“Hitler will use the ‘Venlo Incident’ as a pretext to invade Holland,” Arie continued. “My contact in the Dutch Embassy in Berlin told me that Hitler had set the deadline for the invasion of Western Europe one week from today.” Manus began to panic.
“Large tank divisions are poised at the border to roll at a moment’s notice,” Arie went on. “The Dutch Armored Divisions consist of old tanks, left over from World War I. I am worried that we have only one modern experimental tank ready to go into battle.”
To soothe his feelings of anxiety, Manus needed a break from the news about the war. He walked to the window to find solace in the spring blossoms in the forest. His brother joined him.
Suddenly Arie turned his attention towards the courtyard where Danya was walking. He had never seen her before. He turned to his brother slowly.
“Is that Danya in the courtyard?” he asked, captivated by her at first sight. He noticed how she walked in beauty, her black hair flowing with every step. As she entered the room, Danya looked elegant and demure, eyes downcast. Manus introduced her to his brother.
“Danya, meet my brother, Arie. He serves in the Army and has come for a visit. Danya has been helping me with my drawings for the sculptures of the Stations of the Cross,” Manus told Arie.
Arie looked into Danya’s eyes and admired the curls in her long black hair, her raven tresses slightly brushing her face. He struggled to focus on his duty as an officer. However, he could not take his eyes from Manus’ drawings of Danya. He decided to derail his feelings towards her by complimenting her as a model.
“My brother could not have found a more perfect model for his work,” Arie told her. In the silence that followed, she felt something strange in his words, something that caused a breathless flutter in her chest. Not much more, she told herself.
She turned her eyes to the medals on Arie’s uniform. Danya wanted to reach out to this man of courage and strong character. For a brief moment, their eyes locked into each other’s soul. Should war come to Holland, she would want someone like him to protect her from harm. It created a kernel of agony that Satanaya was not the one to help her out in difficult times of war.
“I shall go now,” Arie announced, taking another look at Danya. Clutching his helmet, he walked through the grand hall where the granite blocks were stacked ceiling high. “Earlier, you showed me Danya’s drawings. She is even more gorgeous than you drew her in your sketches,” Arie told Manus. With that thought, he wondered about his brother’s feelings towards her.
As they walked through the hall, they passed a row of death masks, dangling to dry at the end of piano strings, slowly twirling in the gentle breeze. Hitler’s facemask caught Arie’s attention. The hair lock across the forehead, the tidy mustache, sweating gypsum, fresh from the clay mold, gave away the perfect likeness of the German dictator.
“Did you make this?” he asked with a wink, poking Manus in the ribs as he pointed at the mask.
“My friends dared me to,” Manus replied. “Hitler’s time will come soon enough … I will be glad to deliver the mask in person when I get word that the plotters have succeeded in eliminating him.”
“I will be the first one to let you know,” Arie said, shaking his head, as he smiled and left their father’s home.
Ars Brabantia was the publication to which every artist subscribed in Southern Holland. When Arie got home, he saw the paper on the kitchen table. Antonius Habers had written an editorial about the repression of free expression in the arts in Germany. It was a scathing rebuttal to the Nazi policies. Not everyone at the Academy was happy about his editorial. Rector Muller summoned him for a reprimand for his critical commentary. It did not take long for Habers to realize that Muller was a member of the NSB, a staunch Nazi sympathizer.
Arie had no interest in politics, but upon seeing the article, he became infuriated with the Nazi policies. When his father walked in, Arie stood up and pointed at the paper.
“I am proud of you, that you have written this editorial. You may as well get your true sentiments out about German politics before it is too late. It portends to show what will happen in our country when the Germans invade Holland,” Arie told him. As if to add fuel to the anger floating in the kitchen, he added, “The invasion will start next week.” His father looked at Arie in disbelief. He noticed the resoluteness in his face.
“As I see it, the Germans will call an end to our freedom, for which the Dutch are well known. We must dispel that there is no hope of getting rid of the Nazi vermin. I still remember my mother’s words to fight with courage to the death,” his father formally declared.
Habers paused as if to ponder the wisdom of bolstering what he just said. With the invasion at hand, the time had come to tell his sons how they must stand together under the leadership of the resistance, which was to form during the war.
“Our family are descendants of the Circassian people.” Manus had heard of these exceptional people through Danya. To Arie, they were unknown. Driven by his inquiring mind, he became curious about his family’s provenance.
“Who exactly are these Circassians?”
“The Circassian spirit runs through our blood,” Habers answered. “They are a people driven from their homeland by the Russians, some one hundred and fifty years ago. To this day, they are fighting to return to their homeland in the Northern Caucasus Mountains. In history books, they are the forgotten people, called Circassians … the original Caucasian Europeans known for their courage to fight for freedom to the death. Not many people can make that claim. We are proud to belong to these people.”
Danya spent a long day modeling and had to hold a kneeling position looking up at Jesus dying on the cross for a long time. Manus asked her to keep her arms outstretched to portray the agony of the moment better.
After such a long time on her knees, Danya became exhausted from holding that position. Finally satisfied with his work, Manus showed the drawing to Danya. A cold chill rolled over her, as she had never felt before. Overwhelmed by the drama of the scene, she broke down in tears. Manus should have chosen someone else as his model. Confused, she sat in the corner of the room and silently wept.
Manus put his arm around her shoulder to console her. Words failed to come to his mind.
The time had come for Danya to call on the one who had promised to stand by her to overcome this painful moment. She knew Satanaya would not abandon her.
That evening, she returned home, where she found her aunt with the newspaper. She had a worried look on her face as she read about the impending war. She put the paper down and offered Danya a cup of tea. She started to tell her about World War I when she was a young girl. She shared the horrors she had experienced during that conflict, twenty-five years earlier. The government had incarcerated her parents as enemies of the state. They had both died in prison before the war ended. Danya felt devastated as she thought about her parents. The news added to Danya’s fears of the future.
On May 10, Danya arrived at the castle earlier than usual. Manus invited her for a walk in the forest. Tall sycamore trees lined the road, their branches reaching up to the sky, forming an archway to shield them from the spring sun. Danya noticed the blackbirds flying around, feverishly hunting for grasses and sticks to build their nests. She wondered what happens to these little creatures when war comes. Nobody would be there to protect them from harm.
War was on everybody’s mind. After hearing her aunt’s story, she asked Manus, “Do you think the war will start soon?” Manus had no choice but to tell her what he had learned from his brother.
“Yesterday, through his secret channels, my brother found out that Hitler has set a date for the invasion.” Danya’s eyes widened with fear.
“Did he say when?”
“It will be next week. Although the threat of war hangs over the entire continent of Europe, his troops are poised to invade Holland as the first countr
y in Western Europe.”
“What can we do? Where will we go?” Danya wondered.
On their walk back, they heard the clop-clop-clop of a horse and cart moving towards them. Manus recognized his neighbor.
“Did you hear anything about the war?” he asked. Before he could answer, they turned their gaze towards a droning sound in the sky. A single airplane with the German Airforce Cross on the sides buzzed high overhead. As it came closer, it grew louder. It sounded like glass clanging in a steel cup. Then, it changed to a whistle, like a kettle about to blow up. Out of the tailpipe of the plane, a white contrail drew its pathway against the blue sky.
Somewhere in the forest behind them, a massive explosion rocked the air, sending shockwaves through the trees. Seconds later, they gazed at a flotilla in the sky, looking like birds flying in formation … airplanes. The Germans were in Holland!
Danya halted, crying out in panic. “What is that piercing sound? It terrifies me!”
“The air raid sirens are going off! They are giving us warning that bombers are on their way. We must hurry back to the castle!” He took her by the hand as they ran home.
The massive granite blocks in the great hall offered the best site to seek shelter. Hidden between the stones, Manus lit a candle. The air stank of dust, chalk, and mildew. When another bomb fell in the woods near the castle, dust fell from the rafters and two rats scampered by, trying to find safety. Manus wished he could offer shelter for his friends the rats before they disappeared in a crack in the wall. The continual droning of airplanes kept them hunkered down.
As evening fell, the “All Clear” air raid siren sounded a reprieve from the onslaught of dropping bombs. Danya left her hiding place to take a quick look through the window. In the far-away sky, she saw British Spitfires chasing German Stukas. There was no way of knowing who was winning the air battle.
The air raid sirens went off again around 10 o’clock at night. The bombardment continued endlessly through the night. With shrieking noise, shells fell around the castle, setting fires in the woods on the East and South sides. The granite stones where Manus and Danya were hiding vibrated with every explosion. They huddled through the deafening noise, which kept them awake through the night.
In the dark of night, they listened to the news bulletins on the BBC. The news from London was dreadful. German Panzer tanks had overrun the Dutch Defense Forces on the border. The Dutch fought with bravery to protect the bridges over rivers and canals. Despite the enemy’s difficulty taking the bridges, they rapidly advanced to Den Haag, the seat of the Dutch royal palace. The Germans planned to capture the queen and her government officials as quickly as possible.
At last, it was dawn when an eerie quiet fell over the city of Mill. It felt worse than the continuous noise of bombs raining down from the sky. Danya worried about the town where her aunt lived. “I hope my aunt is alright. I wonder how many homes are still standing in the city?” she asked.
She went to the window to survey the damage. “Manus, look! The drawbridge is still standing!” she joyfully announced. “At least we can get across the moat.”
“That is good news. Do not stand by the window,” Manus cautioned. “It is too dangerous. Airplanes may return any time …”
Together, they left on bicycles, listening for the blare of the sirens. They worked their way to the center of town, circumnavigating the craters in the roads. A few houses were still smoking. People were desperate to save what they could.
Closer to town, they noticed more chaos, heavy dust, and wheezing crowds. The streets were a living, breathing dragon of humanity inching away from the center of town, moving westward, fleeing the invaders. The roads resonated with a cacophony of noises, honking horns, people yelling for help, babies crying, elderly moaning, and the smell of sweat heavy in the air.
At the station, the trains of the “Nederlandsche Spoorwegen” stood aimlessly in rows, as if they were discussing where to roll today. Smoke from the engines puffed up towards the arching ceiling. Somewhere, a whistle went off. Immense iron wheels began to churn towards an uncertain destination. On platform number 4, young men carried suitcases, women kissed them goodbye, and children reached out to daddies, begging them to stay home. Slowly, the train took off, and the platform trembled beneath the heavy weight of the machinery.
Danya wondered at the vast crowds of military men at the train station. She craned to see what was going on. In the distance, she recognized Arie in his military uniform giving directions to the young men, who were off to the front. He looked self-assured and confident in his role of commanding officer.
Back on the road, files of shuffling refugees swelled in the streets. Automobiles, bicycles, carts, and children’s wagons loaded with boxes, suitcases, and bags were everywhere. Already the young and old were falling behind and losing hope.
Manus and Danya worked their way in the opposite direction towards the center, where they met with the ravages of the first day of the war. Suddenly, Danya dismounted her bicycle and dropped it to the ground. They had arrived at her aunt’s street, but there was nothing left of her residence. A bomb had made a direct hit and completely razed it into a pile of rubble. Half a dozen neighbors with Red Cross armbands worked feverishly, tossing stones, rocks, pieces of cement, and broken beams in a frantic search for survivors.
Danya held Manus’ arm and stood frozen, gazing in disbelief as she observed people moving in silence hoping to catch the sound of a human, listening for a cry for help from the rubble. Danya walked up to the broken front gate, hanging loose on one hinge. Here, the team leader of the rescue crew met her.
“Are you Danya? Is this your address?” Danya almost missed the entire question. She immediately knew what was coming.
“My aunt and I were the only ones living here,” she answered in a low voice.
“We did everything we could. Emergency personnel transported your aunt’s remains to the morgue. Is there a possibility that others were living with your aunt?” Sobbing, she shook her head.
A neighbor showed up with a wooden chest she had retrieved from the debris. Danya slowly opened it. She spotted the Circassian traditional dress that she had worn at her birthday party in the bottom of the chest. Inside was the walnut box with the fragrance bottle her mother had given her on her birthday. She quietly closed the chest. Today, it had such little meaning. Manus walked over to dry her tears.
In silence, they returned to the castle, which was now Danya’s new home. War had closed her world of dreams for good.
With massive troop movements along the entire border, the German Army charged into Holland with overwhelming force. They failed to capture the queen and her government though, who evacuated to England on May 12.
The Dutch people felt abandoned, left to face the enemy on their own. After the fall of Rotterdam, the German invaders forced the Dutch Armed Forces to capitulate.
Life for the Dutch people under German domination had started in earnest. During the four-year occupation, the Dutch people showed how dear they held their spirit of freedom. They mounted a fierce resistance movement, in which Danya and the Habers brothers would shine as heroic warriors.
Chapter 12
Married by Force Majeure
Three weeks after the German invasion, the local commandant of the SS summoned Arie. Dutch military personnel was ordered to enlist in the Political Police, under the command of the SS. Their responsibility was helping to enforce the Nazi regime’s policies, such as rounding up the Jews. Arie thought this repulsive and unthinkable.
He immediately consulted in secrecy with van Lansfoort, head of the Dutch Intelligence Office in Holland, which had gone underground. Arie had been in close contact with him since the invasion. He had given a lot of thought to joining the underground movement. All he needed was someone to provide him with that final push to enlist.
At the meeting with van Lansfoort, Arie l
earned they were looking for a few intelligence officers with previous experience in the Dutch Army. Van Lansfoort explained they needed to identify a candidate as a double agent, enlisting in the SS Political Police while at the same time serving as an informant for her Majesty’s Intelligence Bureau in London. With a handful of other Dutch Army officers, they would be the eyes and ears of the people, spying on German military activities on a full-time basis.
“I want you to be one of our double agents,” van Lansfoort told Arie bluntly. “We already saw you at work in Eschelbaum. Once enlisted in the SS Political Police, you will be called on to join the Gestapo in roundups of Jews destined for German concentration camps. Your goal is to perform to such an extent that you rise to the highest levels in the German Command structure. Once you sit in on high-level planning sessions, you will be able to capture valuable intelligence and transmit it to London. You will excel for these reasons: You speak German without an accent, and your physique, flaxen blond hair and blue eyes make you a certain Aryan type. What is even more significant is the fact that you are Circassian. Working under stealth conditions is part of your genetics. With both hands on Arie’s shoulders, he recited the pledge of loyalty to the Dutch Royal Crown: “For God, Country, and Queen.” Arie remembered his father’s words about fighting with courage to the death. The moment had arrived to allow himself to be a full-blooded Circassian. Gratified to find his niche as an officer finally, he was not going to disappoint.
Arie’s tall, athletic physique, blond hair and blue eyes—hallmarks of a pure Aryan—made him a shoe-in for a critical position with the Gestapo. The Gestapo Commander appointed him to the chief, in charge of the Census Bureau for the city of Mill. Arie could not believe his good fortune to join the enemy’s top-secret bureaucracy. Now he had direct access to essential population lists, with sensitive details about the ethnic origin of each civilian. The Gestapo based their roundups on local census records to determine whom to send to the concentration camps.
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