Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (44 page)

Jan blinked with an instant of hesitation. “
Nein,
I did not, general,” he replied, praying it was the right answer.

The general shrugged and took his seat at the head of the table. As Jan returned to his chair, a portly offi cer who had come in with the general grabbed his arm and said, “I hope you’re going to do a better job for us than you did at Normandy, Heinrich. All those fancy mines didn’t do much good, did they?”

Jan hesitated before responding. “That was quite a different situation, sir.

From what I’ve seen today, your people have done an excellent job in the port.”

The room became quiet as the offi cer glared at Jan.

General Stolberg interceded. “Gunter, Herr Heinrich is our guest.
Setzen
Sie, bitte.
Let him enjoy his dinner. I believe Marcel has prepared a nice trout for our fi rst course.”

At that instant a proper-looking Belgian man wearing a dark blue suit appeared, followed by two waiters who began serving the group.

General Stolberg, Oberstleutnant Bucher and the portly offi cer Jan knew only as Gunter excused themselves after desert. Jan attempted to leave a few minutes later, hoping he would be able to slip away and meet Sam at the Kattendijkdok, but Rolfmann grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the table, refi lling his glass with cognac.

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301

“
Kommen Sie,
Ernst, enjoy yourself,” Rolfmann said with an easy laugh.

“There probably won’t be many more meals like this. Isn’t that right, Wernher?”

Graf propped his elbows on the table and fi xed Jan with a piercing stare.

“So, you think we’ve done an ‘excellent job.’ Is that right?”

“Lay off him, Graf,” another offi cer said from farther down the table. “The poor bastard just got here.”

Graf grunted and picked up his snifter of cognac. “
Ja,
I know he just got here.

Just what we need . . . a fucking civilian expert looking over our shoulder.”

It was almost midnight before the bleary-eyed offi cers fi nished off the cognac and cigars, and stumbled out of the restaurant singing loudly about the glory of the Fatherland. Faking the words of the song as best he could, Jan tried to keep away from Graf as the group crossed the cobblestone square under the towering cathedral.

“Don’t know the words very well, do you?” Graf said as he sidled up to Jan.

“Care to suggest another song?”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a singer,” Jan replied. “I’ve never paid much attention to music.”

“This isn’t ‘music,’ you dumb shit. This is patriotism. This is for the honor of the Reich!”

Suddenly Rolfmann stepped between them. His normal pleasantness had disappeared. “
Verdammt,
Wernher! What the hell’s the matter with you?

You’re acting like some Gestapo shithead. We’re all tired. Leave him alone.”

Graf mumbled an expletive, then shoved his hands in his coat pocket and fell back to another group.

The next morning Rolfmann pulled up in front of Jan’s hotel in a Volkswagen.

As they drove out of town, heading south, Jan glanced around the interior of the innovative “people’s car,” whose development had been one of Hitler’s brighter ideas to help revitalize the moribund German economy shortly after he came to power. He had seen pictures of the vehicle, but this was the fi rst time he had ridden in one. It was smaller than he had imagined with simple round dials on the dashboard and stiff cloth-covered seats. Jan’s knees were cramped and he was amazed that Rolfmann was able to squeeze his even larger frame into the tight quarters.

Jan knew he couldn’t ask any questions, of course, because Ernst Heinrich 302

Douglas W. Jacobson

would almost certainly have ridden in a Volkswagen, perhaps even owned one.

He had a fl eeting thought about how little he actually knew about the man he was impersonating. It scared the hell out of him.

They rode in silence for a few moments. Then Rolfmann glanced at him and asked, “So, what is there to do for fun in Langenfeld?”

Jan fl inched. He had no idea. Had Rolfmann ever been there? Hopefully not, or he probably wouldn’t have asked. “Well, we have a small concert hall in the center of town,” Jan said, wondering if it was true. He coughed once to clear his throat, thinking as fast as he could. “I took my wife, Frieda, to a Brahms concert there last month. She enjoys Brahms. But I haven’t been home very much the last few years.”

“Nein,”
Rolfmann grunted, “none of us have.”

“What have I done to offend Graf?” Jan asked, eager to change the subject.

Rolfmann glanced at him, his eyes magnifi ed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “
Ach,
don’t worry about it. Wernher’s kind of a fanatic . . . naturally suspicious. He’s a member of the party, you know.”

“
Ist das richtig?
I’m surprised he’s not in the SS.”

Rolfmann gave him an intuitive smile and nodded. “
Ja,
it’s been a sore spot with him for a long time.”

“What happened?”

“As I understand it, he was a Brownshirt before the war and fi gured he’d step right into the SS after his offi cer training. But he’s kind of a hothead, and he apparently mixed it up with the wrong person. He didn’t get selected and found himself in the Wehrmacht. He’s been pissed off about it ever since.”

“What about the other one, the one they called Gunter?”

“That’s Hauptmann Gunter Hermann, an old school friend of General Stolberg’s. He’s a sneaky bastard and tends to use Graf to dig up shit about people he doesn’t like. Graf’s ambitious, so he’ll do whatever Hermann wants.

They’re two of a kind, and neither one of them have much use for civilians.”

“Then I guess I’d better watch myself,” Jan said. “Where are we going anyway?”

“To the town of Boom,” Rolfmann said. He fi shed a map from under his seat and tossed it on Jan’s lap. “We have substantial defense fortifi cations on the west bank of the River Schelde. Because of that, we expect the British will approach Antwerp from the south, and they’ll have to go through Boom.”

Night of Flames

303

Rolfmann reached over and tapped the map that was unfolded on Jan’s lap.

“As you can see, the main road from Brussels to Antwerp crosses the Rupel River just south of Boom. There is a large highway bridge that spans the river at that location. We’ve placed demolition charges on the bridge. I’d like you to inspect them.”

Jan studied the map, locating the bridge. “It looks like there’s another bridge, a smaller one, east of the highway bridge.”

Rolfmann nodded. “
Ja, der
Pont van Enschodt. Dates back to the nineteenth century. We doubt they’d try and cross it because it’s out of the way and, from a distance, it doesn’t look like it would support their tanks. But we’ve put a few charges on it anyway. I’ll show it to you.”

Jan looked out the window at the fl at fi elds and the neat, brick farm buildings, hoping he’d be able to get away and meet Sam tonight. He had the feeling his cover wasn’t going to last very long.

Chapter 61

On Beukenhofstraat, like many other streets in Merksem, the cellars of every house were connected by tunnels, dug during the long years of occupation, and it was possible to traverse the entire street without going outside.

Auguste had led Justyn on a tour of the tunnel network shortly after they had taken him in.

It was after nine o’clock in the evening when Justyn, shaking with fear, pushed back the curtain and stepped through the tunnel into the neighbors’

cellar. He wasn’t surprised that the van Ginderens were waiting for him. He knew they would have seen the car arrive and the SS troopers enter Auguste and Elise’s house, along with a Gestapo agent.

They looked frantic. “What’s happened?” the elderly couple asked almost simultaneously as they led Justyn to a small seating area in a corner of the cellar. Fortunately, they spoke French.

“It was a Gestapo agent. He was looking for someone,” Justyn said, careful to tell them only what Auguste had instructed him to. “Auguste’s been hurt and he needs a doctor. I think his collarbone’s broken.”

“Mon dieu!”
Dora van Ginderen cried, covering her face with her hands.

Her husband placed a hand on Justyn’s shoulder. “
Oui, oui,
we’ll take care of it. We can reach him at his home. And what about you?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” Justyn said. “But I have an ‘errand’ to run.”

Leo van Ginderen nodded. “Do you need help?”

“
Oui . . .
with some directions.”

Leo van Ginderen led Justyn through the chain of tunnels and cellars to the end of the street where he exited through the back door of another Night of Flames

305

understanding neighbor. Without asking for any more details than he needed to know, van Ginderen gave Justyn some advice on a safe route to and from the port.

Avoiding most of the main streets, it was almost an hour before Justyn spotted Storage Building 15 on the Kattendijkdok, the sign illuminated by one of the few streetlamps in the area of industrial buildings and warehouses. He saw a fi gure standing in the shadows, looking in the other direction. He moved closer, trying to get a better look.

Closer. The man was tall, his hair—

The fi gure suddenly turned toward him. “Who’s there?”

“
Monsieur . . .
Monsieur Boeynants? It’s Justyn.”

“Justyn? What the hell!” The tall, silver-haired man stepped over and pulled him into the shadows. “What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

Justyn took a deep breath. His hands were trembling. “A Gestapo agent came to the house, a man named Reinhardt, with two SS troopers, they were looking for you.” He blurted it all out in one breath.

Boeynants stared at him. “What about Auguste and Elise?”

Justyn’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Auguste has a broken collarbone. The neighbors called a doctor.”

“They weren’t arrested?”

“
Non.
But the man said they’d be watching the house. Auguste sent me to warn you.”

Boeynants was silent for a moment, then he put a hand on Justyn’s shoulder.

“
Merci,
Justyn. You’re a brave young man. Tell Auguste and Elise that I’ll be all right, not to worry.”

Justyn nodded.

“Can you fi nd your way home safely? I’m expecting someone to meet me here.” As he said this, Boeynants glanced around.

Justyn followed Boeynants’s eyes and noticed the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man about fi fty meters away, walking toward them. “
Oui, oui,
monsieur.
I’ll be fi ne,” he said, wondering who the man was but knowing he couldn’t ask.

“You’d better be on your way,” Boeynants said. He gripped Justyn’s hand.

“
Merci beaucoup,
and be careful.”

Justyn nodded and walked back the way he came.

306

Douglas W. Jacobson

• • •

As Jan approached Storage Building Fifteen he slowed, peering into the shadows ahead. He saw two fi gures. One was that of a tall man that he guessed was Sam. The other was shorter and slender, like a boy, a teenager perhaps. Jan walked slowly, watching. The two fi gures were having a conversation. The taller fi gure turned and looked in his direction. A moment later, the shorter fi gure walked away, heading in the other direction.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night,” Jan said, when he joined Sam. “It was a long dinner with Stolberg and several other offi cers. I couldn’t get away.”

“No problem. I’m relieved to see you. How is it going?”

Jan was curious about the person who had just left, but he knew that Sam would explain if it were necessary. “I think it has gone well so far,” Jan said. “A couple of them are a little dubious about me, but the main demolition offi cer, Leutnant Rolfmann, has been very forthcoming.”

“What about their headquarters? Do you know which building it is?”

“I’m not certain because you enter through a tunnel that originates in a bunker in the middle of the park. But when I fi rst arrived, the offi cer in charge said that it’s a former bank building. As we were climbing the stairs, I looked out the windows, and it appeared that we were on the western edge of the park. I could see the cathedral.”

Sam smiled. “
Oui, merveilleux.
I know exactly which building you’re talking about. Good work.”

Jan was struck not for the fi rst time by Sam’s aura of steely self-confi dence.

The man looked tired though his silver hair was neatly trimmed and his suit freshly pressed, if a little tattered around the edges. He appeared thoughtful and deliberate, but there was a hard look in his eyes and an edge in his tone that suggested he was eager to get on with the action.

Jan continued the briefi ng, explaining everything he had learned about the Kruisschans Lock and the concealment of the explosive charges. He handed over his notes and diagrams and, in the dim light of the streetlamp, pointed out the locations of the charges.

“If they blow that lock, the water level will drop inside the port and the quay walls will collapse,” Jan said.

Sam studied the diagram carefully for a long silent moment. Then his eyes met Jan’s, the hard look intense and determined. “These bastards mean business.”

Night of Flames

307

“Yes, they do,” Jan said. “There’s no doubt in my mind they’re serious about destroying the port. I also need to tell you about Boom.”

Sam frowned. “Boom? What’s going on there?”

“As I’m sure you know, the main road from Brussels to Antwerp crosses the Rupel River over a large highway bridge just south of Boom.”

“
Oui, oui,
I’m quite familiar with the bridge,” Sam said.

“The bridge has been set up for demolition. I examined the placement of the charges and the Germans have done their job well. Rolfmann also told me they have shored up their defenses west of Antwerp, and the tunnels under the Schelde have been set for demolition. Therefore, the Allied forces will have to approach from the south and cross the Rupel River using the highway bridge at Boom.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, that certainly sounds logical. What do we do about it?”