No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

by Terri Wangard

  “The Nazis grabbed Holland early in the war.” Jennie was quick to connect his situation to European events as they had unfolded.

  “Opa foresaw that. Holland was too close to Germany, and we needed to get beyond the Nazis’ reach. Sweden might fall to the Nazis too, so we had to go to America. He had friends willing to give us an affidavit to support us in Milwaukee, and we were already on the waiting list for the immigration quota through Holland. Father seemed more upset that Opa hadn’t shared his plans than that he had made them.”

  A piano player started pounding out “Night and Day,” a rollicking tune incongruous with his sad tale. “A week later, he informed Mother he had no intention of leaving with us, and they would divorce. We could come back when Hitler’s out of office.”

  Jennie leaned forward. “Really? Will your mother return?”

  “Nope. She’s happily remarried to a man who treats her like a queen, and my sister and brother and I have fully embraced life as Americans.”

  A range of emotions flickered across Jennie’s face. Pleased for his mother? Of course, she would be. Sorry for his father? Don’t be.

  She tilted her head. “Did you personally experience any anti-Semitism?”

  “Indirectly. After I’d been expelled from the Hitler Youth, I’d headed for school Monday morning full of trepidation. If Herr Schultz knew I was Jewish, my teachers had likely been informed as well. But no one said anything. Frau Lessman may have looked at me strangely, but maybe I was looking for trouble that didn’t exist. Then it happened a week later.”

  #

  Rolf entered the apartment house lobby and headed for the stairs. Frau Heinrich had always seemed an amiable superintendent, if a little persnickety. Today she displayed her true nature.

  A little girl stood at the foot of the stairs, clutching a small red purse. Probably the little Goldman girl from the apartment one floor about them. Her voice trembled with fear. “But we need milk. The milkman didn’t come today.”

  “I told him not to bother. Jews don’t need fresh milk. Now get out of my sight. You’ll be leaving soon enough, and good riddance.”

  The little girl turned and scrambled up the stairs.

  Rolf struggled to get air into his lungs. Frau Heinrich turned toward him, smugness oozing from her and galvanizing him into action. He strode to the stairs, giving her a brief nod. “Frau Heinrich.”

  He took the stairs two at a time before she could detain him and gloat.

  The little girl’s sniffles alerted him to her presence before he caught up with her on the third floor. What was her name? Maria? Magda? “Marta?”

  She spun around and stared at him in fright.

  He dropped to a knee in front of her. “You need milk?”

  Her head jerked in a nod.

  “I’ll get it for you. Do you have the ration card?”

  She offered the purse.

  A quick glance showed the card and necessary coins. With a feather-light touch, he ran a finger down her cheek. “Go on home. I’ll bring it to you.”

  Hands clasped tightly below her chin, her “Thank you” was barely audible before she scurried away.

  #

  “When I described what happened during supper, Mother’s immediate response was, ‘I’ll stop by tomorrow and see if I can do some shopping for Eva.’ Father frowned but said nothing.” Rafe dropped his head back and bumped the wall. “I often wonder about Marta Goldman, what happened to her.”

  Jennie opened her mouth, closed it, then asked, “When the war’s over, will you go to Cologne and look for your father?”

  He drummed his fingers on the armrest. “The way Cologne has been repeatedly bombed, there’s probably nothing left to go back to anyway. And Father, well, Father quite likely is dead.”

  Gourock, Scotland

  Tuesday, March 7, 1944

  The crew fought to stay together in the jostling throng as they were herded toward the A deck gangway. Rafe tightened his grip on his duffle and kept his eyes fixed on Alan just ahead of him. They spilled out onto the gangway and, as he descended to the pier, his gaze swept the area for one last glimpse of Jennie.

  Bagpipes wailed a welcome, the kilt-clad pipers looking out of place among a shipload of young men arriving for the purpose of fighting a war. The scene was chaotic, but a system to the madness became clear. Officers directed the soldiers to their unit assembly areas, mustered them, and loaded them into army trucks. The air crews needed to head to the left.

  Where was Jennie? Had she already been met? A group of nurses passed by, but he didn’t know if they’d been her roommates.

  “Rafe!”

  He swung around at Jennie’s call, and Dan tap-danced out of his way. All six enlisted men followed him as he hurried to her.

  “No one’s met you yet?”

  “No, but I may need to wait until the crowd diminishes before we connect.” Jennie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she stood erect as she clutched her suitcase.

  “Martell!” No mistaking Steve’s displeasure.

  “I have to go.”

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

  He leaned toward her, but hesitated in the crowd.

  “Go on and kiss her.” Dan bumped him from behind.

  They’d already said their goodbyes, but he shifted his duffle over his shoulder, leaned down, and touched his lips to hers. Hoots and whistles filled the air. Jennie’s face flamed cherry red. He stepped back.

  “Be safe.” A tear broke free and slid down her cheek.

  He nodded. His throat clogged and his “Bye” came out in a whisper.

  Her head bobbed and another tear raced after the first.

  His crewmen herded him back to the other officers. He glanced back. Her eyes stayed on him. He jerked his head to the left. A matronly lady hoisted a sign displaying her name. Jennie started forward. A squad of soldiers marched by, blocking his view of her. Steve urged them toward their mustering point. By the time Rafe got another glimpse, she was gone.

  #

  Jennie watched Rafe disappear into the crowd. They were unlikely to meet again and correspondence would be difficult. She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. Tears kept slipping from her eyes and her nose needed attention. This would hardly do for meeting her contact. She approached the woman holding the sign with her name on it.

  “Lass, might you be Jennie?” At her nod, the woman led Jennie to a group of ladies at a table near the bagpipers. “My name’s Morag MacLaughlin. You’ll be staying with my Lorcan and me tonight, and take a train for Leuchars in the morning. Come now. First we’ll have a cup of tea before heading home.”

  A lady with wispy white hair smiled, her eyes disappearing in crinkles. She selected a clean cup and filled it with tea.

  “Welcome to Scotland, lass.” Her pronunciation sounded so musical as she pressed the steaming cup into Jennie’s hands.

  Jennie’s first sip of tea warmed her as the ladies talked. When they all turned to her with expectant looks, her cheeks flamed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was so busy listening to your accents I didn’t hear your words.”

  The ladies laughed. “We hear that frequently, but we don’t understand it.” One of them dimpled. “We speak the king’s English as it ought to be spoken.”

  Jennie laughed, too. She’d crossed another hurdle. Tomorrow might present further challenges, but tonight, she could sleep well. She’d made it safely to a foreign country with a heart full of delectable memories. Surely her coming journey would present her with more.

  Morag led Jennie away from the dock. “We’ll have to walk to our house. Even if we had a car of our own, petrol isn’t available to common folk like us. Fortunately, we don’t live far off.”

  Outside the entrance to the harbor, a young boy waited with his wagon. “I’ll carry your bag for you, lass.”

  “Isn’t that sweet of you, Kiernan.” Morag grabbed Jennie’s suitcase and positioned it on the wagon. From her purse she withdrew something
and tucked it in his hand. “There you go, lad. You may deliver it to my door.”

  Kiernan raised his cap. “Thank you, Mrs. MacLaughlin.”

  He set off down the street with a purposeful stride, his wagon trundling behind him.

  “He knew I was coming to fetch you. Some folks object to the wee bairns making a profit off the war, as they say, but I see no problem in giving them a tuppence for their efforts. Even in peacetime we tipped them for their service. And it gives them a feeling of being involved.”

  Morag walked as briskly as she talked. Jennie was breathing hard by the time they scaled a slight incline. She glanced back over her shoulder and came to a stop.

  “Beautiful.” Across the firth, with its conglomeration of ships, snow graced the distant mountains. Fat clouds hinted at coming rain. A flock of birds wheeled up from the shoreline, and settled back down. She filled her lungs with air scented by the sea. “Chicago has nothing like this.”

  Morag came back to stand beside her. She surveyed the scene. “I guess I’m guilty of taking Gourock for granted.” She smiled. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and I admit to being partial to it. Before the war, we’d sail in the estuary there and across the firth to Helensburg, where Lorcan has a cousin. Now, of course, you risk your life going out in a small boat with all those navy ships bustling about.”

  Jennie’s brows rose. The warning on the Queen Mary was that the ship would not stop for anyone falling overboard. The naval ships probably wouldn’t stop if they ran over a little pleasure boat either.

  “Have the Germans come here? The harbor must be a very tempting target.”

  “We had frequent air raids in 1941. In May, it was. The target was the shipyards, but they were untouched. Kiernan’s mother and two sisters were killed when the Anderson Shelter in their garden took a direct hit. By September though, the planes stopped coming here. London became their choice. Submarines do still lurk about in the North Channel.”

  Jennie’s gaze swept the panorama. That burned-out building there must have been bombed. She looked ahead toward Kiernan. Poor little fellow. War had come here and touched these people. She tried to imagine a bomb falling in her Chicago neighborhood, and couldn’t.

  The aircrews marched to a train alongside the harbor late in the day and jammed inside. The train consisted of small compartments with two facing seats for six or eight passengers, with a long corridor running the length of the train on one side. The Coolidge crew found two empty compartments side by side and piled in. Duffle bags, knapsacks, helmets, B-4 bags, and mess kits obscured the floor.

  Rafe claimed a seat by the window and ignored the bedlam around him. He stared outside while his emotions played ping-pong. One week ago, he hadn’t known Jennie existed. How could he already miss her? In another minute, he’d be bawling like a baby if he didn’t snap out of this morose mood.

  His crewmates jabbered around him.

  “We’re going to England. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

  “Come on, Mickey. We knew we were coming here when they issued us woolen underwear during processing. It was a sure bet we weren’t going to the Pacific.”

  “Yeah, but we could have ended up in Italy.”

  “Ain’t it hot there? We wouldn’t need woolies.”

  “What’s wrong with going to Italy? I like pasta.”

  “Can’t trust ‘em Italians, Carlo. They cozied up to the Krauts, remember? We don’t have to worry about the Limeys.”

  “From what I heard, the Brits don’t like having us all over here.”

  “Hey, turn off the light so we don’t have to use the blackout curtain. This may be our only chance to see Scotland.”

  The quiet, smooth ride on British rails, so different from the clickety-clack rides on American trains, acted like a lullaby. Rafe shoved his knapsack against the window for a pillow and dozed.

  Early Wednesday morning, the train deposited them at Stone Air Base, a Spartan cluster of ugly buildings, the home of a Combat Crew Replacement Center, near London. A captain welcomed the crews, informing the new arrivals they would be trained for combat, taught British procedure, and assigned to a Heavy Bombardment Group.

  “Trained for combat?” an enlisted man from another crew repeated. “What have we been doing all this time?”

  The captain hesitated. Was that pity in his eyes? “The training you’ve received is useless to you here. You’ll need a lot more if you hope to survive a combat mission, particularly high-altitude formation flying. Half of new crews don’t survive their first six missions. We’re getting better fighter escort now, but the Krauts are still shooting bombers down on every mission.”

  His voice droned on, but Rafe turned to a window. Here he stood in England. He’d seen the famous white cliffs of Dover seven years ago, when the Statendam sailed through the English Channel, but that was all. Now he would become familiar with the country that dared to stand up to Hitler.

  His former countrymen wanted him and his new compatriots dead, and they were doing a bang-up job at making it happen. What were the chances of someone he knew being on the other side of the guns? Maybe he should have volunteered for intelligence, something as a noncombatant, like a translator.

  The captain dismissed the crews to find their lodgings on the dingy base. The Coolidge gunners were directed to a tent for enlisted men. A recent rain had turned the dirt floor to mud. Rain-soaked blankets covered the cots.

  George backed out and appealed to Steve. “Lieutenant, do we have to stay here?”

  Steve shrugged. “We don’t have any say in the matter. The army owns us now. We do what they say.” When Rusty opened his mouth, Steve shook his head. “Sorry, fellas. They don’t pay me enough to put you up at the Savoy.”

  The officers moved on to their quarters. Harold’s voice drifted to them. “I liked the ship better.”

  You and me both. Rafe smiled. When a neighbor in Milwaukee heard the news that Rafe had joined the Army Air Force, he’d commented, “Oh, you’re lucky. You’ll get to sleep every night on a real bed with clean sheets instead of mucking around in the dirt.”

  Clean sheets? A real bed? Somebody, somewhere, was enjoying a good laugh at his expense. He dropped his duffle on a cot and the thing nearly collapsed. Three cushions made up a mattress. Further examination revealed two supporting slats had been removed from the frame. Someone must be using them for baseball bats. He just might be sleeping on the ground tonight after all.

  The four officers left their gear and hastened back outside. Another officer strode past, whistling a merry tune.

  “You’re sure in a good mood.” Cal looked puzzled that anyone should be happy.

  The officer spun to a stop. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m headed for home. Sure is a swell feeling. Never thought I’d live this long, but I made it.” His smile stretched across his face. “I got twenty-five missions under my belt. No sir, I sure didn’t expect to see this day.”

  “Why not?”

  Alan’s question made perfect sense, but the other man shook his head. Did he also have pity in his eyes?

  “We came in with three other crews and one more followed the next week. Five crews, okay? The other four didn’t make it. On my crew, I’m the first to finish. Two guys are dead, and the other guys all have one or two or more missions to go.”

  Alan’s face lost all color. “What happened to the other four crews?”

  Yep, that was definitely pity in the guy’s eyes. Rafe tensed, waiting for the response.

  “They crashed, got shot down, blew up. Maybe they’re prisoners of the Krauts, maybe not. They didn’t make it back to tell us.”

  “Why haven’t we been hearing about this?” Cal’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “Are you kidding? Everybody’d go AWOL before you left the States.” He turned to continue on his way. “I hope you make it.” His tone contained sincerity and doubt.

  Rafe and his companions watched him leave, their shoulders sagging. Going absent w
ithout leave sounded tempting. In the States, all thoughts about bombing Germany had been abstract, with the war being so far away. Recruitment films touted the great opportunities and experience they’d gain in defending their country, with not a hint of danger. Now, feelings of invincibility ebbed away as the prospects of violent death coalesced into concrete reality, which they would soon encounter.

  Alan sighed. “I wonder if I’ll get home to see Ruby again.”

  Steve stepped into his role as plane commander, responsible for maintaining his crew’s morale. “Come on, guys. You heard him. He survived. Not all crews cash in their chips. Neither will we. We’ll ace all the training and be the best crew in our group.”

  Maybe, but what good would being the best do if they were on the wrong end of a direct hit?

  Cal adjusted his cap and looked around at the activity. “What exactly haven’t we been taught yet, anyway?”

  #

  For Rafe, training meant learning to operate a British invention, the Ground Electronic Equipment Box. The GEE Box was a fast, accurate navigation system. This was one fun gadget. On their first practice flight, he fiddled with it incessantly. The box measured the difference between the arrival time of radio signals from a master station and a slave station. In half a minute, he had a position fix accurate within thirty feet. Back on the ground, he couldn’t stop talking about it.

  “Are your instructors pleased with your work?” Steve frowned at him. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

  “Yeah, I guess so. They quit calling on me when they question us, saying the other navigators need a chance to respond.”

  “Looks like we got us a wunderkind.” Cal knocked off Rafe’s cap and messed his hair.

  Rafe swatted away his hand. “Maybe I should put in for a Squadron Navigator position.”

  Stone Air Base, England

  Wednesday, March 22, 1944