But he was losing a lot of blood. Using the knife, she ripped the bed sheets and pillowcases into strips for bandages. When she finished, Anna leaned over and whispered in the big man’s ear, “Otto?”
No response.
“Otto?”
He mumbled and opened his eyes.
Anna could see that he was struggling to focus. “Otto, listen to me. I’ve got to roll you on your side, but you’ve got to help me. Do you understand?”
He closed his eyes and she slapped him on the cheek. “Otto, stay with me. Do you understand? You’ve got to help me.”
Otto opened his eyes and nodded. With a painful grunt he rolled onto his side.
Chapter 69
JAN WAS DUMBFOUNDED as he stood on the sidewalk, staring at the Leffards’ burned-out house. Ever since that day in July when he climbed aboard the Dakota and flew out of Poland, his one hope of finding Anna had been here.
Jan was certain that it was to this house on the Cogels-Osylei, the home of her dearest friends and surrogate parents, that Anna would come if she had gotten out of Poland. He stared at the boarded-up windows and charred door, and felt nauseated.
An hour later, pushing his way through the raucous, celebrating crowd that filled the Grote Markt, Jan spotted Sam sitting at a small table outside the café Den Engle. As he approached the table, the tall silver-haired man stood up to greet him. He gripped Jan’s hand in both of his own. “Bonjour, Colonel. It’s good to see you again. Thank God you’re safe.”
Jan managed a smile and they sat down.
“Would you like a beer?” Sam asked, pointing to his own half-full glass. “It’s still of very poor quality but, today, it tastes much better.”
“Oui, that would be fine,” Jan said.
When the waiter brought the beer, Sam raised his glass. “It’s a great day for Belgium…and a great day for freedom.”
Jan smiled at his new friend and raised his glass. Somehow, after everything he’d been through the last few years, it no longer seemed odd to feel a kinship with someone whose name he didn’t even know. He wondered if Sam was married, if he had children, and what he had done for a living—before the war took all that away.
They sat in silence for several minutes.
Then Sam leaned across the table. “You look as though something’s troubling you. Is anything wrong? I heard the mission went very well.”
Jan studied the tall, urbane man sitting across the table.
“You can trust me, Colonel,” Sam persisted.
Jan nodded slowly. It had been a long time since he’d had a friend he could trust, perhaps not since Stefan was killed. But he had already trusted Sam with his life. His only hope of finding Anna had been dashed, and he needed help. He had to take a chance. “I took some time this afternoon to visit a friend of my wife’s family.”
“Your wife has friends here in Antwerp?”
“Oui, they have a home on the Cogels-Osylei.”
Sam set his glass down. “What is their name?”
“Leffard,” Jan said, “Rene and Mimi Leffard. But when I went to their home, I found…”
Sam’s face went pale. He leaned across the table, staring at Jan. “That it was burned out and vacant?”
Jan sat back, stunned. “Oui… but…do you know them?”
“Oui, oui, bien sûr. I know…knew…them.” Sam rubbed his forehead, silent for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “Mon dieu! I should have guessed it from your accent—you’re Polish. Is it possible? Are you Jan Kopernik?”
Jan stared at him, speechless.
“Rene and Mimi Leffard were my closest friends,” Sam continued, his eyes moist. “And yes…your wife, Anna, and the boy, Justyn, were here in Antwerp, living with the Leffards. I met them both, many times.”
Jan struggled to breathe. What were the chances…? Then the image of the Leffards’ burned-out house came back. He forced the words out. “What happened?”
Sam closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “The Leffards were arrested by the Gestapo.”
Jan flinched; his throat tightened.
Sam reached across the table and gripped his arm. “Non, non, I’m sorry. Anna wasn’t with them, neither was Justyn.”
Jan shook his head. “I don’t…”
Sam continued quickly, “Please, forgive me. Let me start at the beginning.”
Jan sat spellbound as Sam told him of how Anna and Justyn came to Belgium, of Irene’s death, and of the chalet in the Ardennes, of van Acker and the Marchals. He told him about Leffard’s connection with the White Brigade and Anna’s involvement in the Comet Line. He paused several times to collect himself then finally stopped, took a deep breath and stared off into the distance. He was silent for a moment as if trying to summon the strength to continue. In a halting voice he told Jan about how they had been betrayed…how it had cost the lives of van Acker, the Marchals…and the Leffards.
“Thank God, Justyn escaped,” Sam said, wiping away a tear. “He somehow managed to get to Antwerp. He’s safe now, living with a trusted friend…a man named Auguste, in Merksem.”
Jan’s hands trembled and perspiration trickled down his neck. He whispered, “Anna?”
“She was gone…on a mission for the Comet Line.”
The two men stared at each other for a long time.
Jan looked down at the table. “And, you haven’t heard from her.”
“Non. But that doesn’t mean that—”
“I know what it means,” Jan snapped. He stood abruptly, the metal chair falling over, clattering on the cobblestones. He turned and walked away.
Jan stood in the middle of the square, staring blankly at a large medieval statue of a warrior throwing a hand. He thought of the small cut-glass hand that had been Anna’s. Was this it? he wondered…the symbol of Antwerp?
He ran his hand through his hair and looked around. People were drinking and dancing, laughing and waving flags. But he could barely hear them; it was as though he were deaf. This can’t be happening, he thought. Not now…not when they were so close.
Think, he told himself. Think, be positive. Anna had made it this far. She was tough and resourceful. He had to have faith, to focus on one thing at a time. She hadn’t been arrested with the Leffards, so she was out there…somewhere.
Sam joined him. After a moment he said, “Your wife meant a great deal to the Leffards. She and Justyn were like family to them.” He paused and their eyes met, Sam’s filled with the hard look of determination Jan had seen that night at the Kattendijkdok. “There was nothing I could do to help Rene and Mimi, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to help you find Anna.”
Jan swallowed hard and gripped the silver-haired man’s shoulder.
“I have to go to a briefing now,” Sam said. “Will you meet me at the Café Brig for dinner…six o’clock?”
Jan nodded. “There’s just one more thing I’d like to know. What’s your name?”
Sam smiled and held out his hand. “It’s Willy. Willy Boeynants.”
The Café Brig was a noisy, rowdy place when Jan arrived. The celebrating crowd had spilled onto the street where dozens of hardy men hoisted beer glasses in the air, shouting and singing Flemish songs. Inside it was the same. A boisterous throng of tough-looking men that Jan guessed were mostly dockworkers, and a smattering of equally tough-looking women.
He pushed his way to the bar, managed to get a beer and found a small table in the back of the room. The beer was watery, but he hardly noticed as he sat there, staring vacantly at the jubilant patrons, still trying to process the mind-numbing news.
The tragic chronology of events marched through his mind again, and he became overwhelmed with frustration. He and Anna had come so far, they had been so close…and now this. The staggering revelation was like a heavy weight descending on him. Anna had actually made it here, to Antwerp, and now she was…missing? Had she been arrested? Injured? Was she in jail somewhere in France? Or had she been sent to…?
&nbs
p; Jan took a hard swallow of his beer and almost choked. He thought about Irene, dying in a train station in Prague and Justyn, now an orphan. He had been within fifty meters of Justyn just a few days ago and hadn’t realized it. Even now, the boy was just a kilometer away but sealed off in Merksem, trapped under the heel of the same German bastards he’d been fighting for five years.
He needed air. He got to his feet and pushed through the crowd. His eyes were blurry and he was dizzy. A woman yelled something as he bumped into her, but he scarcely noticed.
Outside, he stood on the quay staring at the stagnant water in the ancient dock. A string of barges were tied up alongside, laden with coal. The sky had darkened and a light drizzle fell, causing some of the crowd to disperse.
Jan knew that staying in control would take every ounce of the self-discipline his military training had taught him. A rage burned within him, a rage that had been smoldering for five years and was about to boil over. He took a deep breath and looked up at the cloudy sky. The rain felt good.
“Jan!”
He heard his name and turned around. It was Willy Boeynants.
“You’re not going to jump in, are you?”
“Non,” Jan replied grimly. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Let’s get some dinner.” Boeynants put his hand on Jan’s shoulder and led the way back inside.
It turned out there was another, quieter room tucked away in the back of the café. There were only a few tables, and Boeynants obviously had the right connections. A waiter appeared with a bottle of red wine and two glasses then quickly departed.
Boeynants filled both glasses, then glanced around the room making eye contact and subtle acknowledgements with the other patrons.
Jan guessed they were all with the White Brigade.
Boeynants took a sip of his wine, then leaned across the table. He spoke quietly. “About an hour ago, Antoine and I attended a briefing with Colonel Canfield and a few other British and Canadian officers.” He paused, making sure he had Jan’s full attention. “A brigade has been assembled to attempt a crossing of the Albert Canal into Merksem.”
“When?” Jan asked, instantly focused.
“Tonight. They’ll shove off at midnight in assault boats.”
“Who do I report to?”
“Jan, listen to me…”
“Goddamn it, Willy,” Jan hissed. “After what you told me this afternoon, you know I’ve got to go.”
“Oui, oui. That’s why I’m telling you.” He took another sip of wine.
Jan sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…well, you know. Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“You’ll report to a Major Duncan. Antoine has advised him of your real identity and what your purpose is in joining the mission. You’re to report to him at 2300 hours at the south end of what used to be the Yserbrug.”
Jan nodded.
“The objective of the mission is to secure a bridgehead on the Merksem side of the canal and hold it long enough for the engineers to get a Bailey Bridge across.”
Jan looked down at the table. The Albert Canal was over fifty meters wide. They’d be paddling across at night—in small boats—for a frontal assault on a secured position. Who the hell thought this one up?
Boeynants said, “Jan, you don’t have to go. You could wait…”
“I’m going,” Jan said. He understood what Boeynants was trying to tell him. This was a high-risk mission and he’d be of no use to Justyn if he got killed.
“I’ve drawn a map for you,” Boeynants said, handing him a small, folded piece of paper. “Auguste’s house is on Beukenhofstraat. It’s marked on the map.”
Chapter 70
IT WAS RAINING HARDER. Jan stood on the wharf along the Albert Canal watching British engineers lower the assault boats into the water. He had heard they could hold twenty men with two machine gunners in the prow. The wind had picked up, and there was a chop on the canal. The boats looked very small.
A White Brigade commander named Johann stood next to Jan, looking through the gloom across the canal. He shook his head and grunted in heavily accented English, “Fuckin’ disaster this is going to be.” He spat on the ground. “If the goddamn Brits would have listened to us, we could have saved these bridges. Now we’re going to attack German machine guns in little boats.”
Jan looked at the husky dockworker and nodded in agreement. The wreckage of the dynamited Yserbrug was just fifty meters away.
Johann and twelve other White Brigade soldiers familiar with Merksem were going along as guides for the British troops. Jan thought about the briefing they’d just had. It would be a tall order. The area of Merksem near the canal was heavily industrial, a snarl of narrow streets winding among massive brick buildings, factory yards, fences, and piles of steel and coal. They had no real maps, it was dark and raining, and the enemy was well dug in. If he had any hope of finding Justyn, his first task would be to avoid getting killed in the first hour.
Major Duncan gave the order. The British troopers and White Brigade guides lowered themselves down the quay into the boats and pushed off. There were twenty-six of them, strung out over a half-kilometer.
They were halfway across when a burst of machine-gun fire erupted from the Merksem side of the canal. A boat capsized. Men cursed and screamed, thrashing in the cold water.
Then all hell broke loose.
German machine gunners ripped the water up and down the canal. Boats sunk, men screamed, flailing the water, weighted down by heavy boots and packs.
From the Antwerp side, British artillery crews launched a barrage across the canal.
Jan hunkered down and paddled with every ounce of his strength.
The sergeant in command of the boat yelled, “Open Fire!” and the two submachine gunners in the prow blasted the shoreline.
A soldier on Jan’s right grunted and slumped over the side, his head dragging in the water.
Another grunt, from the back of the boat, and a soldier fell forward. The tiny craft rocked wildly, and Jan was certain it would capsize.
“Goddamn it! Stay down!” the sergeant screamed. “Paddle! Harder! We’re almost there!”
Clattering machine guns and thumping artillery shells echoed off the water in a deafening, paralyzing crescendo. The night sky blazed with fireworks.
Jan hunched lower and dug his paddle deep in the water, his head pounding.
They jarred to a stop.
“Grappling hooks!” the sergeant yelled.
Two men stood up and tossed heavy ropes with steel hooks onto the quay. The boat rocked and Jan bashed his head on the concrete wall. He felt a thick hand under his arm, and suddenly he was on dry land.
The sergeant screamed, “Get moving!” and they scrambled across the road.
German machine gunners fired up and down the line. Men toppled back into the canal. Jan tripped over a fallen soldier and fell on the cobblestones. He rolled, got to his feet and lurched toward a building.
Suddenly it was quiet. The British cut off the artillery barrage, and the German machine gunners ran out of targets.
Jan looked around. He was huddled with a group of about thirty men. He recognized only a few from his boat. Major Duncan squatted a few meters away, trying to raise someone on the radio.
They were alongside some type of factory. Across the street was a high, chain-link fence. Jan knew from the map Boeynants had drawn that the main road running along the canal was the Vaartkaai. Auguste’s home on Beukenhofstraat would be less than a kilometer northeast.
Major Duncan was off the radio and moved to the center of the group. “All right, chaps, listen up. I’ve made contact with two other units. They’re both to the east of us. We’re going to move out, single file, hugging the buildings. Right, let’s go.”
It had been a long time since Jan was part of a battle group where someone else gave the orders. But he put his head down and followed.
Twenty-four hours later it was still raining, and the
y were pinned down among the maze of factory buildings along the Vaartkaai. The Germans had snipers on top of buildings and hidden in trenches. They had machine gunners positioned at strategic intersections, and panzer units clanked through the narrow streets, picking off British platoons trying to penetrate inland.
Jan looked around at the young British soldiers huddled nearby. They were no different from the Polish soldiers he had commanded at the Bzura River and in the Kampinos Forest. He knew exactly what they were thinking. It was obvious the mission was a failure, and the only thoughts going through the young troopers’ minds were whether or not they’d get out alive.
“Colonel?” The voice came from behind him. It was a British corporal. “Major Duncan would like a word with you, sir.”
Keeping low, Jan followed the corporal, sloshing through puddles of oily water, along the side of a brick building with shot-out windows. Ahead, Jan spotted a group of officers and the White Brigade commander, Johann, gathered around a radioman.
Major Duncan looked up as Jan approached and stepped over to meet him. He spoke quickly. “We’ll be withdrawing back across the canal at 0300. The artillery barrage from the Antwerp side will begin at 0245.”
Jan glanced at his watch. Less than an hour.
“We’re still trying to round up all of our units,” Duncan said, his eyes acknowledging the difficult tactical situation. “Do you know where you’re headed, sir?”
“Yes. The street is called Beukenhofstraat. It’s northeast of here, on the other side of the Bredabaan. I’m sure I can find my way. I’ll stay here until your boats are launched, then—”
“Sir,” Duncan interrupted, “if you don’t mind, I have a plan to assist you.”
“Major, I cannot allow any of your men to be put at risk on my behalf.”
Night of Flames Page 36
