Gerrit gave him a slow nod without breaking his gaze. “We may be volunteers, but we signed a contract. Even if we could quit, whatwould we tell Schmeling? Why would we want to quit three days after arriving on what they call an island paradise?”
Any excuse would arouse suspicion. Questioning. Perhaps interrogation. Under interrogation, the strongest men broke, and Bernardus’s entire network could be shattered.
Horror flicked through the blue of Bernardus’s eyes.
Gerrit shared his rage at the situation, at their entrapment, and at the breach of faith—unintended on Bernardus’s part. But God knew what would happen, and he’d allowed them to join OT anyway. Once again, Gerrit had done his part, had done something brave and noble. Why wouldn’t God do his part?
Bernardus stomped one foot and thrust his arm toward the nearest concrete platform, topped by an imposing 15-centimeter gun. “If we must stay, let’s commit sabotage.”
Gerrit shielded his eyes from the sun and glanced back toward their commander. “This island measures only fourteen kilometers by eight kilometers. How many dozens of batteries and bunkers has Schmeling shown us the past two days? How many more are under construction?”
“He expects us to help build a command bunker right here. To modify German plans to make it better, stronger, so they can fend off an invasion. Fine. Let’s build it, then destroy it.”
Gerrit folded his arms, encased in the vile brown uniform. “If we did so, it would decrease German strength in Jersey by less than one percent, and they would quickly rebuild.”
“I have to do something.” Bernardus’s voice hissed through his clenched teeth. “I’ll do my job poorly, lead them to build on unstable soil. And you—you can—”
“If they discovered what we’d done, we’d be tortured and shot, and your contacts would be in danger.”
Bernardus’s head sagged back. “Why do you always have to be logical?”
Since they’d met as schoolboys, Bernardus had always been the accelerator and Gerrit the brakes. Both necessary.
“Kroon!” Schmeling beckoned to them. “Van der Zee!”
“On to the next fortification,” Bernardus mumbled.
Gerrit sent a wry smile. “Every day spent sightseeing means a day we aren’t building.”
Schmeling led them back to his dark green Bentley, which had once been some wealthy Jerseyman’s prized possession. The car, like the hotel where Gerrit was billeted, had been requisitioned by the Germans. Schmeling had explained that since the islanders didn’t receive a petrol ration, they had no need for cars anyway.
Gerrit’s mouth tightened as he slid into the backseat.
Schmeling drove north up Noirmont Point, through the village of St. Aubin, and followed the coastal road east along St. Aubin’s Bay. The tide was in, isolating two forts on either end of the bay. When the tide was out, one could walk to the forts along the seafloor.
“It is beautiful here,nicht wahr?” Schmeling gestured to the sweep of golden sand beside brilliant blue waters. “When we’ve won this war, this shall be a holiday spot for the German people.”
Gerrit gave a noncommittal murmur. The Germans weren’t building resorts. They were building “resistance nests,” evenly spaced around the bay, with machine guns and anti-tank guns poking from concealed concrete bunkers. Any Allied landing force would be decimated.
Schmeling drove into the town of St. Helier with its handsome homes. “As you can imagine, we require vast quantities of materials, especially cement. Van der Zee, one of your roles will be to inspect shipments to ensure the materials haven’t been sabotaged by French terrorists.”
Bernardus clucked his tongue. “I’m sorry to hear not everyone appreciates the benefits of German rule.”
Gerrit resisted the urge to whack his friend. Overplaying Nazi zeal was as dangerous as underplaying it.
Soon they crossed a railway line ringing the harbor.
“We built this railway,” Schmeling said with pride. “We dedicatedit this summer. The local children have been a bit of a nuisance, I’m afraid, laying rocks on the rails. They shall learn their lesson.”
Gerrit’s fingers coiled around his knees. He knew all too well how the Nazis taught those lessons.
Schmeling turned the car toward the docks. “I see our workers are here to unload.”
Gerrit’s heart wrenched as it had yesterday when he’d seen the prisoners at work on a construction site, poorly fed and clad and shod.
“You needn’t mind them.” Schmeling parked the car at the foot of a pier, where two dozen workers huddled. “TheirSchutzkommandoguards keep them in line.”
Kept them in line with harsh voices and truncheons.
