Turning the Storm (The After Dunkirk Series Book 3)

by Lee Jackson

  “I’m due at work in thirty minutes. Ryan’s been calling. I telephoned her when you didn’t come in last night, and she told me you’d left at dusk. We’ve been beside ourselves. I’ll instruct the nanny to let Ryan know you’re home safe the next time she calls. Meanwhile, you should get some rest.”

  At that moment, Timmy appeared at Paul’s knees and reached up, pleading to be held. Paul bent down and scooped him in his left arm, being careful not to scrape his bandages. Seeing them, Timmy pointed and turned his face to stare into Paul’s eyes curiously.

  “You’re hurt,” Claire said, alarmed.

  “Nothing serious. I scraped my hand and burned my arm. I’ll tell you the whole story later when you come home.”

  That evening, Claire’s eyes widened in astonishment as Paul told her of driving the journalists, Bill and Marguerite; of their trek on foot through London after the car blew up; the goings-on at the Savoy; and the taxi ride to St. Paul’s. “I met some very dedicated people last night. They made me proud to be British.” He told her of the parishioners who gathered inside the church, and of the dean and the architects working furiously to save the cathedral, and the priority Churchill had given it.

  “But how did you get hurt?” Claire asked.

  Paul heaved a sigh. “I’d really rather not say.”

  “But you will, or I’ll march right down to St. Paul’s and ask Dean Matthews for myself. I’d rather hear the story from you.”

  Paul smiled ruefully. “You are, after all, Claire Littlefield, aren’t you?”

  He told her, and when he came to the part of having lost strength sufficient to save himself, he confessed, “I thought I was done for.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was this fellow, Mark, one of the architects. He oversaw my section. When I was up in the rafters and had put out the fire, that’s when I became so weak. And then I heard Mark. He had climbed up behind me. He grabbed my wrist and said, ‘I’ve got you,’ and pulled me to safety. We rested there for a time, and then he helped me climb down. I couldn’t have survived the fall. He saved my life.”

  Claire stared at him and then went to sit beside him. “Paul, Paul, Paul,” she said. “You’re always crediting everyone else and never seeing the good that you do. Yes, he saved your life. And you helped save the cathedral and the city. I couldn’t be prouder.”

  She wrapped an arm around his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I know we don’t get to have you here much longer. When do you leave?”

  “On January 2. When is that? Three days?”

  Claire bit her lower lip and nodded. “That includes New Year’s Eve. Let’s make the best of it, shall we?”

  24

  December 31, 1940

  Sark Island, English Channel Isles

  “It’s New Year’s, darling,” Stephen Littlefield said, “and you look ravishing.”

  “Oh, rubbish,” Marian retorted. “Don’t flatter when it’s obvious that’s all it is.” She had dressed up, and so had Stephen, despite that they had no place to go, but now she stood in front of her bedroom mirror and observed critically the skeletal figure meeting her eye. The dress she wore hung on her, barely concealing her protruding collarbone and knobby elbows. “This is really pathetic. How much more can the Germans cut our rations? It’s comical when you think about how much emphasis they put on ‘maintaining goodwill.’”

  Stephen crossed the floor and stood behind her. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, my dear, and you’re as beautiful now as the day we met.”

  Marian tossed him a skeptical glance and chuckled. “I think you mean that as a compliment, but I’m not sure it worked. If I looked like this the day we met, then I’d seriously question your judgment in having anything to do with me. Now, what shall we do this evening to celebrate a new year of occupation?”

  “We could build a fire. We still have a doorframe or two that are yet untouched. They won’t burn long, but perhaps long enough to warm up the parlor. Or, if you prefer, we can light them in the kitchen stove and hopefully boil enough water so that you can take a semblance of a bath.”

  Marian turned, laughing, and caressed his face. “Are you saying I need one?”

  “Hardly, my dear. I still value my head. But I remember from times past that you enjoyed them so. I couldn’t get to the store to buy you a Christmas gift, so I thought this might make up for my negligence.”

  Marian turned full around and embraced her husband. “Oh, Stephen,” she whispered, “I do love you so. How can you be lighthearted in such times?”

  “Only with practice, my dear, I assure you. Only with practice. But you’ll soon tire of me if all I bring is gloom to add to what the Wehrmacht so ably spreads about.”

  She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “You know, for a man who was born American in New Jersey, you sound an awful lot like a thoroughbred Englishman.”

  Stephen let out an exaggerated sigh and arched his brows. “Well, I’ve been around almost no one but Englishmen going on twenty-two years. But I can turn on American if you prefer.”

  Marian laughed and then gazed into Stephen’s eyes sadly. “Let’s just say what’s on our minds. Our children.” She let go of Stephen and buried her face in her hands. “Will we ever see them again? We were so happy together, and now they’re scattered to the wind. We’ve heard nothing from Lance. Paul seems to have disappeared from the earth, and Jeremy tells us nothing about what he is doing. Claire does her best to bring us news, but even she is short on detail, so I get the impression that they’re all involved in things they can’t mention. I’m sure they’ve been able to decipher a hint of how conditions are here and neither want to worry us further nor say something that could be valuable to the Germans, damn their censors to hell. And now I’m rambling.”

  Her body shook as she fought back tears, so she leaned into Stephen, who wrapped her in his arms. He held her, rocking gently while her sobs subsided. After a time, she wiped her eyes and stood back again.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Our sons and Claire need for us to be here when they return home after all this, this wickedness, is done. And our people look to us for strength. As much as I don’t feel up to it, that’s the way it is.”

  Stephen gazed down at her, and then turned and offered his arm. “Milady, our feast is served in the dining room. With some imagination it can be whatever we want it to be in whatever sumptuous portions.”

  “To what shall we toast with our empty wine glasses?”

  “Why to the new year, in the blessed hope that it is better than the last one.”

  “And when we’re done pretending that our stale slices of bread are French éclairs, we can play bridge.”

  25

  Colditz, Germany

  Lance shivered in the cold, but he recognized the quiet that often heralded the fall of heavy snow. For most POWs, escaping ahead of a snowstorm might seem like folly, but Lance trusted his fluency in German and French and in his proven ability to adapt to changing situations and meld into crowds. Tonight, he would also count on the mental numbness that descends on people contending with freezing weather and icy surfaces.

  He had been warned that his accent might give him away. “Nearly every village in Germany has its own dialect,” he had argued. “With the Wehrmacht drawing recruits from across the country and reassigning to places regardless of origin, an accent that’s slightly off won’t automatically trigger anything. It’s the rest of an escaped prisoner’s behavior that can draw attention.”

  In the week since arriving at Colditz, he had become an accomplished thief, stealing any and every part of German army uniforms that came unguarded within inches of his deft hands. Other prisoners had donated bits and pieces of German regalia, and a Pole had adjusted the outfit to him with needle and thread. He had thus acquired a full set that fit him at least as well as those of most German soldiers, complete with lieutenant’s insignia and a great overcoat. He then set about acquiring warm civilian clothe
s, snitching them from workers allowed in the camp for work and pleading for items of clothing from other prisoners who harbored visions of escape but knew they would never make the attempt. One of the noncoms who had worked leather in pre-war life fashioned civilian shoes out of bits and pieces of several pairs of boots so worn that they had become useless in their original forms.

  Soon after his arrival, Lance sneaked into the Polish section, and there, with Miloš’ help, he sought out a prisoner known to be an excellent forger and bartered for a set of travel documents. His side of the deal was that he would take Miloš with him.

  “My plan is simple,” he told Pat in the lieutenant’s capacity as escape officer. “I’ve watched the guards when they leave at the end of their shifts. Instead of walking all the way out along the main entrance, some turn right through a small gate at a right angle to the road at the mouth of the arched tunnel we came through on arrival. I intend to walk out that way.” He had not been able to acquire good intelligence on what lay beyond that point, but he had to believe that a path into the village must intersect somewhere down there. “There must be another security checkpoint that we can’t see from our POW quarters. I just have to get a way down to the main ramp leading out from the castle.”

  Pat had not been warm to Lance’s plan at first. “You’re going out in the dead of winter, you have no way of getting down to that walkway, and if you succeed in doing that, you won’t know the password, which is a number that changes daily.”

  “I’m going in the dead of winter precisely because no one will expect that. Look, the Germans take roll call by counting us, not by name. They’re usually half-asleep when they do it. We’ll have one of our men play like a rabbit after he’s counted, by ducking low and running to the end of his line to be counted again. If we do that, the guards will take longer to see that I’m gone.”

  “Good idea, but what about the password.”

  Lance told him his plan.

  “Hmm, that might work,” the SBO said, arching his brows. “I guess it’s worth a try, but if you’re caught, you’ll spend time in the cooler. It could be worse than that since you’ll be wearing a German uniform.”

  “I’ve done cooler time before,” Lance replied with a gritty grin. “I survived.”

  “But you still don’t have a way down to that walkway. I won’t approve until you show me how you can do it with relative safety.”

  “But I do have a way, sir. I told you about the grate I found against the back wall under the stage in the theater.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “I managed to nip a hacksaw blade and saw off the bolts. Inside was a horizontal ventilation duct. It was tight, but I crawled through it about twenty feet to another vent that opened in the ceiling of a room below the theater.” Lance’s eyes glistened. “Sir, that room is unused. It overlooks the arch over the road that the guards use to walk out. It has an exit onto a stairway leading to a path that connects with that road.” His excitement now infected Pat. “From the window in that room, I can see the path. It has a chain across it that says ‘Verboten.’ We can walk right out onto the road, big as you please, and take that side exit the guards use.”

  “We?”

  Lance stared anxiously. “Me and Miloš. That’s the deal I made to get the documents done up quickly.”

  Pat glanced askance at Lance. “I like the Poles, but they can be shy on attention to detail in executing their plans. One of theirs had an intricate plan. It incorporated a route that went out windows, over rooflines, had stooges in place with signals to coordinate their movement… It worked marvelously until the final stage of getting out of the castle. His rope was too short. I believe that was Miloš.”

  Lance sighed. “I know, but I’m not going to discount Miloš or the lot of them because of an oversight that any of us might have made. Just how would we have measured how long the rope should have been?

  “Look, we’ve rehearsed for hours on how to interact with the guard at the gate. I’ll do the talking. His German is broken. Mine’s fluent.”

  Pat agreed reluctantly. “And from there you’ll go to the train station?”

  “We’ll change into our civilian clothes and split up. He’ll look for a labor group traveling east that he can hide in, and I—” Lance grinned. “I’ll be going to wedded bliss.” He pulled out a photo and showed it to Pat. “My fiancée.” He laughed. “I’m headed to Switzerland to get married. That’s my story.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure we’ll be very happy.”

  The two laughed together, and Pat went through several more points with Lance. “Shouldn’t you be carrying a suitcase? Most people traveling on trains in Europe do. Without one, you’ll stand out, particularly traveling alone.”

  “I’ll snatch one.”

  At last, Pat said, “All right. I’ll approve your plan, but on one condition. Someone must go with you into the theater and replace those bolts in the grate. And you have to lock that unused room after you exit. We might be able to use that route again, and I don’t want to expose it to the Germans.”

  “I’ve already thought of that. If we’re recaptured, we’ll say we went out with another shipment of old mattresses. That’s been tried before, and the escaper was caught, so they already know about it.”

  When Lance had completely briefed Pat on his plan three days ago, the escape officer’s enthusiasm had almost matched his own. “Good luck, old boy. When will you go out?”

  “New Year’s Eve, sir. The celebration party will be the diversion.”

  Pat had raised an eyebrow. “It’s good that Red Cross packages finally started arriving, and on Boxing Day, no less. We can reciprocate some of the Poles’ hospitality, however meager, and you’ll have rations to get through the first day or so.”

  “And the kommandant approved an extra half-hour before lights out, so no one will be looking for us during that time. With any luck, by the first roll call, we’ll be long gone.”

  Getting through the ventilation duct had been more difficult than expected. Before when Lance had crawled through it, he had stripped down to his skivvies, but he had only taken a single tool with him. This time, he not only had to push his bundle of clothes ahead of him, including the uniform and his civilian garb, but he had to help Miloš coming behind him. The exertion was such that, despite the icy air, sweat ran in rivulets over his forehead, stinging his eyes and soaking the rest of his body.

  After much grunting and pushing, he had emerged into the abandoned room, dropped his bundle, lowered himself to the floor, and stood on a chair to help his companion. Then, quietly, they had stood a few inches back from the window and peered outside. Below them, the cobbled driveway led to the main entrance.

  Two guards passed below. They walked a few yards past the bottom of the arch by the side of the road, turned sharply, and descended out of sight on a set of stairs.

  Lance and the Pole nudged each other and grinned.

  By the ambient light streaming through the window, they wiped from their faces the streams of mud formed by their own sweat mixed with dust. Within minutes, they had put the uniforms on over their civilian clothes, and while the Pole had picked the lock, Lance fixed the grate back in place with glue. He hoped it held in the freezing temperatures.

  A cold breeze blew through the room. Miloš whispered gleefully, “It’s open.”

  Lance hurried over. Peeking out and finding his way clear, he stepped onto the landing.

  Snow fell in flurries and wind whipped his ears. Behind him, Miloš re-locked the door. Then together, they crept into underbrush around the stairs. Stooping, they sat and listened.

  The wind abated a bit, and for a time, all they heard was the soft whisper of falling snow onto the blanket that had already accumulated. Then, they heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps breaking through the crystalline white, and two more guards ambled along the road toward the main gate.

  Lance and Miloš waited until t
he sentries were sufficiently far away before hurrying to the corner of the building where they could check the back trail. It was clear.

  Quickly, they stepped out onto the road. They waited a few moments to allow more distance between themselves and the guards, and then started a meandering walk roughly seventy paces behind them.

  The sentries continued past the side path. Then they stopped and turned. Lance thought they must have heard his and Miloš’ own crunch in the snow, but instead, one reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He turned his body to shelter his hands from the wind and struck a match. As he did, he caught sight of Lance and Miloš.

  “Happy New Year!” he called in German as he lit his match. It burst into flame, and he raised it to his cigarette.

  Lance’s breath caught. They could not stop. “Happy New Year!” he called back as he and Miloš continued their slow trek through the snow.

  “Do you want to walk with us?” the other one called. “We’re going into town to celebrate. Have a party.”

  “Thank you, no. I just finished a double shift because Fritz was sick. I want to get into bed. Anyway, we’re taking the path down the hill.”

  “You have a place to stay in town? Lucky you.”

  “It’s my girlfriend’s place. She’s working tonight, so I’ll get some sleep before she gets home in the morning.”

  “Ha ha! You are lucky. What about your friend?”

  “His girlfriend won’t arrive until the day after.” Lance guffawed. “We’ll make him sit outside while Helga and I get reacquainted, if you know what I mean.” He delivered his best lascivious laugh.

  By this time, Lance and Miloš had neared the path at the turnoff and were within twenty paces of the two sentries. “Happy New Year again,” Lance called.

  Suddenly, one of the guards stiffened and nudged the other. They both snapped to attention and saluted. “Sorry, sir,” one called, “we couldn’t see that you are an officer.”