Rayas colony legacy, p.29
Operation Tulip, page 29
The cart shifted under them and began to rumble forwards. Betje drove the cart towards the checkpoint. The journey was only about half a mile, but time seemed to have stretched. Every jolt made Nancy want to run. But she stayed motionless, her fingers wound into Tom’s warm grip.
‘Halt!’
The cart lurched to a stop.
‘What have you there?’ A soldier’s voice asked in German.
Betje replied, her voice calm and steady. ‘The usual. No survivors now. I’ll take these to the morgue at the hospital.’
Footsteps crunching on the hard ground, getting closer. Tom slowly released Nancy’s hand.
Nancy held her breath, praying her heart was not making as much noise as she thought. She kept her eyes closed under the bandage but felt a sudden draught and flash of brightness as the blanket was shifted away.
‘Stinks,’ the man said.
Then she felt a hand by her throat. ‘What’s this?’
Oh, no. Her St Christopher. It had fallen out of the neck of her jumper.
A tug as a hand tried to wrestle it from her throat. Then he let go with a gasp of alarm. ‘Hey! This one’s still warm.’
A sudden sharp pain in her side, as something stabbed into her. A gun? What?
She couldn’t help but make an involuntary movement. It happened before she had any control over it.
A grip came around her arm and started to pull. ‘Here! Over here!’
More running feet. She knew then it was all over. Betje yelled at the horse to move, but her continued shouts made her realise it was shying in its traces.
Nancy’s arm was being wrenched from its socket. Should have attacked first. But with no weapon, she had nothing to fight with. A flashback to her training at Arisaig. From the one un-bandaged eye she glimpsed three uniformed men.
Divert them from Tom. That instant she decided to run. Tom’s arm tugged at her from beneath the blanket. She scrambled up and tried to make a mad leap, but one of the soldiers threw his weight onto her and she crashed back.
Betje shouted again at the horse.
A man’s eyes under a metal helmet glared into hers. Knee to the groin. She jerked her knee up, but he swore, punched her in the face and pinned her down. A rough hand ripped off the bandage. He was pressing her throat until she gasped for breath. In the harsh bright light of day his face loomed over her.
At the same time she heard Tom’s yell of ‘Leave her alone!’
No. You fool! Our agreement! Don’t tell them you’re there.
Tom’s words were in English. Shit. Nancy twisted and writhed to try to get up, but Tom had already leapt off the cart to come to help her.
From the side of her eye she glimpsed Betje flicking the reins and yelling obscenities at the horse to get it to move on. The horse shot away just as she managed to sit up, and one of the soldiers fired at it as it passed. The bullet zipped past her ear but the horse, spooked, broke into a wild canter. She tried to call out to Tom but the horse swerved to avoid a pothole and she lost balance and fell back, cracking her head on the side of the cart.
By the time she looked up, she couldn’t see Tom. He was completely pressed to the ground by armed men.
Chapter 37
‘Up! Up!’ A pistol was at Tom’s throat, but he couldn’t move for the soldier’s weight on his hips. German words and ragged English came thick and fast. ‘Pretend to be dead, would you? Who was that woman?’ The questions came too rapidly for him to answer and besides his mouth was full of dirt.
The other Wehrmacht man crouched by his head and dangled the St Christopher medal in front of Tom’s face, swinging it by its broken chain. ‘Who is she? Why is Schneider looking for her?’ He was a man with bad breath and a chin that had been shaved completely smooth, eyes shadowed by his helmet.
Tom kept still, didn’t react, his mind working to try to fathom what to do.
‘What do you mean, Schneider’s looking for her?’ The man turned his attention to his friend and the gold chain but kept Tom pinned.
‘He’s searching for a woman with a gold necklace, a St Christopher medal like this one. Zoll told me he’s obsessed with her. This bastard might know where she’d go.’
‘You mean take him in?’ Pistol man kept the gun to Tom’s head, though Tom could feel it vibrating as if the soldier couldn’t wait to pull the trigger. ‘Why? We could kill him now. Just keep the gold.’
‘Better not. Schneider’s a devil. If he ever found out, we’d be shipped to the Eastern Front before we could even say Heil. This woman’s on the SS “Wanted” list, I’m sure of it.’
‘So? He won’t know.’
‘Could mean promotion, a commendation at the least.’
‘Shove him in the truck then, and we’ll take him in. He’s got to be worth a pip or two.’
*
Nancy was dizzy. She’d hit the back of her head on the edge of the cart and now nausea overtook her. She could only think of one fact. They’d got Tom, and she dreaded what might happen to him. As the cart bounced over the potholed road, she put her sore head in her hands and cursed herself. It was her necklace that had got them into this mess.
Betje drove like fury, the horse clattering down empty streets. Nobody stopped them, for everyone was conserving precious energy by staying indoors. After a while, when no-one seemed to be coming after them, the horse slowed, blowing and panting. Betje turned back to shout, ‘The police station is on Jaaverstraat. That’s where Schneider works and where he’ll have taken him,’ Betje said.
‘There? I thought he worked at the prison?’
‘Not any more,’ Betje said.
They pulled up shortly afterwards at the hospital. Betje turned to face her, her lips quivering. ‘He’s no hope of getting out.’
‘If he doesn’t talk?’
‘Execution if he’s lucky. Or, there’s a prisoner transport leaving in two days for Westerbork.’
Nancy put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What about you?’
‘They’ll come for me too. Can’t pretend they won’t. They know me too well, and where I work.’
‘Can’t you get out of here?’
‘What do you think?’ Her answer meant no. ‘This is my city,’ she said.
Nancy helped Betje unload the bodies from the cart, wrap them in the blankets and take them to the morgue. The place was already full, and stank of putrefaction. Betje labelled the couple with their address, writing it on their arms in pen.
She looked up from her grisly task and pointed to the transmitter suitcase now grey with ash. ‘There are men from the resistance hiding on the top floor. Ward 8. If a Nazi comes they go into the laundry storerooms or the operating theatres. We keep NSB people out of those rooms – nobody goes there except men working for the resistance, and a few Jews. We save the lives we can.’ She stood upright and stretched her back. ‘Head for the top floor and ask for a man called Gerard. He’s taken charge of this network now, as well as the one in Amsterdam. I must go and help now with the injured from Bezuidenhout.’
Gerard. Oh no. Nancy didn’t hold out much hope of help if it was him. He was the one who had given her this doomed assignment in the first place. Wearily, she picked up the wireless case and clinging to the banister, hauled herself up the stairs and along the corridor to Ward 8.
Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry. But worse, the wretchedness of losing Tom ate into her heart. The thought of him being in Schneider’s hands made her hot with rage and futility as she blundered down the corridors. This hospital was not a quiet place of calm and refuge like a hospital in peacetime. Every inch of floor space in the corridor was covered by a body, many groaning or crying out. Blood and dust; that was her main impression. And too few nurses, but those she saw went from man to man giving whatever comfort they could. None of them had complete uniforms – some just an armband or a cap, some an apron. All of them had hunger-riven faces and blood-stained hands.
Ward 8 was no better. Men lounged against the walls, or slept actually underneath the hospital beds. It stank of filth and ammonia, and hands reached out to her for help as she passed along.
‘Has anyone seen a man called Gerard?’ she asked.
A lad stood up. ‘What do you want from him?’ He was young, face full of freckles, he looked about thirteen. He had no visible injury, except the haunted look shared by everyone else.
Nancy took a chance he was a resistance courier. ‘I need help to get one of my friends out of a difficult situation. He’s an agent, an English agent.’
‘You’re in the right place, Miss.’ The lad stuck out a thumb to indicate she should follow as he wove through the ward. Nancy lugged the case after him. This floor seemed to be all people with head injuries. The end bed was occupied by a man with a bandage over his face. He was lying on his side, sleeping.
The boy prodded him hard on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Gerard, someone to see you.’
Gerard sat up and looked at Nancy through one eye before pulling off the bandage. The big bear-like man scowled at her, only now he was unshaven and his eyes sunk in wrinkles.
‘You again,’ he said. ‘You still here? Thought you’d gone underground.’
‘I need help. They’ve arrested my friend and I need to get him out.’
‘If he’s been caught, we can’t do anything.’
‘He’s from Fransine’s cell in Dordrecht. A friend of Burt. They called him Jim. He’s English.’
Now Gerard sat up, his eyes penetrating. ‘Who told you all these names?’
‘He did. He’s been taken to the police station on Jaaverstraat.’ She gave a brief update on how they’d come to be arrested, whilst the others in the neighbouring beds listened to the story.
‘Who else does he know?’ one man asked. ‘All those people are dead.’
‘Thierry, Albie, me. But I know him, and he won’t talk,’ Nancy said, ‘but better to get him out quickly. He’s going to be useful to you once the Allies break through.’
Gerard clapped his hands and several men clustered around the bed. They all had head wounds, but it soon became apparent they were fake, and the bandages a way of concealing their faces and identity should the Nazis come snooping.
‘Does he know someone called Erik?’ Gerard asked.
‘Yes. Erik sorted out a Landstorm uniform for him during a raid.’
‘Then we’re in trouble, he might give Erik away. Best get Erik in, have a word.’ Gerard immediately sent the young freckle-faced boy to find Erik, reeling off a list of instructions. ‘Tell him to see what he can find out from Schneider about the man held in there – the Englishman that came from the Bezuidenhout.’ He turned to Nancy, who was still clutching the transmitter. ‘Is that case what I think it is?’
‘My transmitter.’
‘Yes, I know. I supplied it. Gave it to Steef, who passed it to you at the apartment in Waagenstraat. Have you got contacts in England?’
She explained how Tom was negotiating with Neil, to try to get food aid dropped into Holland.
‘Then you’d better get on with it.’
‘What about my friend?’ She could think of nothing but Tom.
‘We’ll wait for intelligence from Erik, then see.’
She had to be content with that. Meanwhile, Nancy had to wait in the hospital. A nurse gave her a nurses’ cap, but Nancy wasn’t convinced it would be enough if the Nazis came.
*
In a police cell at Jaaverstraat Tom had become calm. They’d searched him and removed his coat and shoes, but thank God hadn’t found the code sewn under the label of his vest. But he knew the only way out of here was going to be the hard way. He was just glad Nancy had got away.
Where was she now? His chest heaved with emotion.
The cell was painted an institutional mushroom colour and was bare except for a latrine bucket. The emptiness made his mind suddenly clear. He was just a bare-footed body in this blank space. For now, he could hear his breath as it flowed in and out. But this would be the end, he was sure, and truth be told, he’d been lucky to make it so far.
If only the British would come. They’d all been months waiting, and still Holland was crushed under the anvil of the Nazis. His thoughts were interrupted by the clang of the door opening, and two Greens who took him roughly by the arm and propelled him down a corridor.
Here it comes, he thought. He was thrust into an interrogation room with a rough-wood table and two chairs. A man in black SS uniform had his back to him. This must be Schneider, the man the soldiers mentioned, the one Nancy was supposed to be spying on.
The man turned and looked him up and down. He had a pale pinched face under his black cap, with its Totenkopf skull emblem. ‘They tell me you’re English. An English officer.’
Tom said nothing, appraising the other man. He couldn’t imagine Nancy on this man’s arm.
‘Name?’ It was barked out in English.
Hold out. That was what Burt had told him. Hold out for twenty-four hours. Give Nancy time. Time to get the hell out of Holland.
Schneider placed the St Christopher on the table in front of him. It settled there with a metallic clink. Of course he recognised it, but he tried to show nothing on his face.
‘This belongs to your friend, Nancy. Also known as Danique Koopman. Did she tell you we were lovers?’
Tom felt his lips tighten. He was lying. Just saying those things to rile him.
‘She was not bad at warming my bed,’ he said with a tight smile ‘Quite a voracious little fox. But we’d like to know where she is now.’
Say nothing.
He sighed. ‘So that’s how you want to play it, is it, Mr Englishman,’ Schneider said softly. He stood up and turned away. ‘Braun. Zoll. Take him to Room Two. Give him the usual.’
Chapter 38
Later that evening, Nancy made a transmission to Neil using Tom’s call sign and code and electric power from the hospital, though she simply couldn’t face telling her brother what had happened to Tom. It was all too much to bear. Instead, she concentrated on keeping the Morse steady. She was nervous because she was surrounded by men from the Resistance, all curious to see the outcome of this transmission.
Neil’s reply was succinct.
DROP WILL BE SOON STOP YPENBURG AIRPORT
ARRANGE DISTRIBUTION TRANSPORT NETWORK TO STAND BY OVER
Nancy was just scribbling this down when there was a commotion and shots outside. The men rushed to the windows.
‘Gestapo,’ Gerard yelled. ‘Get to your places.’
Instantly men leapt into beds, others disappeared into the operating rooms, scurrying down the stairs like rats.
Nancy dragged the wire from the window where she’d been transmitting and stuffed everything back in the suitcase.
Two nurses came running in, just as Nancy wondered where the hell she was going to hide. One of the nurses grabbed the transmitter from her hand and shoved it into a laundry basket along with a heap of blankets. Another fit young man jumped in on top and the nurses rushed to cover him over with bloodied sheets.
‘Quick,’ one of the nurses said, ‘curl up under there and don’t move.’ She pointed to the end of Gerard’s bed. Nancy clambered up, squeezing her legs up to her chest as a large cage contraption draped with a blue sheet was lowered over her.
She could see nothing, except Gerard’s stinking feet were hitched up next to her nose.
Moments later heavy boots thumped along the corridor. She guessed at four or five men. Even the blood in her veins seemed to freeze.
The men in the ward immediately started moaning, as if in pain.
‘Quiet!’ shouted a voice in German. ‘All the nurses are to line up with their papers, so I can look at them.’
A shuffle of feet. Nancy held her breath as she heard boots walking up and down the centre of the ward. From the thin sliver of gap between the sheet and the bed she saw the SS man go along the line of nurses. He pulled one of them from the line and she began to weep as she was hustled away by an aide.
Moments later they were at the bed next to hers. She daren’t twitch the cloth down lower.
‘What’s wrong with this man?’ the voice asked.
‘Head injury, sir,’ the nurse replied. ‘Not fit to fight.’
‘Stand up.’ The order came sharp and clear.
The noise of the man in the next bed groaning and getting up, the creak of the wheels on the bed. He was one of theirs, a man Nancy knew to be a resistance man.
‘See, he can barely stand,’ the nurse said.
‘We’ll see about that. Take him down.’
The noise of feet moving. She saw the black-clad legs of the SS men moving away with a pair of bare feet and pyjama-clad legs between them. One pair of SS legs remained, and she watched the boots turn towards Gerard’s bed where she was tucked into a breathless ball.
‘What about this one?’
Gerard was still, as if dead. Nancy screwed her eyes shut.
‘Leg amputation, sir, a right mess. Bombed in Bezuidenhout. We had to cut off at the knee; saw right through the bone, hence the cage.’
The legs took a step back. ‘He’s no use to us. Will he die?’
‘Probably, sir.’
Nancy flicked her eyes open as the boots stepped further away and she saw their shiny blackness retreat.
‘Search all the cupboards,’ came the order.
Nancy gripped the sheets. She’d no idea where the rest of the SS were, whether they were behind them, and Gerard was completely still. More noises of doors opening and closing, the click of cupboard latches, the dragging noise of laundry baskets on the floor.
A sudden yell, as a man was found and caught. The nurses’ protested that they had no idea anyone was there.
Nancy felt like a foetus, holding on to a thin thread of life.
Finally the footsteps retreated, and a nurse called, ‘All clear.’
Nancy could no longer move. She shook with the effort of staying so still. Her legs were numb, and her head fuzzy from lack of breath.
A nurse flipped open the sheet and helped her out as Gerard ripped off his bandage and shook his head at the empty bed next to him.
