“Sixty-six kilometers.” Schmeling gestured to the north. “If you look hard, you can see. Jersey is the southernmost of the Channel Islands, closest to us.”
“The Channel Islands?” Riedel frowned. “I am not familiar with that term.”
“A most pleasant posting.” Schmeling leaned one elbow on the railing. “A thousand years ago, the islands belonged to the Duchy of Normandy. When William the Conqueror became King of England, his lands became English lands. Over the centuries, the French liberated all their territory except the Channel Islands. Now we Germans have liberated them from English rule and returned them to their native France.”
Gerrit clenched his hands behind his back, where his clenching couldn’t be noticed.
The creases in Riedel’s cheeks deepened. “I do not speak French well.”
“The natives speak English,” Schmeling said. “Their culture is an unnatural blend. Many of the natives have French surnames and English given names. The place names are French but pronounced as if by an uneducated English tourist. The name of the island’s only town of any note is pronounced ‘Saint HEL-ee-er’ rather than ‘Sahn El-ee-ay.’ Very unnatural. Yet it is a land of great beauty.”
Gerrit didn’t want a lesson in culture and history. He wanted a reason to justify wearing the uniform of his enemy.
“We have fortifications there?” Bernardus sounded cool, curious, calm.
If Gerrit were to speak, he could never feign the same demeanor.
“Many fortifications.” Schmeling turned his face to the buffeting wind. “The English consider the islands English soil. It is a matter of pride for Churchill to take them back, and a matter of pride for Hitler to keep them. Also, the islands guard this bay. No English vessels or aircraft can cross these waters without encountering a great many guns.”
Riedel chuckled. “And more to come.”
“We won’t be far from the mainland.” Bernardus swept his arm to the south. “We shall be able to visit often? I have a girl—”
“You are members of Organisation Todt.” Schmeling’s grayish eyes became steely daggers. “As volunteers, you will have freedom on the island, even though you are foreigners. But you will not qualify for leave for six months. I’m sure you learned that in training.”
Six months. Gerrit swayed and grabbed the rail.
Another chuckle jiggled Riedel’s ample belly. “Never fear. You are sure to meet girls in Jersey.”
“Indeed,” Schmeling said. “Their young men left before our men arrived.”
“Cowards.” Riedel wrinkled his broad nose.
“Misled by English propaganda to fight for Churchill, but not cowards. Regardless, their absence has left the women lonesome. However, we will comport ourselves like gentlemen.” Schmeling added a scowl for emphasis.
“Ja, Herr Oberbauführer,” Gerrit said with Bernardus and Riedel.
Meeting women was the least of his worries—and impossible. Any good woman would reject him for the loathsome uniform, and he wouldn’t want the sort of woman who liked it.
“I shall miss her.” Bernardus swept his gaze south as if longing for his girlfriend, but when he met Gerrit’s gaze in passing, it was with a mix of alarm and apology.
Gerrit faced the green island rising from the blue waters. Theywouldn’t be able to pass intelligence to the resistance for six months. Useless.
His stomach tumbled in a green mess. He’d be building fortifications for the Nazis without the consolation of aiding the Allies. Since he and Bernardus wouldn’t get leave until late March, his maps and diagrams wouldn’t arrive in England in time to provide intelligence for a spring invasion. Why even bother to draw them?
A groan rolled out into the wind.
“Seasick?” Riedel asked with a teasing grin.
Gerrit nodded. He could honestly say he felt sick to his stomach.
chapter
4
St. Helier
Tuesday, September 15, 1942
