‘And you are from Berlin?’ the guard was asking Alma.
‘Ja. The Charité Hospital,’ she replied.
‘Like the others?’
‘Ja. We all work together.’
The guard handed Alma back her documents, before moving to stand in front of Clara. She passed over her papers.
‘And you’re from Charité also?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m from the Reich Health Office, Medical Supplies Division,’ replied Clara.
‘Why have you been asked to travel to the Lille?’
‘Monitoring and assessing medical supplies.’
The guard pursed his lips. ‘Strange accent.’
‘I’m from a small town near the Swiss border,’ explained Clara. A bead of sweat slid down her spine.
‘Really? So am I. Whereabouts exactly?’
Clara had no idea if he was telling the truth or testing her. ‘Schliengen, near Basel,’ replied Clara confidently.
‘Schliengen! What a coincidence. My cousin is from there. You must know his family, they are very well known in the town. Herr Ralf Schmitt? He was the local head teacher. You must know him?’
Clara frowned as if she was trying to remember. The sly smile on the guard’s face told her he was testing her, which meant he was suspicious or just enjoying the power trip. She doubted very much he knew of the small village. Friedrich’s research would have been meticulous. He told her the village had less than a thousand inhabitants, with basic infrastructure of a church and a school.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember the name. Schliengen is very small, mostly families. I can’t place anyone by the name of Schmitt, not a head teacher anyway. I’m sure I’d remember that.’
He studied her, then smiled. ‘Forgive me, Fräulein. My mistake. I was thinking of a different village altogether.’ He handed back her papers before turning around to nod at one of the other guards who instructed Clara and the nurses to get back into the truck.
Clara just wanted them to clear the border crossing as quickly as possible and escape what felt like a danger hotspot. The driver climbed into the cab, the engine rumbled to life and the first gate lifted for them to pass through. A second checkpoint waited twenty metres ahead, also manned by border guards. Only after this gate opened and they rounded the bend did Clara realise why the crossing had taken so long – a massive convoy of military vehicles stretched along the roadside, waiting to cross back into Germany.
As Clara’s truck slowly trundled past, she caught glimpses through the canvas of battle-weary soldiers slumped in the backs of trucks. Their hollow eyes and empty stares bore no resemblance to the triumphant warriors described in Berlin’s newspapers. Mud-splattered and dented vehicles told a different story.
Catcalls erupted from some of the troops as they passed. Clare kept her gaze fixed downward, her stomach churning, while Alma and the other two nurses eagerly stood up to wave and smile back at the soldiers, clearly enjoying the attention.
When they finally left the convoy behind, Clara took a long deep breath of relief.
‘You know, you’re really not much fun,’ said one of the nurses settling back down after waving enthusiastically at a truck full of grinning soldiers.
‘She’s still pining for that captain from last night,’ Alma said with a laugh.
‘Plenty more where he came from,’ the other nurse chimed in.
Clara forced what she hoped passed for a smile. She couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for their conversation, but alienating herself would be dangerous. ‘Maybe I’ll find someone to take my mind off him,’ she said, although the very thought felt like a betrayal to Friedrich.
‘That’s more like it!’ Alma beamed, turning to the others. ‘See? I told you she wasn’t really stuck up.’
Clara nodded weakly, wondering how many more lies she’d have to tell before this nightmare was over.
They had been travelling for almost six hours, having made their way across Belgium, stopping on the way at a small village for a rest break and something to eat. From there they had crossed into France, without the need for any border controls as both countries were now under German occupation.
The countryside rolled gently past in soft green waves, fields of ripening wheat and barley stretching towards distant coppice of beech and oak trees. Stone farmhouses with steep slate roofs dotted the landscape, many now flying German flags from their gates. Clara knew from what Friedrich had told her that many of the homes had been seconded by the Germans and officers had been billeted to stay with local families.
The peaceful rural scene was marred by the fresh scars of conflict. Burned-out vehicles lay abandoned in ditches, and several farmhouses showed blacked windows where fires had raged. Telegraph poles leaned drunkenly along the roadside, their wires cut and tangled.
