Rush to Glory

by Robert L Hecker

  Hal stared at his brother. “Get out? You heard what he said. The war will be over soon.”

  “That’s right. That’s God damn well right! And I’m sure as hell not gonna sit on my behind in some friggin’ attic waiting for the friggin’ war to end.”

  Hal said, “I don’t like it either. But we don’t have much choice.”

  Luke was grimly silent as he led the way back through the water closet into the small hidden room. A few minutes later, Betty joined them.

  The woman had given them playing cards and a chess set, and they tried to pass the time by playing Gin Rummy and Blackjack. But Luke was too restless to concentrate, and usually, while Hal and Betty played chess, Luke lay on one of the cots with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

  Promptly at 1300 and again at 1900, the slender, elderly woman, who Hal decided must own the house, brought them food, which consisted mostly of vegetable soup, a little sausage, and hard bread.

  Hal could only pick at the bread despite being hungry, and he gave most of his soup to Luke. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the food. He knew that all food was rationed in the occupied areas so that feeding three extra people secretly had to be a real hardship for the woman and the people helping her. It was just that sitting in the small cell-like room day after day was depressing, and his appetite suffered. He found himself daydreaming of steak and eggs, even some of those lousy powdered eggs.

  Luke had no such daydreams. Food had never meant anything to him except as fuel for his body. He was scarcely aware that the bread was stale and the soup barely warm.

  But it was not the lack of good food that proved to be a problem. It was boredom. As the hours went by, the room seemed to get smaller and smaller, the air closer and breathing more difficult. Luke began pacing the floor, striding the three steps from one end of the room to the other like a caged animal. Luke Bailey had never been known for his patience, and Hal wondered how long his brother could remain cooped up in the small room without exploding in a rage of frustration.

  The answer came at 2300 when they were preparing to settle in for the night. Betty was in the water closet while Hal unrolled a sleeping bag on the floor between the two cots. Luke was sitting on the edge of one of the cots taking off his shoes. Suddenly, he pulled them back on.

  “The hell with this,” he snarled. “I’m going to find out what the shit is going on.”

  Hal straightened and stared at his brother in alarm. “You’re going out?”

  “Only to the dock. I’ve got to get a look at those friggin’ boats.”

  The boats? Was Luke thinking of making an escape attempt? If he was successful and got back to England alone while he and Betty were stuck in Holland, he could forget about any consequence of his murderous mission.

  “There’s a curfew,” Hal said. “You’ll be picked up. You don’t have any papers.”

  “It’s only a block. They’ll never see me.”

  Hal tried to think of a way to stop Luke. If he were picked up by the German Security Police or the SS, he could jeopardize the safety of everyone. Luke might think that he could hold out against any interrogation, even torture. But could he? Could anyone? He might be able to delay long enough so that Hal and Betty could be moved to another hiding place, but what about the woman who owned this house? She would be picked up and interrogated. And she might lead the SS to the fisherman, and God only knows how many other members of the resistance.

  But short of killing him, there was no way he was going to stop Luke once he had made up his mind.

  Hal began pulling on his shoes. “I’m going with you.”

  Luke jerked his head around. “The shit you are.”

  “Either I go, or you don’t go.”

  Luke stared at Hal, and for a minute, Hal thought that he was going to attack. Then he realized that any commotion could bring a German patrol, and that would be the end of everything, so he shrugged. “Okay. Just do as I tell you.”

  They were putting on their jackets and knitted fisherman’s hats when Betty returned. She stopped just inside the door, her jaw slack.

  “We’re going to check out the boats,” Hal told her. “We won’t be long.”

  “You’re crazy. You’ll be caught.”

  “I don’t think so. We got here all right. Remember?”

  “That was different. Those boats will be watched.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Luke said. He reached for the latch of the door leading to the stairs. “Turn off that light.”

  Hal caught a glimpse of Betty’s stricken face before he turned off the light, plunging the small room into pitch darkness. He hoped she would not think he was deserting her. If she stopped to think for a moment, she would realize why he was going with Luke, that he didn’t want to let his brother out of his sight until they were all back in England or with Allied forces.

  He stayed close behind Luke as they groped their way down the steep stairs, moving slowly and silently. They didn’t want to awaken the woman who owned the house. Nor any other resistance people who might be there. They would undoubtedly take a very dim view of the Americans conducting reconnaissance on their own.

  The secret door in the kitchen wall opened silently under Luke’s pressure. After the stygian darkness of the stairway, the dim moonlight that filtered in through a pair of small windows made the kitchen seem positively bright, and they were able to make their way to the rear door easily. It was fastened with a well-oiled bolt that Luke slid back silently. He inched the door open and cautiously peered out. After a moment, he pushed the door open just enough to allow him to slip through. Hal quickly followed, easing the door closed behind him.

  CHAPTER 27

  The night was clear. The heavens spangled with stars. A half-moon, hanging low on the horizon, slanted dark shadows from every standing object. When their eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Hal could see that they were in a small yard that had been converted into a vegetable garden protected by a waist-high stone wall covered with flowering morning-glory and honeysuckle vines that made the air sweet with their fragrance. Rather than take a chance on squeaking from the gate, they climbed over the low wall and moved to an area of deep shadows against the wall of an adjacent house.

  The street was two lanes, paved with knobby bricks, and flanked by narrow sidewalks.

  Before moving, Hal and Luke crouched in the shadows, silent, listening, taking their bearings. The only sound that came to Hal was the hard thumping of his heart. Back in Fairview when he was twelve or thirteen, he and the other guys had often played war. Armed with rubber guns, they had stalked each other like guerrilla fighters, trying to sneak up close enough for a stinging shot without being themselves shot. At the time, it had merely been fun. Now, as he and Luke moved away in the direction of the harbor, he was glad for the training. Just as they had done as boys, they took advantage of every shadow, every area of concealment, moving swiftly across open spaces, pausing in the shadows to listen.

  As they neared the harbor, the houses gave way to sheds, warehouses, and shops containing marine merchandise. The smell of fish grew stronger, overpowering the scent of flowers.

  They were within sight of the fishing boats nosed against the wharf when they heard a patrol approaching, and they took shelter under a ketch that was raised on blocks for hull repairs. The patrol vehicle was a jeep-like Kubelwagen containing four German soldiers. They were not expecting trouble. Their heads lolled sleepily as their vehicle crawled over the rough brick-paved road in second gear. Each of the soldiers had a Mauser rifle slung across his back. An MG42 7.92mm machine gun was mounted on a pedestal in the center of the vehicle, where it could be manned by the two men in the rear seat.

  The Kubelwagen stopped where the street ended at the dock. Its engine was left idling as the soldiers got out and stretched their legs. When they li
t cigarettes, two German sentries walked out of the shadows and joined them.

  Luke nudged Hal. “See that,” he whispered. “We could have walked right into those bastards.”

  “That’s right. No telling how many more are out there. We’d better go back.”

  “Not yet. I’ve got to get closer to those boats.”

  Hal clenched his teeth to control his anger. God-damn-it! Luke was going to get them both killed or captured. Luke might be prepared to accept the consequences with Spartan indifference, but Hal didn’t think that he could long resist a brutal interrogation by the Gestapo. But, short of allowing Luke to go on alone, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  Ten minutes dragged by before the soldiers climbed back in the Kubelwagen and drove away on a side street. The two sentries talked for a minute, then snuffed out their cigarettes on the stones of the dock and moved back into the shadows.

  “There’s a ladder on the side of that building.” Luke pointed to a two-story shed with a gently sloping corrugated roof that fronted on the dock area. “We can get to it without crossing the street.”

  Hal studied the building. From its roof, assuming it was strong enough to support their weight, they would have a good view of the small port, and chances were that the sentries would not look up at the roof unless they made a noise.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s not be in a hurry to get there.”

  Moving cautiously, they drifted like smoke from shadow to shadow until they reached the ladder that was built onto the side of the building. Luke put his mouth close to Hal’s ear. “It doesn’t look too strong. We’d better go up one at a time.”

  Hal nodded, and Luke began to climb, testing each rung before he put his weight on it. As soon as he left the shadows at the base of the building, he was in the open where anyone could see him from the street but concealed from the sentries who were patrolling in the front. When Luke reached the roof, he eased onto its surface, lying flat, listening, before he rose to a crouch and began cautiously moving across the rusting metal toward the front of the building.

  Hal started up the ladder, moving fast. If the rungs held Luke, they surely would not break beneath his lighter weight.

  He was almost at the top when he heard a sound that caused him to freeze. It was from an approaching engine. The patrol. They were coming back. And he was caught in the open.

  He calculated the distance to the top. Could he make it to the roof before the patrol arrived? No. They were already coming toward him past the big house, which he could see clearly from his perch. The route they were following was the same as before, so it must be a regular patrol route.

  Hal clung to the edge of the ladder, trying to take advantage of what little shadow it cast. Maybe it would conceal him enough so that he would not be obvious. It was a hopeless wish. All the patrol had to do was look up, and they would be sure to see him.

  But they probably would not look up unless something, some movement, drew their gaze. It was not natural to watch the tops of buildings unless you were a trained observer! But the Germans appeared to be very young. Maybe all the best soldiers were fighting the American and British invasion forces in France or the Russians on the Eastern Front so that the occupation forces were left with those who were too young or too old for combat. He hoped that their training was as deficient as their ages.

  He hung motionless, not breathing, and the Kubelwagen growled past without slowing, the heads of its passengers drooping sleepily.

  Hal released his breath in a long sigh. He finished the climb to the roof and almost sprinted across the rusting corrugated steel roofing toward the front, depending upon the noise from the patrol vehicle to cover any sound he might make.

  Luke was lying on his stomach, peering over the edge of the roof, and Hal flopped down beside him. From their vantage point, they had a good view of the small harbor. In addition to the sloop, there were half a dozen squat, ocean-going fishing boats tethered bow-on to the dock. They looked dilapidated, tired, as though the war had cut off their source of paint and spare parts.

  The one craft that looked as though it was in perfect shape was a fifty-foot German patrol boat. Its sleek black hull was shiny with new paint; its teak deck bleached almost white from scrubbing. The flagstaff at the stern that now supported a limp Nazi flag had probably flown the standard of a wealthy yachtsman before the war. The roof of the raked cabin supported a 7.92mm machine gun. Mounted on the long foredeck was what looked like a 40mm Bofors gun. A similar mount at the stern was equipped with a Bofors.

  The patrol Kubelwagen had stopped at the edge of the wharf as before, and the two guards appeared. A third climbed out of the patrol boat and moved to join the group. Chances were that there were others nearby. The German’s weren’t taking any chances on losing their boat.

  Looking at the sleek craft, it was easy to realize why the fishing boats did not attempt to escape across the North Sea to England. The powerful patrol boat would overhaul them before they had a good start.

  “That’s the one,” Luke whispered. “If I could get my hands on that, I’d be home free.”

  “Three guards. Maybe more. It looks like the Germans think that other people might have the same idea.”

  “Yeah.” Luke mused. “You’d have to take out those guards.”

  “Fat chance. You’d need an army.”

  “Yeah.” Luke sighed and wriggled back from the edge of the roof. Hal did the same, and they moved back to the ladder.

  On the ground, they began retracing their path back to the house. “We should make it okay,” Hal pointed out. “I figure that patrol comes by every twenty minutes.”

  “Yeah. But don’t get careless. There might be others.”

  If there were other patrols, they did not see them, although once they heard an engine nearby, that sounded like that of a truck. The Germans maintained around the clock patrols. News of the allied invasion of Normandy had probably caused the resistance fighters to step up activities, so the Germans would have also increased their patrols . . . and their vigilance. Taking over the German patrol boat would require the full support of the Dutch Resistance forces. And they certainly weren’t going to launch a battle to help three fliers escape, not when they had a perfectly good underground that could smuggle them out. Luke had no choice. He might have to reconcile himself to sitting out the final days of the war.

  And after the war? If Luke was taken out of the action, would it be worth it to try to get him court-marshaled? Probably not. The best he could hope for was to stop Luke from causing another massacre. Being trapped in Holland would do that.

  Hal was in a good mood when they arrived back at the house. Luke had been effectively stopped, and he would be close to Betty for what could be weeks. The last thought was particularly exhilarating.

  The euphoria came crashing down as they climbed back over the low wall, and a voice whispered harshly, “Halt!”.

  Even as he froze, the thought passed through Hal’s mind that the command had not come from a German. A member of the Security Police would not have kept his voice low. It had to be one of the resistance people. Unless threatened, he would not want to shoot.

  His sense of relief was short. A tall, dark figure moved out of the shadow of the house and leveled a British Mark II Sten gun at them. Hal raised his hands when he saw the gun, and Luke slowly followed suit.

  “It’s okay,” Luke said in a harsh whisper. “It’s us. The Americans.”

  The man came closer, and they could see that he was a stranger. He was wearing civilian clothing, and he looked lean and tough. He kept the Sten gun pointed at them as he said, “Vhy you here?”

  Luke lowered his hands and pulled his shoulders back. He stared at the man. In the shadows of his face, his eyes looked as though they were embedded in a skull. “I am a major in the U.S. Army,” he gritted. “I
do not answer to you.”

  The man fell back a step, but the short muzzle of the machine gun did not waver. “You not in America, major. Ve give orders here.”

  Luke relaxed, and his teeth flashed in a smile. “You’re right. I apologize.” There was no sincerity in Luke’s voice, and Hal knew that he was playing a role. “We did not fully trust you. We decided to reconnoiter the German patrols. Now we know we can trust you.”

  “But can ve trust you?”

  “That is up to you. But you might be interested in hearing what we found out.”

  “Ja? You find something?”

  “Hal, you go inside. I’ll brief the man.

  Hal had to restrain himself from moving too fast. He was deathly worried about Betty Axley. Had the resistance fighters done anything to her? Is that how they found out that Hal and Luke were gone? Or had he and Luke blundered into a guard?

  Hal walked to the door of the house, his legs stiff, not sure if at any second he would feel the shock of a bullet in his back. But then, a shot would bring the Germans, so the chances were that the man would not fire. Would he? He could always drag their bodies into the street before the patrol arrived so that they would not be associated with the house.

  Walking to the rear door, he could hear Luke talking quietly to the guard. If he was trying to talk the man into getting the resistance forces to help him take the German patrol boat, he was wasting his time. They would have to be fools even to try.

  He was crossing the darkened kitchen when a shadow loomed next to him, and something touched his arm, and he jerked back in quick alarm, his arms coming up to protect himself.

  “Hal?”

  Oh, Lord! Betty! He straightened, breathing again. “Jesus. You scared the hell out of me.”

  Her face in the faint light was white with concern. “Where have you been?” Her words come out in a rush. “I’ve been worried to death.”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We checked out the harbor. There’s no chance of us getting a boat.”