War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 274

Chapter 21

S

everal miles down the road they came across a man fixing a tire on his rickety cart, which was more like the frame of an old truck minus the engine. The back was piled high with furniture, suitcases, and bundles, all covered with a large old tarp. His two sturdy horses grazed nearby while his wife and three children sat to the side, waiting for the job to be completed.

“Good man, are you going toward the border?” Lotte asked.

“None of your business,” the large, barrel-chested man replied gruffly, barely looking up from his work.

“We are heading for Flensburg,” Lotte persisted, and his head came up, looking at her with suspicion. She hastily added, “…on our way to our home in Poland.”

“Poland, eh?”

“Yes, good man. We’ve been abducted by the Nazis to work for them and now we’re desperate to get home and find out if our families are still alive.” At least half of her sentence was true. Since adopting her new identity as Alexandra, lying and cheating had become second nature to her, but from experience she knew that it was always best to stick to as much of the truth as possible. Keeping up a maze of elaborate lies and remembering what she had told to whom had proven quite challenging.

“We have no room for passengers.” His overgrown eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“Please, we weigh very little and will not take up much space, if you could find it in the kindness of your heart to give us a lift,” Gerlinde pleaded with him.

“Hans, look at them. Wouldn’t you want someone to help them out if they were your daughters?” his wife suddenly said, patting the white blond head of the child next to her.

“Alright,” he sighed, checking the knots on the tarpaulin. “Climb up and find space in the back. This covering has to remain because of the rain.”

“God bless you and your family.” Gerlinde was already scrambling up the cart, looking for a spot to curl up in.

“Hold tight, we don’t need no delays,” he shouted as he got into the front seat with his family, slapped the reins, and uttered a loud clicking command. The horses snapped to attention and began a steady trot. Lying comfortably on bundles, the two women couldn’t believe their luck, counting the miles rolling by, each one bringing them nearer to their destination.

“It was a good time staying with Karen,” Gerlinde said. “I miss her already. And look at the beautiful dresses she gave us.”

“We’d never have gotten this ride if we were in the ragged, dirty sacks Ingrid gave us,” Lotte said, looking at the bright red dress Gerlinde wore, the one Karen had offered her friend the very first day.

“Right?” Lotte said. “Karen’s care got us here, no doubt about it. We’ll raise a glass to her one day.”

“Speaking of drinks, that midsummer festival was more fun than I’ve had in years.” Gerlinde laughed brightly and Lotte remembered the sparkling, fun-loving person her friend used to be.

“Oh yes, it was. I had forgotten that such things as a normal life still exist.”

“It was good of Karen to insist we go with her.” Gerlinde had a wistful, dreamy expression on her face and Lotte suspected it had something to do with the dashing young man in the police uniform.

“Karen sure is a very generous person. A bit peculiar, but with the kindest of hearts.” In the beginning Lotte had judged the woman for her

very good

relations with the British officers, and probably with the Germans before them. But soon enough she’d accepted that every human had to make their own choices during difficult times. And while Karen might linger on the loose side of morals, she had a kind heart and generously shared the proceeds of such

work

with anyone in need.

In the evening they reached the small border town and thanked the driver and his family for the ride. It was too late to cross the checkpoint, so they bought some food and then took shelter in the empty train station for the night.

The next morning they took up their walk to the border checkpoint, a bigger lump forming in Lotte’s throat with every step she took.

Gerlinde, though, didn’t seem to feel the same, because her face brightened the nearer they got to the border control. “We’re finally here. Can you believe it?” Gerlinde squeezed her friend’s hand.

“It’s hard to believe this is real,” Lotte said staring at the border crossing, willing away the knot forming in her stomach. She had been pondering whether to tell her secret to the border guard, but remembered the brush-off by the base commander. No, it wouldn’t do any good. “What should we say?”

“Say?” Gerlinde stared at her without understanding. “What do you mean? We show our papers and cross.”

Lotte felt her face pale. “But what if they ask us something?”

“Then we answer their questions. What could they possibly ask of us?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, ‘Are you escaped POWs?’”

Gerlinde laughed out loud. “You worry too much. Nothing will happen, you’ll see. We’re just two girls traveling home.”

There were lines of people at the checkpoint, waiting to be processed. Men, women, and children. Young and old, in various conditions, assembled at the gate to pass into Germany, but most of them were German POWs, marched across the border into some prison camp.

Lotte turned her face away, afraid one of the men might have been in Stavanger and recognize her. It wouldn’t bode well with the Tommies if the man lacked enough sense and called out her name, a name that didn’t match the one on her temporary papers.

British military police manned the checkpoint and seemed to give only cursory glances to everyone wanting to enter Germany. Only young males were scrutinized more thoroughly, and every once in a while one of them was led away inside.

Gerlinde elbowed her and whispered, “Look at that handsome lad.”

Lotte followed her gaze to an officer standing right behind the two uniformed soldiers manning the checkpoint. He seemed to be some kind of supervisor, overseeing their work. And indeed, he was handsome. Tall, with broad shoulders, his uniform sported an array of ribbons, and coveted decorations. Cropped dark blond hair peeked out from under his beret; his face, although battle-hardened, still showed boyish features and Lotte guessed he couldn’t be more than twenty-five years of age.

When his gaze fell on her, she quickly cast down her eyes, but it was too late. He’d caught her staring. Beneath her eyelashes she noticed his lips curving up into a bright smile that lit up his clear blue eyes. Lotte felt herself blush under his stare and fumbled with her hands.

“Go. It’s our turn.” Gerlinde shoved her forward and they showed their temporary papers to the soldier in charge, who only nodded and asked, “Going where?”

“Danzig,” Gerlinde answered.

“Pardon?”

“East Prussia.”

The young man glanced up and looked at them. “That’s in Poland; why would two beautiful girls like you even go there?”

Again, it was Gerlinde who did the talking, since Lotte was still too embarrassed to look up, afraid she’d again meet the eyes of the handsome stranger standing behind the border patrol. “We are Polish and want to go home.”

The young soldier shrugged and stamped their papers. “Here you go. You’ll have to get new travel permits once you cross into the Soviet sector.”

“Thank you,” Gerlinde said in her sweetest voice, taking Lotte by her elbow and pulling her forward. Lotte followed her with wobbly knees and took a deep breath only when they passed the border patrol hut.

They’d made it.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a deep voice said, and Lotte stared right into the face of the handsome officer who’d stepped away from his vantage point overseeing the crowd of travelers and now blocked their path. “May I see your papers again?”

His words punched Lotte’s stomach as if he’d used his fist and she caught her breath, doing her best not to double over.

“Of course, officer.” Gerlinde handed him her ID and the travel permit and Lotte somehow commanded her hands to do the same.

“I’ll have to ask you to come with me, please.” He uttered the fatal words with the most pleasant smile on his face, motioning for them to follow him.

He took them inside the building next to the checkpoint and to a small office with one desk and three chairs. After asking them to take a seat, he closed the door and leaned against the edge of the desk, towering over them. For a moment Lotte was transported back to the interrogation room in Warsaw, where the man questioning her had been with the Gestapo.

She knew her eyes had given away the fear when the man in front of her showed a lazy smile.

“I’m Sergeant Davis. May I check your luggage, please?”

Lotte cursed the fact that they hadn’t replaced the stolen British army-issue kitbag with a more inconspicuous bag, but handed it over to him without delay. He quickly unpacked all their belongings, putting them on the desk one by one.

“Where is it?” he demanded to know.

“Is what?”

“Black market goods. We’re looking for smugglers.”

“Sir, you are mistaken, we aren’t smugglers. We’re just two girls on our way home.” A huge burden fell from Lotte’s shoulders. Smuggling black market goods was the one thing they weren’t guilty of.

He peered intently at them, his expression not giving anything away. “I am never mistaken. You are cunning. But I know you are smugglers. I promise, I’ll find the contraband sooner or later, so save us some trouble and tell me where you’re hiding it.”

Davis pulled the kitbag inside out and, ostensibly frustrated with the lack of finding incriminating evidence, he suddenly paused. “Where did you get this bag?”

“A British soldier gave it to us,” Gerlinde said.

“I doubt one of our men would ever do such a thing.” A sarcastic smile pursed his lips and under different circumstances Lotte would have admired him for his bright intellect and his cat-and-mouse play. But right now, terror threatened to consume her and strike her mute.

“We found it on the road and assumed the owner was dead,” Lotte said.

He tried to smile but it ended up more like a sneer. “Picking over the bones. This is not getting any better for you.”

“Oh no… we found the kitbag, not the owner…” Gerlinde stuttered.

Sergeant Davis seemed amused, but his next question came sharp as a whiplash. “What are you doing here?”

“We were kidnapped and the Nazis forced us to work for them.” Lotte repeated their cover story.

The man snorted a laugh. “Slave workers? What kind of

work

did the Nazis expect from you in these fancy dresses?”

Gerlinde flushed beet-red and started protesting, but he waved her protests away.

“I prefer a whore over a smuggler any time of the day,” he said with an appreciative smirk that made Lotte’s skin crawl. “Why don’t you show me a sample of your skills and I’ll let you go?”

Fear morphed into cold rage. Did all men believe women had been put on the face of the earth for the sole reason to please them? “We certainly won’t. We’re decent women.”

“Decent women?” He guffawed. “Last time I checked neither smuggling nor whoring was on the list of decent occupations. So what’s it gonna be?”

“I want to talk to your superior, Sergeant Davis,” Lotte blurted out before she could think her request through. It might not be the wisest course of action, since she and Gerlinde teetered on thin ice, but she would not endure

that

again. She preferred to be court-martialed – did they even do that to escaped prisoners of war?

Davis looked insecure, but only for a fleeting moment. “And what do you want to tell my superior? That you were caught stealing British Army property and want to evade your just punishment?”

“I believe even in England just punishment for alleged stealing doesn’t include sexual favors.” Lotte had no idea where her sudden strength came from, but she steeled her spine and with her cold stare dared him to contradict her.

“You can pack your things,” Davis said, returning her stare.

While the women packed their belongings into the kitbag, he turned their papers over again, dissatisfied with his lack of finding the black market wares he’d been so confident were inside it.

Lotte gave a hidden sigh of relief when he opened the door and told them to follow him. In the hallway some soldiers in British uniform lingered, smoking. Lotte had taken English classes in Stavanger and thought she managed the language quite well, but she understood less than half of their banter. Sometimes it seemed like a different language altogether.

Their heads turned as Gerlinde passed them in her bright red dress, and Lotte now wished they’d put on Ingrid’s sacks instead of Karen’s fancy clothes. It was like running the gauntlet under the leering eyes of the young men. One of them catcalled after them, followed by a word Lotte didn’t understand.

Gerlinde, though, turned around and stared at the offender with her coldest, aristocratic, disdainful expression, the one she’d probably perfected on their Polish farm hands back home in East Prussia.

“Don’t stare at me like that, peachy miss, I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said, sporting a huge grin.

“You very well know that is not a word to address a lady,” Gerlinde replied and turned on her heel.

“What word? Oh? You mean

ślicznotka

? Do you understand Polish?”

“They claim to be Polish refugees,” Sergeant Davis said, a lazy smile traveling across his face.

Lotte froze with fear, because she saw the sliver of hope in Davis’s eyes and feared hearing his next words.

“Maybe you’d like to have a chat with your compatriots, Andrzej? Finding out what they’re really doing up here?”

Lotte all but choked on the lump forming in her throat as she imagined herself in front of the firing squad.

Gerlinde squeezed her hand and whispered a barely audible “Let me” before she gave the Polish man her brightest smile and asked in Polish, “Where are you from?”

A conversation between the two of them ensued that none of the others understood.

“This one’s clean,” Andrzej said, all smiles and then addressed Lotte. “

Dzień dobry, panienko.

”

She was busted. With no idea what he had said, she preferred to nod and smile.

“My friend is frightened.” Gerlinde excused Lotte’s silence. “We grew up together and I can assure you she’s no smuggler either.”

“Not a smuggler,” he guffawed. “But not a Pole either.” He switched to Polish and asked, “

Jak się nazywasz?

”

Lotte gave her best guess. “Danzig.”

Judging from the horror reflected in Gerlinde’s eyes it had been the wrong answer.

“Danzig? That’s quite an unusual name for a girl. So tell me, do you actually speak any Polish at all?”

“No.” Lotte sighed; her only remaining option was the truth. “I’m not really Polish. I just tagged along with my friend.”

Sergeant Davis grinned like a child on Christmas Day. “I knew it. You are under arrest.”