Whisper on the Wind (41 page)

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!”

The tug rumbled on.

Nothing for a full moment, nothing but the sound of the motor growing louder in the dim hours of morning.

Something hit the smokestack with a ping, like the sound of a marble hitting a target. Edward ducked flat. More spotlights lit and gunfire exploded into the night.

The captain shouted to the engineer to give it all they had. Sparks from the guard station flickered in the darkness, and Edward saw Rémy and another man Edward hadn’t seen before return fire.

Edward joined in. He knew how to handle the rifle thanks to a hunt he’d been on with Jan and his family during their university days, but that was the extent of his training. He hoped he wouldn’t waste too much ammunition. And he’d never shot at a man before.

Even if his shooting lacked skill, it was better than sitting still. Time suspended in the flurry of battle. It must have been only minutes but seemed like an hour.

Then, at last, they were out of range. Edward sank to the deck, relieved.

“That was number one,” Rémy said.

Edward wasn’t sure he wanted to know but felt compelled to ask anyway. “Number one?”

The man spared Edward by not answering.

Heading northwest as quickly as they were, they would hit the Scheldt and be across the border before long. It was, indeed, the quickest way out of Belgium.

Edward wished to go below—to be sure Isa and his mother were there. To be away from the sights. Away from gunfire, if more was to be had as he fully expected. They were well out of Brussels, and at this rate not very far from being out of Belgium. But it was hardly free sailing in between.

He couldn’t leave the deck, though, so he leaned closer to the man nearby. “Did any women board? One earlier, one shortly before you left the meeting place?”

He didn’t answer at first, as if conversing at all was absurd. “A woman? Yes, one more. That makes four.”

“Four?”

“And two children. Below. With the rest.”

Edward leaned back, eyes closed. He had no gauge, nothing but his own anxiety to guess how far they’d come. Every passing moment brought them closer to the border, but he couldn’t tell one moment from ten, one minute from an hour as he waited, prayed, for the sun to rise to prove time hadn’t stood still.

Even as he prayed to leave Belgium behind, he knew the closer they came to the border the more likely was a return of firepower.

Soon he sensed the boat went even faster, though the engine sounded no louder. A look over the side told him the current had picked up. God was pushing that strong little boat as fast as it could go, increasing its power, hurtling it toward safety.

Suddenly Rémy jumped to his feet, going to a trundle chest at the stern. The other sailor stood as well. Rémy returned and gave Edward what looked like wire cutters, keeping another set for himself.

“You’ll know what to do with these in a moment,” he said, the extent of his explanation.

“Have you another?”

Edward spun on his feet. It was the Major.

But the man shook his head and boldly pointed to the Major’s disability. “You wouldn’t have the leverage. You’d be more help behind that, if you know how to use it.” He pointed to the rifle Edward had put aside to accept the wire cutters.

Edward looked at the Major, who hadn’t bargained for his own escape, especially when that might include shooting at his own countrymen.

Max took up the gun.

Edward looked down at the tool in his hand. It was the length of his forearm and sturdy enough for serious cutting. Meant to chop wire or chain?

The tug hit something invisible beneath the surface, and it resounded with a thudding chime from the hull. The men rushed to the gunwales and Edward followed. The first man picked up a long, hooked stick from the deck. It looked like a staff from the little girl in the children’s poem with the lamb. He leaned over the prow and heaved. A chain came up with a jingle and a splash, and both Edward and Rémy started hacking away. Rémy cut through it in moments.

By the time they hit a second chain, another station was in sight, firing a hailstorm of bullets. Hauling in the chain left the one man most vulnerable, even leeward of the German storm. Edward and Rémy crouched until the last moment. Then cut, spurred on by the other to be the first to break through.

Another chain sank to the river’s bottom, this time from Edward’s slice.

From somewhere behind came rifle discharge, from another sailor—and from the Major.

At his comrades.

Edward hacked and hacked again with all his might.

The sailor with the hook wrestled with the fourth chain, yelling for help. Edward and Rémy dropped their cutters to lend aid; the chain was caught by something near the bank. On the count of three, the men gave it a heave-ho and it flew from its frozen restraints to swing directly around, broken from the embedded links. The three ducked at once. But the Major, still intent on the guardhouse, did not even turn.

“Major! Duck!”

But it was too late. The chain struck the Major’s helmet, winding comically around the spike on top. In a flash it pulled the helmet away, jerking the Major along with it. He hit the side of the boat and the helmet strap broke, sending it flying and the Major, obviously stunned, to the deck.

Edward started toward him, but the German shook his head as if to shake away pain and then, spotting Edward, held up a hand.

“I’m all right,” he said, then picked up his rifle and took aim again.

Seven times they hit a chain, pulled it in, chopped it through. Seven times one man risked his life leaning over the prow, providing the German soldiers with a living target while Max and the others covered for him. And seven times those Germans missed their moving target—or so Edward thought.

Until he saw the blood on Rémy’s shirt.

“Hey! You’re hit!”

But Rémy only shook his head, oblivious.

They were out of range again, beyond the last of the chains that had been scouted. Edward fell to the deck, breathing heavily.

“We’ve made it.”

But the man who’d brimmed with bad news so far offered no hope now. What could be
nex
t
? And not for the first time Edward wished he’d chosen to go by foot. Even if the Germans had doubled the electric lines at the border, it surely would have been easier than this.

Nothing for a blissful few minutes. Or perhaps it was hours; time was still foggy.

“Holland.” Rémy, at his side, whispered the word as if he were looking at God Himself.

Edward gazed in the same direction. The sun . . . so it hadn’t disappeared after all. There it was, finally shedding light on the eastern horizon. When had the light first appeared? Edward couldn’t recall. He saw a windmill in the distance and his heart lightened. Holland—only minutes away!

Then Edward saw something else. A thick wire was strung just above the width of the river, straight in their path at the approximate height of the prow. Edward dropped the wire cutter, eyeing the origin of the wire. There was no cutting
that
.

It was bare electric. If the voltage was high enough, the dampness permeating the metal and wood boat would be enough to destroy them. If it hit the steel smokestack, it wouldn’t even need the dampness to conduct its deadly current.

Orders from the tug’s captain showed no cowardice. The engine blasted and in a moment shouts sounded from the right bank. Edward ducked, preparing for gunfire that always accompanied German cries. And yet it didn’t come. He looked at the bank. Soldiers were there, all right, and they were armed. But they simply stood there. Watching the boat approach the wire.