Scent of Triumph

by Jan Moran

  Max paused with his glass in mid-air. “Impossible.”

  “Anything is possible.” Jon brushed broken crystal into the wastebasket and straightened.

  Danielle arched an eyebrow. “Is that why we’re zigzagging?”

  Jon shot a look at Max. “Smart one, your wife. I’ll grant you that, Danielle, but it’s just a safety measure. U-Boats aren’t a threat to passenger liners.”

  Pressure built in her head. “Like the Lusitania?”

  “That was a long time ago,” Jon said. “A disaster like that couldn’t happen today.”

  “And why not?”

  “There are measures to ensure against such errors,” Jon replied. “In times of war, every captain checks Lloyd’s Register to compare ships. It’s obvious that this is a passenger ship, not an armed destroyer. It’s virtually impossible to make such a mistake.”

  Her mind whirred. “But you said anything is possible.”

  “Today, there are rules of war,” Jon said. “An initial shot across the bow must be fired in warning.”

  Max tossed the vodka down his throat and gave a wry grin. “Is that why you have been holding court in the stern, Jon?”

  “I confess, you’re on to me, old boy. But seriously, we’d have time to signal to a Nazi vessel that we’re not armed.”

  Nazis. A horrible thought gripped Danielle. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Max, you know what the Nazis are doing to Jews in Germany.”

  “The Polish army is not yet defeated, my dear.”

  Nausea swelled within her. “How can you be so calm? My mother is Jewish and that makes Nicky one-quarter Jewish. You know the German law, you know what the Nazis could do to him.”

  “He is just a child.” Max looked weary. “You were raised in your father’s faith, you are Catholic. Nicky was also baptized. How would the Nazis find out anything different?”

  But she knew they had ways. And for the hundredth time, the same thought haunted her. Oh, why did I leave Nicky? And how is poor Sofia?

  Max glanced at Jon. “We should go now.” Max walked to the door. Without turning he paused, his voice thick. “I am sorry for your perfumes, Danielle. I am sorry for everything.”

  She caught her breath. Max seldom offered an apology. To him, it was a sign of defeat. A feeling of dread spread through her.

  Jon opened the door, held it. She snatched her purse and followed Max through the door way.

  Other passengers jostled past in the crowded corridor and Danielle could smell fear rising in the air like a heat wave. “Rotten Krauts,” they heard someone say. She saw Max stiffen.

  When they came to the open air promenade deck, Danielle glanced out over the stormy sea, but she could see little in the murky mist.

  Jon followed her gaze. “We’ve got a heavy fog rolling in.”

  The moist air held the scented promise of rain. “It’s so dim,” she said. “Jon, why aren’t the running lights on?”

  “We’re blacked out for security reasons.”

  They arrived at the first class lounge where tense passengers crowded shoulder to shoulder. Jon excused himself to take his place at the front as the owner representative. A hush spread when the grim-faced captain approached the podium.

  “Thank you for your attention,” the captain began. “Two days ago, Hitler’s Nazi Germany violated a European peace agreement. Now, through the miracle of wireless, we have a reply from the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.”

  He nodded to a crew member. The loud speakers crackled to life and a nervous murmur rippled across the room.

  England was on the airwaves.

  The radio announcer was speaking about Poland. “Blitzkrieg,” he called the German attack.

  “Lightening war,” Max said sadly.

  “Oh, no.” Danielle clutched her pearls, squeezed her eyes against hot tears and turned her face against Max’s chest.

  Max slid a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “It’s my fault, I should have already relocated our family.”

  The radio crackled again. “And now, Prime Minister Chamberlain.”

  “This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.”

  Chamberlain’s voice sounded burdened, yet resolute. “I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

  A collective gasp filled the room, and Danielle felt her stomach churn as the broadcast continued.

  At its end, the captain stepped aside and Jon took his place at the podium. “Tomorrow, when we arrive, all German and Polish passengers will be required to remain in England.” Jon’s voice boomed over the murmuring tide. “Newell-Grey agents will be available to assist and accommodate you. We shall keep you informed as we receive additional information.”

  Danielle pressed a hand to her mouth. Who knew it would come to this? A sudden clamminess overtook her, and now her nausea returned with unbridled force. She bolted through the crowd for the outer deck. She reached the railing, leaned over, gulped for air. The wind whipped her yellow scarf from her neck.

  Max followed, and Jon rushed after them. They stood gazing through the shifting fog into the bleak waters below. Max draped an arm across her shoulders and looked across at Jon. “Her sickness is much worse with this pregnancy.”

  “It’s okay, old girl, give it up,” Jon was saying, his eyes fixed on the ocean, when he suddenly stopped. His face froze.

  A sleek, narrow wake rippled the surface.

  “What the—” began Max.

  “Get down,” Jon bellowed. He leapt across them, his powerful body crashing them to the deck.

  In the next instant, a violent impact shot them across the deck. An explosion ripped into the bowels of the great ship. Screams pierced the haze, and the ship’s massive framework buckled with a deafening roar.

  “Torpedoes,” Jon shouted. He crushed his hand over Danielle’s head and cursed under his breath. “Stay down.”

  An icy burst enveloped them like a sheet and soaked them to the flesh. Danielle gasped in terror.

  Another explosion rocked the ship. Wood and metal twisted with a grating screech as the ship listed to the starboard side, rolling like a wounded whale. The ship’s structure groaned and folded under her own weight, frigid salt water poured into her open wounds.

  Jon struggled to his feet. “Take my hand, Danielle, we must reach the lifeboats. This way, Max.” Jon dragged Danielle behind him. “Nazi bastards. This is preposterous, just like the Lusitania.” Suddenly he stopped, and pulled his shoulders back. He turned to face the dazed crowd behind him.

  “Attention.” Jon’s voice rang with urgent authority. “We must proceed quickly and calmly to the lifeboats.”

  Amidst the chaos, people turned to follow.

  Danielle reached for Jon’s hand again, stumbling on something in her haste. Mon Dieu, that smell! She put her other hand to her nose, caught her breath, wiped stinging water from her eyes and blinked. A woman she’d met just yesterday lay bloodied at her feet. She smothered a scream, then reached down to help the woman.

  Jon caught her arm. “Don’t, it’s no use, Danielle. She’s gone.”

  “No, she can’t be,” Danielle cried. She’d never seen a dead person before. Except for the blood soaking the deck beneath her, the woman appeared merely unconscious. Then she saw that the back of the woman’s skull was gone and she started to retch.

  Jon shoved his handkerchief into her hand to wipe her mouth. “Keep going!”

  Soon they came upon a lifeboat that dangled above them like a toy.

  “Max, give us a hand, we haven’t much time.”

  Water poured over the rail and mixed with the dead woman’s blood, sloshing across the deck and staining it a deep crimson. All around them people slid across the tilting deck, scream
ing in hysteria. Danielle lost her balance, along with one leather pump that tumbled into the pandemonium. She kicked off her other shoe and clung to the railing.

  Jon and Max began to toss life vests from the boat into the crowd.

  Danielle’s heart raced at the sight of the life vests. “Are we...are we going to sink?”

  Jon’s jaw twitched. “Just put on one of these.”

  “But I can’t swim.”

  “You won’t have to if you’re wearing this.”

  Despite her panic, Danielle fumbled with the strings on the vest. Jon and Max worked feverishly to free the lifeboats. Within moments, several crew members arrived and began to herd women and children into the boats.

  Max checked her knotted vest and kissed Danielle while the first boat was lowered. “You go now. I’ll see you soon.”

  Jon motioned to her. “Get in,” he roared.

  She glanced at the lifeboat and terror gripped her chest. She’d never liked small crafts, had nearly drowned off one when she was a child. “Max, I can’t.”

  “I’ll be right behind you, my love.” Max pressed her close and kissed her again.

  Jon grabbed her arm. “Danielle, people are waiting.”

  “No, Jon, I–I can’t get into that boat. I’ll stay with Max.”

  “Bloody hell, you will.” Jon’s eyes flamed with urgency, startling her. “For God’s sake, woman, get your wits about you. What happened to your famous French courage?”

  Max threw Jon a wary glance, then nodded to her. “You must go now.”

  Indignant, Danielle jerked her arm from Jon. “I’ll show you courage.” She stepped into the boat, barefoot, still clutching her purse.

  Just then, a man with a sobbing toddler rushed toward them. “Please, will someone take my boy?”

  Danielle thought of her own little boy, shot a glare at Jon. “I will.” She reached for the frightened child.

  “His name is Joshua. You will take care of my boy?”

  “I give you my word.” She prayed someone would do the same for her Nicky, if need be. She hugged the sniveling child, sweet with a milky smell, to her breast. Joshua was the same size as Nicky and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing his name.

  Jon gave the signal and the lifeboat plunged into the choppy water, jarring her to the bone.

  Her teeth chattering, Danielle looked back at the great ship. She was taking on water fast. All around them lifeboats crashed into the sea amidst the most heart-wrenching wails she’d ever heard.

  She strained to see through the fog and the frantic crowd, but couldn’t spot Max or Jon. The Newell-Grey Explorer, the fine ship that bore Jon’s family name was giving way, slipping to her death. For a moment, the ship heaved against the crushing weight of her watery grave, the thundering din of her imminent demise deafening.

  Danielle’s eyes were glued to the horrific scene. Suddenly, she remembered something Jon had once told her and she thought, I will not die like this. She turned to the young crew member with them. “When a ship goes down, the force can suck others down with it. We’ve got to get out of here!”

  He seemed dazed with shock and made no reply.

  Frustrated, she turned to the elderly woman next to her. “Here, take little Joshua, hold him tightly.”

  Another woman let out a cry. “But what will we do?”

  “We’ve got to row,” Danielle shouted. “Who’ll help me?” She had watched her brother Jean-Claude row often enough. Surely I can manage this, she thought desperately.

  A stout Irish woman spoke up. “I’ll be helping you, that I will, dearie. I might be third class, but I be a first class rower.”

  “Good.” Danielle’s resolve hardened and she moved into position. She tucked her soggy silk dress between her legs, its dye trailing green across the white deck, and grabbed an oar. The smell of musty wet wood assaulted her senses.

  “Together, now stroke, and—no, wait.” When she lifted her arms to row, the life vest bunched up around her neck, inhibiting her movement. She glanced at little Joshua and realized he had no life vest. She tore the vest strings open, shrugged out of it, and gave it to the elderly woman. “Put it on him.”

  “All right, now stroke,” the Irish woman called. “Steady, and stroke, and stroke.”

  Danielle pulled hard against the oars, struggling for rhythm, though splinters dug into her hands and her thin sleeves ripped from the strain.

  They were some distance out when she looked up. The immense ship, the jewel of the fleet, gave one last, mournful wail. Within seconds, the proud, gleaming ship conceded defeat; she disappeared into the Atlantic blackness, leaving only a burgeoning swell of water and a spiral of smoke in her wake.

  Where’s Max? And Jon? Did they make it off the ship? Danielle felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. She couldn’t watch anymore, she turned her back to the ship, suddenly numb to the cold.

  And there, in the distance, she saw it. A strange vessel was breaking the surface. As it crested, she saw on its side in block print the letter “U” and a series of numbers. A U-Boat. Treacherous, Jon had said. And deadly.

  Danielle narrowed her eyes. So, this is the enemy, this is who holds Poland—and my family—captive.

  A scorching rage seized her heart and sent her trembling to the boat’s edge, her hands fisted white. Look at them, surveying their handiwork, the bastards! Steadying herself on the bow, she cried in a hoarse voice into the gathering nightfall, “Someday, there will be a day of reckoning for this. C’est la guerre. And I’ll never, never surrender.”

  “You tell ‘em, dearie,” yelled the Irish woman. As Danielle and the other lifeboat occupants stared at the U-Boat, a mighty force began to gather below them. Silent as a thief, a swift undersea current drew water from beneath the bobbing craft.

  Danielle sensed an eerie calm.

  She turned and gasped.

  A wall of water, born of the wake of the Newell-Grey Explorer, rose high behind them.

  The wave crashed down, flipping the lifeboat like a leaf. Grappling for a handhold, she screamed, then plunged into the swirling current. As the lifeboat completed its airborne arch, she saw an oar hurtling toward her. She tried to twist away, but the crack stunned her to her core.

  Her moans for help were muffled as she sank into the frigid, murky depth. Dazed, she flailed about, desperate to swim the short distance to the surface, but her disjointed efforts only sucked her farther into the unrelenting sea. At last, she felt nothing but the icy claws of the Atlantic as her breath gave way and she slipped into darkness.

  2

  Sofia von Hoffman had scant time to prepare her escape. Despite her illness, the aggressive carcinoma that invaded her body with cancerous tumors, she’d worked without a break since the predawn invasion the day before. With the help of Jacob, her chauffeur, they cleared her large ancestral home of much of its personal effects and locked what they could in the cellar.

  Now it was almost midnight. She stood in the stone doorway, gasping for breath, the dust from their work aggravating her lungs. Her body shook as she coughed, a violent hacking cough, her lungs aching with each attempt. When she recovered, she drew herself up, her posture impeccable, and turned to Jacob. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’ll be back for you before daybreak.” Jacob paused at the door and rested his broad hand on her arm. “Are you sure you can manage the rest of this?” His eyes rose to an oil painting in the foyer behind her.

  “I’ll try.” Sofia followed his gaze to the fine painting, illuminated with a glimmer of moonlight, a portrait of her in a fluid white gown on the eve of her marriage fifty years ago.

  Jacob’s eyes brimmed with admiration. “I remember when that was done.”

  Sofia tilted her head. “But you were just a boy.”

  “Tending the horses and carriages. Still I knew, even then, that you were an unparalleled beauty,” he said, his voice thick.

  She averted her eyes and glanced down at her thin, frail
hands, spidery with veins. Her illness had reduced her to a grey ghost of the force she had once been. But she didn’t mourn the loss of her youth, only the loss of her energy.

  “I’m sorry,” Jacob said softly. “I didn’t mean that you aren’t still beautiful.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but we have more important matters.” Her heart quickened. “Nazi troops are advancing, your family is right in their path.”

  “But I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “Nicky and I will be fine—for a while.” She touched his weathered cheek. “Hurry, we haven’t a moment to spare.”

  Jacob hesitated on the doorstep. Beneath his dark bushy brows, his eyes were moist. “If I don’t return, I want you to know that I’ve always—”

  “I know.” She gave him a sad smile. “And I want you to know that I haven’t long. I’m—”

  “No, you’ll be better soon. You should see a different doctor.”

  She shook her head, then raised her eyes to the west, where a faint, eerie light glowed orange on the horizon like a distant fireball. “You must hurry.”

  Sofia stood at the door and watched him get into the car. “Be careful,” she called, her grey eyes misting. On his return, they would travel into the nearby forest, hide until danger passed. At best, they could return home. At worst... She shuddered.

  I’m so glad Jacob was here. Heinrich, her husband’s nephew who lived with them, had disappeared after the invasion.

  Another round of coughing gripped her like a vise. If only she’d been well enough to travel to Paris with young Nikolov, as she’d promised Max and Danielle.

  She pressed her hand against her chest. The doctor had promised her more time. But even he didn’t realize her illness would be so aggressive.

  In her dignified way, she’d kept it from her family. She didn’t want to worry Max and Danielle. They had so much on their minds. Now she regretted her decision.

  Already, unbelievable stories from the front lines had filtered into town. Thousands of innocent people had been killed in ground and air strikes. People were running for their lives. And their village, Klukowski, lay dead center in the Nazi path.