Gerrit’s chest clenched. Only a few hundred of the forced and volunteer workers remained, but the evacuation of staff had been delayed. “Do you think we’ll leave?”
“I’d rather stay—this is my responsibility. But we have a greater responsibility to the Reich, and there is much work in France.”
Gerrit fought to control his face. No matter what, he couldn’t leave Jersey. Not only would retreating with the Germans through France be deadly, but he’d be required to work for the enemy without the satisfaction of also aiding the Allies. He’d be cut off from the people and from the secret ink maps that could prove his loyalty.
He’d be cut off from Ivy. If he left, he couldn’t protect her and her family. He wanted to stay with her, see Jersey’s liberation with her, celebrate with her.
And propose to her. He would be in custody for a while, but before that, he’d ask her to be his wife.
Gerrit’s breath came harder as he climbed. He kept his duffel packed so he could flee to the Jouny farm at short notice.
At the top of the stairs, the rising sun illuminated the open space of the upper ward, crowned by a cylindrical gun tower and a flak gun.
Shouting rose from the tower. Metal gears cranked.
A whine built to the west, a roar.
An air raid!
“Take cover, Herr Oberbauführer!” Gerrit dashed back into the stairway and lay flat on the stone steps under the rocky arch. “Take cover!”
A whistle, and something silver plummeted through the air. The flak guns thumped as they thrust steel skyward.
Gerrit pressed his hands over his ears.Lord,let the flak gunners miss.
The steps bucked beneath Gerrit. The stone wall across from him quaked. A plume of earth arched high on the far side. But the walls remained intact. As did Gerrit.
More whistles. Splashes far below.
The RAF would aim for ships. For ships like Charlie’s, and Gerrit grimaced. Lately, theOrmerhad made only a handful of trips and had turned back several times under fire.
Even though Gerrit’s pulse thudded in his ears, even though his breath skittered in his lungs, a strange grin rose.
The Allies were prevailing. They would come soon.
Gerrit just had to survive until victory.
St. Helier
Friday, June 30, 1944
After dinner, Gerrit relaxed on his bed with a library book. Since the sun wouldn’t set until after nine o’clock, he didn’t need to use electricity.
“Van der Zee!” A man knocked on his hotel room door. “Van der Zee!”
Book in hand, Gerrit ran to the door.
Ernst Schmeling stood in the hallway. “We have orders to sail to Saint-Malo. Meet in the lobby with your luggage in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?” Panic and exhilaration wrestled inside him. “The Allies have landed in Jersey?”
“Nein. We have more important work on the continent.”
Panic won. How could he escape to the farm? “Why now? Why so soon?”
“We have a break in the weather. Hurry.” Schmeling knocked on the next door.
“No, no, no,” Gerrit muttered, and he threw on his uniform jacket. He’d expected a day’s notice. At least an hour’s notice. But fifteen minutes?
