Gerrit chuckled. For a woman in the resistance to be seen with a man in a German uniform might protect the network from scrutiny.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Come. It’s time.” Gerrit picked up his kit bag, already packed.
Bernardus grabbed his bag, never unpacked, and the men headed down to the hotel lobby, where two middle-aged men waited, wearing OT uniforms with officer’s insignia. One stood tall and thin with a thin face, the other short and thick with a thick face to match.
Since almost all German men of military age served in the armed forces, only older men or those with infirmities remained to serve in OT.
Gerrit and Bernardus raised traditional military salutes. Thank goodness, as Dutch nationals they were not required to give the “Heil, Hitler” salute used by the Germans in OT.
The tall man did raise that salute in reply. “I am Oberbauführer Ernst Schmeling, the commander of the technical section for our region.”
“Haupttruppführer Bernardus Kroon,” Bernardus said.
“Haupttruppführer Gerrit vander Zee.”
“Sehr gut.”Schmeling dipped his narrow chin. “My Dutch geologist, my Dutch engineer, and my Czech armaments—”
“I am not Czech,Herr Oberbauführer.”The thickset man’s cheeks reddened. “I am Sudeten German, proud to be a citizen of Greater Germany.”
“Excellent.” Schmeling cracked a smile as thin as everything else about him. “I understand you worked for Skoda. Your knowledge of armaments will be useful.”
“Thank you.” The man offered handshakes to Gerrit and Bernardus. “I’m Bauführer Wilhelm Riedel. Call me Willy.”
Gerrit shook his hand, but Riedel was an officer. Since only Germans were granted officers’ commissions, Gerrit and Bernardus were noncommissioned officers, despite their qualifications. He would not be calling the man “Willy.”
“Come along.” Schmeling led the way out of the quayside hotel.
The tang of sea air filled Gerrit’s nostrils, and the busy sounds of the docks hit his ears.
No staff car waited, and Schmeling headed onto a pier, where German soldiers trailed up the gangway of a troopship.
Gerrit shot Bernardus a confused look. “Where are we going, Herr Oberbauführer?”
Schmeling flipped a hand to silence him. “Not until we’re underway. The French are not to be trusted.”
Underway? Gerrit’s breath came shallow and shallower. Why would they board a ship? Why not drive along the coast?
Bernardus followed Riedel and Schmeling up the gangway and glanced over his shoulder at Gerrit with a pointedly fake smile.
Although his insides churned, Gerrit needed to assume a pleasant expression.
On board, they stashed their kit bags where indicated, then Schmeling led them through the pressing crowd of troops in the stifling heat.
At the bow, Gerrit gripped the railing and struggled to keep his breath even. Why a ship? They could take trains to every city in France. They could drive to smaller towns.
The engines rumbled to life, and the ship pulled away from the dock. Gerrit tucked his overseas cap into his pocket so it wouldn’t be lost in the wind.
Schmeling removed his own cap, revealing scant gray hair. “I am pleased to inform you that you will be serving with me inBauleitungJulius.”
A Bauleitung was a smaller administrative unit in OrganisationTodt, usually a city. But Gerrit knew of no French city named Julius.
A smirk played on Schmeling’s lips. “I see I have confused you all. Julius is the code for Jersey in theKanalinseln.”
Kanalinseln ... Channel Islands. An island. They were going to an island, and Gerrit’s breath grew erratic. Transporting diagrams from an island to Saint-Malo would be difficult.
“How far?” A strain infected Bernardus’s voice.
