Rush to Glory

by Robert L Hecker

  “The other crewmen,” he said. “Have any others been picked up?”

  The man made a small shrug. “I do not know.” He went up the stairs, and the door clicked shut.

  Hal waited almost the entire hour before he gently shook Betty awake. She struggled out of sleep like a child being awakened in the middle of the night, looking around to get her bearings, staring uncomprehendingly at the candle and the flickering shadows on the dusty wine racks before her eyes cleared. She sat upright and looked at Hal. “How long did I sleep?”

  “Almost an hour.” He placed the small table in front of the bench and indicated the basket. “You’d better eat something. No telling when we’ll get another chance.”

  The basket contained rolls of hard bread, fruit, and a small bottle of wine. They were both ravenous, and they quickly ate the bread and fruit. Hal scarcely sipped the wine; he had no idea what his reaction would be to even a little alcohol on his almost empty stomach, and he wanted to be alert for whatever was going to happen when the man with the beard came back.

  Betty Axley noticed that he was drinking little of the wine, and she smiled. “A candlelight dinner. And now you’re trying to get me drunk. You Yanks are such romantics.”

  Pleasant warmth swept over Hal. That didn’t sound like the kind of a remark someone would make who had no feeling for him. He felt his face slide into a silly grin. “I could have picked a better restaurant. I don’t know what happened to the guy with the violin.”

  Instead of replying, she looked at Hal, her gaze level, and appraising. Her smile was gone, and she seemed to be probing his mind. There was something incredibly intimate about the look, as though she were reaching deep inside him. He wondered what she was searching for, what she would find. He wanted to reach out to her, to touch her face with his fingers, to trace the contours of her lips, her cheeks, to gently close her eyes and cradle her in his arms.

  But he did none of these. To move even a fraction of an inch would end the exquisite moment.

  She broke the rapture by looking away, making it seem to be a difficult task. She carefully re-corked the half-full wine bottle. “Maybe we’d better not take a chance.”

  Hal wondered what sort of chance she had been referring to? The chance of not being ready for what lay ahead or the chance that they might be carried away romantically? He would probably never know.

  But he was wrong. They were placing the table back in the center of the room when their hands accidentally touched, and Hal looked up into her eyes. Her face was smudged with mud and dust, and the candlelight burnished her tangle of hair. But her lips were soft and very close. It was so natural to put his arms around her and kiss her. He thrilled as her lips responded, then his own moved to caress her throat and her eyelids before they were drawn back to hers.

  When finally she turned her face away, her breath was a series of short gasps. He held her close with her cheek cradled in the hollow of his throat. “I love you,” he whispered. “You know I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Her voice was so low he could scarcely make out the words, but they had the power of a carillon ringing in his heart.

  He felt her tears on his skin, and he tilted her face so he could kiss her cheeks. “When this is over . . .”

  She brushed his lips with hers. “Before this is over,” she whispered. “As soon as we’re home, I want you in my life.”

  “Forever.”

  “At least.”

  He was still lost in the wonder of her reply when they heard footsteps, and the door opened, and the man came down the steps. He picked up the basket. “Come,” he said and blew out the candle.

  As they followed the man, Hal gave Betty’s hand a reassuring squeeze, although he had the feeling it was about as reassuring as whistling in the dark.

  CHAPTER 25

  The bearded man led them into a tree-shrouded grounds behind the church. The twilight had faded, and the moon was a pale glow below the horizon. The stars were faint points in a darkening sky.

  Their guide paused at a gate in a stone wall that surrounded the small church and listened for a moment before he opened the gate and led them into a narrow village street. It was almost as dark in the tree-lined street as it had been on the church grounds. None of the dark silhouettes of houses showed the faintest light. He was sure that to do so would have invited a visit from the German Security Force or the SS and very likely a long stay in prison or what would amount to a virtual death sentence in a prisoner work camp.

  They paused in the shelter of the wall as their guide whispered, “Ve valk to Den Bergen. They haf boat. Take you to Amsterdam.”

  “Good,” Hal said. “Can you get us back to England?”

  “Maybe. First ve go to Den Bergen. Stay close. Be ready to take cover. Many Cherman patrols.”

  They set off down the narrow street at a fast pace. Their guide’s shoes made almost no sound, but the fleece-lined A-6A boots of the two fliers thudded heavily on the macadam pavement. The guide looked at their boots and frowned. When possible to do so, the guide led them off the pavement, and they walked quietly in the damp grass beside the road.

  Hal wondered how far it was to Den Bergen. The flying boots with their felt insert for the electrically heated suit were not made for walking. Both he and Betty would have blisters if it was more than a couple of miles. He wished that he had prepared like some of the other crewmen and had tied a pair of GI boots to his parachute harness. Of course, he was luckier than those fliers whose boots had been jerked off by the shock of their parachute opening. At least, he had something on his feet.

  Despite an evening chill, he was soon sweating in the heavy flying clothing. He estimated that they had walked less than two miles past farmland and pastures, fragrant with the odor of mown hay and manure when they entered the outskirts of another village and encountered their first German patrol.

  Their guide was leading, Betty was next, and Hal was plodding along in the rear when the guide suddenly stopped and said, “Shhhhh.”

  Hal heard the faint sound from an approaching car or truck, and the guide motioned them to follow him as he climbed over a low flower-decked wall where they crouched while a small Kubelwagen containing four German soldiers in slate-gray uniforms slowly passed. Hal wondered whether such patrols were a normal occurrence or whether they were looking for the fliers who had parachuted into the countryside and vanished. Most likely, it was both. The Germans were systematically looting the country of its raw material and manufactured goods, so, for the Germans to maintain control, the Dutch people had to be kept in a ruthless grip.

  But Hal knew that when one resistance fighter fell, another took his or her place and fliers, and Jews continued to be smuggled out under the noses of the Germans. In retaliation, German SS squads and Security Forces exacted a heavy toll in Dutch lives. The chances were that their guide and the priest—and whoever would be taking care of them in their passage through the Dutch underground—would be either dead or in prison before the end of the war.

  What was so remarkable about the resistance fighters was that they did not have to do it. It was just the opposite: Great pressure was put on them not to participate. That did not mean that one had to be a collaborator. To stay out of trouble, to survive, all one had to do was to obey the conquering Germans. Don’t help them any more than you had to, but don’t resist either. And wait for the British and the Americans to win the war. Thousands of your rescuers would die, but you would be safe.

  Fortunately for hundreds of Jews and downed airmen, there were people brave enough to risk almost certain death to help them escape.

  They had two more brushes with German patrols before their guide led them to the back door of a large two-storied house near the center of a village. The smell of the sea was strong, mixed with the stronger odor of fish, which meant that Den Bergen was probably a fishing vill
age.

  At their guide’s soft knock, the rear door of the house was opened a crack, then all the way. They walked into a room so dark that Hal and Betty had to stop. They heard the door close behind them and footsteps that passed on their right. They heard another door open; then a flashlight was switched on. The faint light from its narrow, hooded beam showed that they were in a large kitchen. Holding the flashlight was a slender, aristocratic woman looked to be in her fifties. She was standing in an open doorway that led to a steep flight of narrow stairs. It seemed an unlikely location for a stairway until Hal realized that the door was a concealed section of the wall.

  The woman gestured impatiently with the flashlight, “Hurry, hurry,” she said, and they squeezed past her and mounted the stairs. The door was closed behind them, and the beam of the light directed so that they could see a closed door at the top of the stairs.

  “Open it,” the woman said. “Go in.”

  The door was secured by a simple latch that Hal lifted. He pushed the door open and entered with Betty at his heels. The dim light of the flashlight revealed a narrow, windowless room that might at one time have been a large walk-in closet. There was a door at the opposite end of the room that had been the original entrance. The only furniture in the room was a pair of metal cots, one against each side wall. A man wearing a fleece-lined B-3 jacket, OD pants, and A-6A boots was lying on one of the cots. He sat up when they came in, and in the dim light of the flashlight, Hal saw that it was Luke.

  “Well, well,” Luke said. “I see your luck is still holding out.”

  Luke’s unshaven face was haggard, and his hair looked as though he had combed it with his fingers. Mud had dried on his clothes and his boots. A white bandage on his chest could be seen through his torn jacket and shirt.

  “It looks like yours is too,” Hal replied. “You’re here and not in some German prison.”

  “Yeah. I’m lucky as hell, all right.” Luke looked at Betty and grinned. “Well, lieutenant, I hope you’re enjoying your mission.”

  Betty did not bother to smile. “Whatever happens,” she said, “it is memorable.”

  The Dutch woman cut off their conversation curtly. “Please,” she said. “Keep your voices down.” She reached up and pulled a chain to switch on a low wattage light bulb. She turned off the flashlight and pointed to the door at the opposite end of the room. “The water closet is there. It is part of the rest of the house, so be careful when you use it. Be sure to close the door after. And make sure it is closed tight. Do not leave any personal effects inside. And most important, if you hear voices, any voices, do not make a sound. The Germans sometimes search.”

  She turned to go, and Luke quickly stood up as he asked, “What’s going to happen to us? When do we get out of here?”

  The woman paused in the doorway. “The Germans search for you now. In a few days, when it is safer, you will be taken to Amsterdam.”

  “Good. Then what?”

  “Then, I do not know.” She exited and softly pulled the door shut.

  Luke said, “Shit!” He went back to the cot and sat down.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Hal said. “She’s getting us in the Dutch underground.”

  “Yeah, but what happens in Amsterdam? How long is this going to take?”

  “She probably doesn’t know,” Betty said. “They keep their contacts and their information to a minimum so they can’t betray each other when they’re tortured.”

  Hal jerked around to look at her. “When they’re tortured?”

  “The SS does not waste time with subtleties. If they even think a person is a link in the L.O., they go to work with the pliers and clubs. These people know that.”

  “Yeah, they’ve got guts,” Luke said. “I hope to hell none of them get picked up until they get us the hell out of here.”

  Hal stared at his brother. Why should he be shocked by Luke’s callousness? Self-preservation came so naturally to him that he probably didn’t even realize what he had said. And wouldn’t think anything of it if he did.

  Betty was also looking at Luke with a peculiar expression as though she, too, was refining her opinions. Hal was certain that she had never met anyone in her life who was so unabashedly selfish. Or was it selfish? What about men like General Patton? And Montgomery? Were they selfish when they drove at an objective with all their resources? And if it cost other men’s lives long the way, that was the price you paid for success.

  “O’Reilly’s okay,” he said. “We heard he was picked up by the Germans and taken to a hospital.”

  “Damn!” Luke said. “I was hoping they could get him out.”

  Betty said, “O’Reilly will probably escape and be holding the entire German army when the invasion forces get here.”

  Luke chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  The air in the small room was stale and warm, and Hal wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I’ve got to get out of this heated suit,” he said. “I’m burning up.”

  “Me too,” Betty said. “I wonder if it would be all right to go in the WC.”

  “She didn’t say not to, just to be careful.”

  “Listen first,” Luke said. “If you don’t hear anything, it’s okay.”

  Betty went to the far door and put her ear against the door, then pulled it open.

  “Don’t turn the light on,” Luke said. “The can is on your right.”

  “Okay,” Betty said and pulled the door shut.

  As Hal began taking off his flying clothing, he asked, “How did you get here?”

  “I landed in some farmer’s tree. He got me down. Brought me here under a pile of vegetables.”

  “You’re lucky. We had to walk.”

  “Did you see many patrols?”

  “Yeah. Three. They’re all over the place.”

  “That’s what I thought. How the hell can they fight on two fronts and still have enough people left over to control their occupied territories? You’ve got to hand it to the Germans. They sure as hell have got things organized.”

  “If you like their kind of organization.”

  “I didn’t say I liked it. I just said they’re good at it. But, shit, so are we. We’re gonna get out of here.”

  “The Dutch have been at this a long time. I guess they’re well organized, too.”

  “Yeah.” Luke lay back and put his hands behind his head. “Some war. It’s all over the damn place. In every room in every house in all of Europe. Even friggin’ closets. I’ve got to get back in it.”

  Hal stifled a chuckle. For once, his brother was at the mercy of someone else’s ideas.

  CHAPTER 26

  “You haf to remain here vun more day. To leaf earlier, be dangerous vould. To vait longer, be dangerous also.”

  The man speaking was short, powerful, with wide shoulders, thick brown hair, and a gray-flecked beard. Hal judged him to be a fisherman.

  Hal, Betty, and the fisherman were seated at a table in an unused upstairs bedroom that was on the other side of the water closet. Luke paced slowly, pausing when he passed a curtained window to look out at boats in a small harbor with a stone wharf that was no more than a short block away. The fliers were wearing their OD uniforms, but their heavy, fleece-lined boots had been replaced with old but serviceable shoes.

  “One more day,” Luke snapped. “We’ve already been here a friggin’ week. What’s the hold up this time?”

  The fisherman stared at Luke coldly. “It took time to find for you clothing. Now is papers for identity.”

  “Shit, we don’t need identity papers. If we get picked up, they’ll spot us sure as hell.”

  “Major, this is our show. You do it our vay.” The fisherman’s voice was soft, but it was laced with quiet menace. Hal had the impression that if Luke caused trouble, he co
uld end up in the North Sea with a bullet in his head.

  Luke felt the hostility also, and he raised his hands. “You’re the boss, amigo.”

  “That is right. I am boss. Ve go vhen I say.”

  “Okay. What happens when we get to Amsterdam?”

  The fisherman stared down at the table before he answered. “Things haf changed since D-day. Our routes south through France haf been cut. The var vill soon be over. It vould be best to remain in Amsterdam. Vhen your American troops arrive, you vill be there vaiting.”

  “Waiting! Bull shit! That could take weeks. Months.”

  “It is the vay most safe.”

  “Well, the hell with safe. I’ve got to get back.”

  The fisherman turned his back to Luke. To Hal, he said, “Perhaps my English is not goot. Vill you tell the major that he is not in charge here?”

  “Okay, okay,” Luke said. “Forget it. I guess it would be best to sit it out.” He moved to the window and stared out at the harbor. “I just want to get my shot in at the Germans. You can understand that.”

  The fisherman’s lips curled. “Yes. Ve all vant to get in our shots. You vill get your chance.”

  “Yeah, great.” Luke pointed out the window. “Which one of those boats is ours?”

  The fisherman got up to stand beside Luke. “That small sloop near end of vharf. The Chermans are used to see it in the Zuiderzee.”

  “What about those fishing boats? Couldn’t one of them make it to England?”

  The fisherman shook his head. “Too dangerous. They are searched before they go out and again vhen they come back. Besides, Cherman patrol boats everyvhere.”

  “Shit.” Luke’s jaw was set in anger and frustration when he turned away.

  The fisherman went to the door leading out of the room. “Please remain in the small room. The SS search sometimes here.”

  The fisherman had no sooner shut the door when Luke smacked his fist into his palm. “Fuck! I’ve got to get out of here.”