War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 273

Chapter 20

W

orking in the outside shed alongside Karen – smoking, fileting, and canning the fish in oil – Lotte and Gerlinde became herring experts. Baskets of herrings were delivered daily by a stocky, bearded man, who returned in the evening to pick up the canned produce. It was a smelly business, but the women did not enter the house after a workday without taking a refreshing shower in the attached bathhouse.

But at the end of the week, when Karen paid them their wages, they were ready to move on.

“Have you heard about our temporary papers yet?” Lotte asked their employer.

“Not so fast.” Karen laughed at her. “Things have their own speed in this sleepy town. But the mayor promised me to have travel permits ready for you before Sankt Hans Aften on Saturday.”

“Sankt Hans?” Gerlinde asked.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. What have you girls learned during your time in Denmark?”

“I’m afraid not much about Danish customs,” Lotte replied.

“Midsummer is the longest day of the year.” Karen clapped her hands with glee. “And in Denmark we’re celebrating it on June 23

rd

, which is the evening before Johannis Day. Now that the occupation is finally over, it will be a celebration like no other.”

“Oh…”

“You’ll have to stay until after the holiday. I urge you to join the local people in rejoicing and having fun. It’ll be a worthy conclusion to your stay with us.” Karen kept on talking, and in spite of her homesickness, Lotte became excited about the festivities that Karen painted in the brightest lights. Since it made no sense to leave before receiving their travel permits, they decided to stay.

Together with Karen, they arrived at the town square, where everything for the bonfire had been prepared. The heap of wood and straw was topped with a straw witch dressed not in the customary old women’s clothes, but in a torn and ragged Wehrmacht uniform, holding a Swastika flag in her hand.

“This year it’ll be special,” Karen said, her eyes sparkling. “Summer solstice is a night imbued with evil, when the witches make their way to the Brocken mountain for their yearly reunion. But this year we’re not only warding off the broomstick-riding witches and their evil troll companions, no, we send all the dastardly Nazis away with them.”

The bonfire was lit, setting the sky above the village ablaze.

“Karen was right.” Gerlinde stared open-mouthed at the enormous glow. “That’s one big bonfire for sure.”

Lotte watched the spectacle half-shuddering, half-rejoicing when the flames licked at the straw witch, devouring the Wehrmacht uniform and finally the Swastika flag until nothing but ashes remained.

The scorching depicted a befitting image of the state of her nation. And she had not even seen it with her own eyes, except for the newspaper photographs in Karen’s house. More and more ugly truths had come to light.

Her first reflex was to deny –

that

couldn’t be true. But of course she knew it was. Nothing she hadn’t experienced herself as a prisoner in one of the concentration camps herself, albeit on a much smaller scale. The sheer amount of industrialized efficiency in the so-called extermination camps, which had been well-oiled killing machines, shocked even her.

In Ravensbrück the prisoners had been humiliated, exploited, starved, worked to death and treated worse than dogs, but their sole reason for existence hadn’t been to be killed. She gagged, vomit filling her mouth. Looking around at the jolly crowd she almost doubted her own sanity, hoping, praying, this was just a harrowing nightmare.

A handsome young man with the blondest possible hair and ice-blue eyes came up to her and pushed a beer into her hand. “To our liberation!” he said in Danish and cocking his head with doubt at her incomprehension, again in German.

“To your liberation!” Lotte smiled at him and indulging his questioning glance, explained, “My friend and I are Polish slave workers on our way home.”

“Welcome to our town.”

An effervescent giggle erupted behind her and she turned around to see Karen.

“I see you’ve already caught the attention of a young fellow.” In that moment a band began to play, and Karen said, “It’s time to dance. I’ll hold your beer.”

Lotte shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of your dances.”

The fellow looked crestfallen, but Karen wouldn’t have any of it and all but shoved Lotte into his arms saying, “You have to dance. It’s Sankt Hans after all, and when can we be joyful if not tonight? I’m sure this lad will lead you masterfully across the dance floor, won’t you?”

He dutifully nodded and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, leading her to where other couples were already dancing. “My name is Christian, by the way.”

“Maria,” Lotte answered. Despite her reluctance, she enjoyed the dancing and let him swirl her around not for one song, but until the music stopped. Every now and then she swirled past Gerlinde, who’d been swooped away by a dapper-looking man in a police uniform. With her cheeks flushed with exercise and the heat emanating from the bonfire, Gerlinde looked truly happy for the first time since they’d left Stavanger – even if only for a few short dances.

When the music stopped, someone raised her voice to sing and soon everyone fell in. “

Vi vil fred hertillands, Sante Hans, Sante Hans

.“ We want peace in our lands, Saint John, Saint John.

Who didn’t, after six years of harrowing war?

True to her promise, Karen presented them the next day with temporary papers and travel permits, signed by the mayor of the town in the names of their Polish alter egos. With one sad, and one laughing eye, they said goodbye to their gracious hostess, who dabbed secretly at her eyes, before she said in a boisterous tone, “I wish you safe travels, and find yourself a good fellow to keep warm.”

Then Karen handed them a loaf of bread and boiled potatoes for each of them and sent them on their way.

“It was nice to stay with her,” Gerlinde finally said.

“Yes, but it’s also nice to go home.”

“If we even…”

Lotte shook her head, making her friend stop mid-sentence. News from Berlin was bad. It seemed the Russians had full control and wouldn’t let anyone in or out, not even the other victorious armies. “A broomstick sure would help,” she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, imagine the commotion when we fly into the cordon on our brooms, landing swiftly in front of the Brandenburger Tor

,

” Gerlinde replied jokingly.

“Why not make it a noteworthy entry and fly through the gate instead?” Lotte held her side, erupting giggles making it hurt.

“Sure. And then we step down from our broomsticks and wait for the red carpet to be rolled out.”

“If it’s a red carpet to welcome us and not the anti-aircraft flak, we can call ourselves lucky witches.” And just like that the gay silliness evaporated.

Lotte rubbed her nose, frowning. “First we have to get to the border, though… and cross it.”

“We have papers, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know, but seeing all the British soldiers about makes me nervous.” It was true. Every time Lotte spotted a uniform, a queasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. They were in Denmark on borrowed time, and it wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to find out their true identities.

Escaped prisoners of war.

In Nazi Germany those used to be shot or worse.