Of Windmills and War

by Diane Moody

  Lane showed up a while later, clean from a shower. “That’ll wake you up,” he said, still towel drying his hair.

  “What’s that?” Danny asked.

  “That shower. Whew!” He shook off a shiver. “I think my goose bumps have goose bumps!” He threw his towel on the bunk above Danny’s.

  “That’s why I took a bath.”

  “Wait—you took a bath? Was it warm?”

  “Warm enough. The ladies heated some water over the fire and filled the tub for me. Nice and toasty.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “So how was your dinner?”

  Lane pulled his chair close to Danny’s bedside and lowered his voice. “Do I even want to know what that was?”

  “Nah. But keep it to yourself. These poor folks have had it rough. And just so you know, someone most likely skipped a meal so you could have it.”

  Lane propped his feet up on the end of Danny’s bed, crossing his ankles. “I kinda wondered about that. They’re all paper thin.” He shook his head while raking his fingers through his damp hair. “I can’t even imagine, can you?”

  “No. But I’ll tell you one thing. It sure makes what we do worthwhile.”

  “That’s for sure. All of it.”

  Danny leaned his head back against the pillows. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our crew. The guys who went down with Sophie. I still can’t believe they’re gone.”

  Lane took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “I kept thinking about them the whole time I was out there hiding. And I realized, when you get right down to it, we’re all just a bunch of kids. Barely out of high school, some of these guys. And yet here we are, on the other side of the world, flying these great big Fortresses—”

  “Like sitting ducks—”

  “Like sitting ducks. But I look around here and see these people . . . and I think, they’re why we do it. I never really thought about that before. Up in our birds, we don’t see them face to face.”

  “You have no idea. Spend some time talking to them and you’ll understand even more. The stories they tell are—well, there aren’t even words to describe them.”

  “I would but they’re sending me back to base in the morning.”

  “What?” Danny sat up.

  “I guess you’d be going too, but with your injuries they didn’t want to risk it. Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell me you had a concussion?”

  “It’s not important,” Danny said, waving him off. “How are you getting back? They can’t exactly put you on a flight out of here.”

  “I’m not sure. They didn’t tell us.” Lane stood up and stretched, then climbed to the upper bunk. “Apparently it’s a bit of cloak and dagger, so they’ll tell us only when we need to know. They have a team that does this regularly. Sure hope they know what they’re doing.”

  “A team?”

  “A guy and some girl I haven’t met yet.”

  Of course. Eduard had told him Anya often helped run the pilot lines.

  “Danny?”

  “Yes?”

  “You got awfully quiet. You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, buddy, I haven’t slept in two days. I’m beat, so I think I’ll—”

  “Goodnight, Lane. Glad you made it here safe, buddy.”

  A freight train roared from the top bunk in response. Danny smiled, then climbed under the covers. He socked both pillows, trying to get comfortable. His foot was bothering him and the dull headache wasn’t so dull anymore. When he finally settled in, he felt a troubled wave wash over him. It had nothing to do with his physical ailments.

  Anya was leaving in the morning—with Lane and those RAF guys, who all happened to be shaking the rafters with their snores at the moment. Danny turned on his side to face the wall, jamming one of the pillows over his head to muffle the roar.

  But no matter what he did, Danny couldn’t push the image of Anya’s face from his mind. The sadness in her eyes made his heart literally ache in his chest. But it was more than that. What worried him most was the wall he sensed going up between them again.

  And you have no one to blame but yourself.

  52

  Pre-dawn, 01 April 1945

  Danny awoke early from a restless sleep. He couldn’t stand the thought of roosting in his bed for another minute. Besides, he needed to find a bathroom. An oil lamp cast a soft light in the corner near the radio. He spotted the kid with the red hair, his head resting on folded arms on the table, the headset askew on his head. Otherwise the room remained dark. He mustered the strength to sit up and pivot, putting his feet on the floor. As he sat there, trying to figure out how to get across the room, he spotted a broom. He hopped over to it and practiced balancing as much of his weight as he could. Satisfied, he made his way to the stairs and began the long ascent.

  Finally reaching the first floor, he got his bearings then quickly maneuvered his way to the tiny bathroom. Afterward, he limped into the kitchen. Maybe I can make myself a cup of—

  “Goedemorgen.”

  “Ah!” Danny jumped, almost losing balance. “You scared me half to death!”

  Eduard hopped up to guide Danny to the table. “I assure you that wasn’t my intent.”

  “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” Danny said, taking a seat.

  “I do my best thinking when it’s quiet, before the day begins. Could I fix you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, hoping it tasted better than Greta’s brew.

  “What brings you upstairs this time of the morning—other than nature’s call?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I thought the guys in my quarters back on base snored a lot, but I had no idea. Those guys down there could do some serious damage to your foundation with those snores.”

  Eduard chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But they all need their rest. Particularly those we picked up last night.”

  Danny propped his foot on one of the other chairs. “Lane told me you have a team taking them back to base today.”

  “Yes, that’s true. They won’t take them across the Pond, but they’ll deliver them safely to the shore. Fishing boat will take them the rest of the way. When pilots come in with no injuries, it’s best to move them out as soon as possible. We never know when we’ll have more coming in. It’s much more difficult to move twelve or fifteen than just a handful.”

  “I can see that.”

  Eduard returned with a mug of coffee. “There you go. I’m sorry I can offer you no sugar.”

  “Not a problem. So how does this work, your team taking them back to base? They can’t exactly just walk out of here.”

  “That’s true,” Eduard said, taking a seat. “We have a complicated system of contacts in place. We alert them ahead of time how many we are transporting and when. Of course, we’ll outfit them in civilian clothing so they blend in.”

  “Makes sense,” Danny said after sipping the tolerable coffee. “I’d think such a system would be quite risky.”

  “You’d be correct.”

  Danny leaned forward, cupping his hands around the mug. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How is it that you do all this under the nose of the Germans? So many people coming and going is bound to arouse their suspicions? Does the Gestapo never knock on your door?”

  “Since we’re located so near the border, we must stay constantly alert. You see, we’re only a few kilometers from Gronau, the closest town just over the border in Germany. So it was quite easy for the Germans to set up a command center here when the Occupation began. In fact, it was one of the first established in The Netherlands and one of the first Dutch cities to fall when the invasion began. But we’ve played the game well.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We have people placed in strategic locations to alert us in all aspects of those who rule over us.”

  “Do you mean you have Resistance workers posing as members of the Gestapo?”

  Eduard leaned back, his finger tracing the rim of h
is chipped mug. “Lieutenant, I do not wish to be rude, but it is best you do not know the details of our operation here. For your protection and for ours.” Eduard pulled out his pocket watch and stood up. “Frederic should be waking the boys any time now.”

  Anya appeared at the door, her eyes fixed on a button she was fastening on her sleeve. “Eduard, have you heard from The Hague this—”

  “Good morning, Anya,” Eduard interrupted.

  She looked up then turned her eyes in Danny’s direction. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Hello, Anya,” he said quietly.

  “Hello.”

  Eduard looked back and forth between them. “Yes, well, I shall check downstairs to see if the boys are up and see about our arrangements.” He shuffled down the hall toward the stairs.

  Anya made her way to the coffee pot. “I didn’t realize you’d be up so early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was restless, so I dragged myself up the stairs. I suppose I needed a change of scenery.”

  She didn’t respond, her back still toward him. He noted her clothing—a worn black shirt at least a couple of sizes too big, a black, baggy pair of men’s pants, black boots, and her hair tucked inside her leather cap. From the back, he wouldn’t have known it was a woman.

  “Lane tells me you’ll be accompanying them on their journey today.”

  She turned, sipping from the cup. She winced. “I shall never get used to this.”

  “The coffee?”

  “You’re most kind to call it that. Actually it’s—”

  “Don’t tell me,” he said, waving a palm toward her. “I’d rather not know.”

  A faint smile showed, nothing more, as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “No cats or rats or dogs. Just brown beans which are burnt to look like coffee beans. Unfortunately they do not taste much like coffee. But it has to do.”

  “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat then spoke quietly. “Anya, could we please talk?”

  She looked down into her cup. “I think now is not the time.”

  “Only for a moment? I can’t bear to see you go until I can apologize.”

  She shook her head. “It is not necessary.”

  He tried to stand, and she came closer. “Your ankle. You should not be standing on it.”

  “Then will you come sit here? Please?”

  She inhaled, then slowly let her breath out as she took the seat beside him. “Danny, you are very stubborn, I think.”

  “Funny, that’s what Hans used to say about you,” he said, settling back.

  She looked up at him so quickly, he felt sure he’d blown it again. Then a trace of her smile was back. “Yes, I would imagine. How I loved to annoy him.”

  He said nothing for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He fought the urge to reach for her hand. “I can’t forgive myself for causing you such pain last night. I have no excuse. I didn’t think, I just . . . but if you could possibly find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”

  She kept her eyes on the cup in her hand. “Do not make such a promise, Danny.”

  “Why not?”

  She paused. “Because war is not the time for such things.”

  When she said nothing more, he asked, “Will you come back? After you take the men, will you come back here to this safe house?”

  “I don’t know. It depends where I am needed.”

  “You’re needed here—I need you. Can you please just try to come back? We need to . . . I believe there’s a reason we—”

  She abruptly stood. “You ask too much.” She took her cup to the sink.

  He stood up, grabbed the broom, and hobbled over to her. “Anya, listen to me.”

  She turned, surprised to see him beside her. “What are you doing? You should not be standing.” She took his arm as if to help him back to the table.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to him even though she stiffened at his touch. “What do I have to do to get through to you? I’m not the enemy, Anya! It’s me—Danny. And all I’m asking is your forgiveness for opening my stupid mouth!”

  She searched his eyes, mere inches from him now, and the nearness of her drove him nearly mad. Still, he fought the desire to pull her closer, knowing one more wrong move would be the end for them. “Please don’t push me away,” he whispered.

  He sensed the slightest change in her, if only a little—not quite so rigid. Still, she studied him, as if searching his face for answers. Then, ever so slowly she closed her eyes and melted against him, her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Danny . . .”

  He held her silently, so afraid to spoil the moment, afraid she’d bolt from his embrace. He leaned his head on top of hers, holding her close, breathing in the fragrance of her. “Please, Anya, just give me a chance. Don’t push me away. I need you.”

  “But I’m so scared to let you—”

  “Don’t be scared. I’m here for you. Let me be here for you. We can—”

  “Well, well, well!” Lane said, stepping into the kitchen.

  She pulled away from him, putting distance between them as Danny turned around, almost losing his balance.

  “There, now, McClain, let me help you,” his navigator said, leading him back to his chair.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Danny plopped into the chair as Lane went to Anya’s side.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He held out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Lane Pendergrass, United States Army Air Force, happy to make your acquaintance. And you are?”

  She busied her hands, tucking her hair more firmly under her cap. “I am Eva. Along with Gastön, I will be accompanying you and the others today.”

  Danny wondered at the false name she’d given, but assumed it was part of the routine. He avoided eye contact with Lane as the other RAF men crowded into the kitchen. They all wore rugged clothing, looking nothing like airmen.

  Eduard followed Frederic into the kitchen. “Gastön, if you will brief the men, Eva and I will load up the supplies in the truck. We have packed some food for this first part of your journey. You will be fed at the next safe house once you arrive.

  “If you will follow me,” Gastön/Frederic instructed, leading the men into the living room known as the zitkamer. As they shuffled into the next room, Lane paused beside Danny, shaking his hand. “Sure hate to leave you behind, McClain.” He leaned over, lowering his voice substantially. “Here’s hoping for a slow recovery, eh? She’s a real looker.” He patted Danny on the back and left before Danny could say anything.

  Danny stretched the kinks out of his neck before looking back at Anya. She and Eduard put a large bag into a box along with some tins of what looked like crackers. Eduard hoisted the box and made his way to the back door.

  “Anya—”

  “I must go,” she said, sticking some tulip bulbs into her pockets. At least he assumed that’s what they were.

  “Will you come back?”

  She stopped beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Danny. I will come back. A day or two.”

  He placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  She met his eyes briefly, then she was gone.

  53

  They’d just passed through their third roadblock, once again rumbling down the horribly pitted dirt road. Frederic’s impeccable German kept the gated stops well greased, along with his many generous donations of Lucky Strikes to the German soldiers, most of whom knew him well. To them, he was Gastön van Dam, a Dutch truck driver and German sympathizer who never stopped complaining about his “insatiable wife Mathilde.” The German soldiers loved to hear of Gastön’s many bedroom escapades with his young, eager, and adoring wife. They’d long ago stopped checking Gastön’s cargo, which he’d assured them time and again were important supplies for Seyss-Inquart, the German Reichskommissar over Holland—never giving more than a cursory look at the bed of
the truck. Had they investigated more carefully, they might have noticed the many cartons loaded in the back of the truck were the same ones he carried week in and week out. Had they investigated even further, they might have discovered the false front of the truck’s bed where the more precious cargo was hidden—Allied airmen on their way back to England.

  Instead, Gastön’s German buddies at the roadblocks preferred to crowd around the cab where the driver gave them colorful, graphic descriptions of his husbandly duties. They never paid much attention to Anya, disguised as Gastön’s fictitious mute brother who always slept through these visits. “Not even God himself could wake my lazy brother!” he often lamented. With loud laughter and a good many animated gestures, the guards enjoyed their visits and sent them on their way. Anya understood enough German to know the wild web of lies about the non-existent Mathilde. As long as the ruse got them through the roadblocks, she didn’t care what “Gastön” said.

  As they neared Utrecht, Anya’s heart grew heavy. Her hometown looked vastly different from the beloved place where she grew up. Like much of Holland, the war had taken its toll on Utrecht, leaving wide areas with nothing more than pile after pile of rubble. Whole city blocks were left in ruin with mangled beams of steel, twisted and ugly in the smoldering ashes. It was the same everywhere, but it bothered her here most of all. She hadn’t been back to her city block or the house she’d called home in years. She didn’t have to see it to know it too was probably gone. She’d rather not know.

  With sunrise only moments away, they pulled up to the large stone safe house just outside of town to the east. Once Frederic pulled around to the back of the house, he backed up the vehicle to the sheltered side building and shut off the engine. Anya quickly made her way around the truck, hopping inside to the camouflaged secret door. Unlatching it, the men inside spilled out.

  “Where are we?” one of the RAF pilots asked, yawning.

  “Just outside of Utrecht. Please, come this way,” she said, showing them into the building. Inside, the aroma of cooked meat made Anya’s stomach growl. A long table was already set for breakfast. She ushered the men inside.