the sky.

“Here
they come! Can you hear them?”

“It sounds
like a buzzing bee—”

“Look!
There they are!”

Helga hurried
Anya to a spot alongside the wide, open field. People were lined up on both
sides, like two long wiggling boundaries.

“Do you
see the white cross there yonder?” Helga asked pointing toward the middle of
the open area. There, white sheets were sewn together to make an enormous cross
on the ground. “This is where they drop the food!”

“But
the Germans!” Anya pointed to the soldiers standing on rooftops, their weapons
drawn. “The planes don’t have a chance!”

“No,
Anya, no! They’ve agreed to a truce. They aren’t allowed to fire upon these
planes bringing—”

Whatever
else Helga might have said was drowned out by the roar of engines as the B-17s
drew closer. Anya was stunned how low they were flying—surely no more than
three or four hundred feet. So low she could see the men inside the planes. She
could even see the pilots and co-pilots as the planes neared them. She
gasped—her heart pounding in her chest.

Danny?
Could Danny be in one of those planes?

Until
that moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that he could be in one of them. Was it
possible? There were so many of them coming one after another. How could she
possibly hope to catch a glimpse of him—that is,
if
he was even flying
today?

Out of
nowhere—the unbidden, unspoken prayer tiptoed through her heart. She shook her
head, physically dismissing such a thought.

Still . . .

Anxious,
eager folks crowded all around them, blocking her view. People jumped up and
down, screaming shouts of joy against the background roar of those mighty Flying
Fortress engines.

“Helga!
We must move away from everyone so I can see!”

“What?”

Anya
saw her lips move but couldn’t hear a thing. Obviously Helga couldn’t either. She
grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her away from the others. Her view finally
clear, she watched as each plane dropped its load on the field. Huge bags and
boxes slammed down on the ground, some exploding as they landed. She watched in
horror as a child ran out to the field to grab something. Her mother ran after
her, then struggled as the little girl tried to find something to put in her
mouth.

As more
planes flew over, people yelled, “KOM TERUG! KOM TERUG!”
Come back! Come
back!

The
mother finally picked the child up and ran back to the side, the little girl
bawling all the way even as another plane roared over and dropped its load
right where the child had been standing. As it flew by, the crew members threw
little white parcels out the side and back windows which drifted down to the
ground like so many tiny parachutes.

Up and
down both sides of the field, people jumped up and down, smiling and singing
and dancing and waving Dutch flags.

“God
bless
America
!”

“THANK
YOU! THANK YOU!”

Anya
felt warm tears track down her face as her heart overflowed with gratitude.
And
to think I had no tears left,
she thought to herself. Helga was right. She
never would have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. So many
planes! And still more coming, one after another!

Occasionally,
there would be a break when no planes were in sight. People would run out and
grab a bag or box and drag it to the side, then tear into it, sharing its
contents with those around them.

“They’re
not supposed to do that,” Helga said. “We were told the goods are to be
gathered and taken to the Netherlands Food Distribution Service so that
everyone gets a fair share.”

“But
can you blame them?” Anya said. “It could take days or weeks for them to sort
out all the food.” She pointed toward a man handing out potatoes from a large
bag. They watched as people bit into the raw potatoes, too hungry to wait for
them to be cooked. Beside them a man grabbed a packet of cigarettes. Real cigarettes
made from tobacco had been scarce. She watched the man who started smoking
almost as soon as he’d opened the pack and wondered where he’d found a match.
He puffed and puffed, a look of serene pleasure on his weathered face—then he
promptly coughed and sputtered.

People
loaded carts and carried away what they could. Little ones laughed and carried
on when the little handkerchief parachutes were handed around, their faces soon
smeared with chocolate and other candies. Others unwrapped toys like tops and
whirligigs and whistles. The air bustled with giggles and laughter—sounds she
hadn’t heard in years.

The
distribution center would have more than enough to spread around by the looks
of it. Cart after cart piled high with the goods made for an impromptu parade
as they headed to the distribution center in town.

“Here
come more!” someone shouted as another group of the Flying Fortresses filled
the western sky.

Anya
looked and hoped, wanting desperately to see Danny’s smiling face, to see him
waving at her. But after a couple of hours she finally gave up. “Helga, can we
please go now?”

“Of
course, dear.”

They
chatted about the miracle of the food drops and all they’d seen and experienced
that day. As the made their way up the walkway to Helga’s home, mischief lit
her wrinkled face. “Now hold out your hands.”

“What?”

“Hold
out your hands!”

Anya
lifted her palms and in them Helga placed a red apple and a tin of chocolates.
Anya gasped. “Helga!”

“Someone
handed them to me back there. Look!” She pulled another apple and tin from her other
pocket. “Tonight we shall dine like royalty, you and I!”