Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (48 page)

As they approached the Jeep, one of the offi cers, a major, stepped forward.

“Who is this, lieutenant?”

“He says he’s with the White Brigade, sir. He says we’re to take him to Antoine.”

“Antoine?” The major glanced at Jan.

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“We found this on him, sir.” The lieutenant handed over the black ID

folder.

The major examined the ID badge, then called over his shoulder, “Antoine, would you like to meet Ernst Heinrich?”

The man wearing the leather jacket and beret stepped forward. “So, you’re

‘Ernst Heinrich,’” he said in very good English as he shook Jan’s hand. “I’ve been looking for you. Your intel has panned out so far. Care to join me to see what happens next?”

Chapter 66

The British major offered the use of his Jeep and driver, and a few minutes later Antoine and Jan wound their way through the narrow streets of the central city, heading toward the river, the driver constantly honking his horn trying to get through the crowds of celebrating citizens. Antoine leaned close to Jan to be heard over the noise from the crowd. “I’m sure you’d prefer not to use the name ‘Ernst Heinrich’ any longer, so perhaps we should just call you

‘Colonel’ for the time being. I believe Sam told me you’re a colonel?”

Jan nodded. “That would be fi ne.”

“I understand that all this secret identity business may seem a little silly to you regular army types, but it’s vital to our success.”

“I understand,” Jan said, though he still hated the duty.

Antoine shouted some directions to the driver, then turned back to Jan.

“This is only the beginning. With the Brits moving into Antwerp as fast as they have, the German forces have already begun to retreat across the Albert Canal into Merksem. It’s crucial for the British to seize the bridges over the canal before the Germans blow them, or it’ll be hell rooting them out. If the Germans gain control of Merksem they can attack the port by way of the Groenendallaan, the main east–west road north of the canal.”

Following Antoine’s instructions, the Jeep turned onto the Schelde Kaai and headed north. Antoine glanced at Jan. “Better hang on, now.”

The wide boulevard that paralleled the river was essentially deserted, the crowd of civilians driven off by German machine guns, mortars and 88s fi ring at them from the west bank of the river. Craters pockmarked the cobblestone 332

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road, and hundreds of windows were broken in the apartment buildings that lined the picturesque riverfront street. The driver shoved the accelerator to the fl oor, and they sped forward, dodging exploding shells and bodies of Belgian civilians and British soldiers.

As the Jeep approached the docks, the driver weaved through the rear ranks of the British regiment returning fi re across the river. They made their way to the head of the column where Antoine and Jan jumped out, keeping low and ducking behind tanks and machine gunners.

Antoine grabbed an artillery offi cer and asked for the regiment’s commander.

The offi cer led them to a location alongside the wharf, just beyond the range of the German guns, where a British colonel studied a map along with several other offi cers.

Across the street, Jan noticed a group of more than a hundred heavily armed men in paramilitary dress, wearing White Brigade armbands. He guessed they were waiting for instructions from Antoine.

When the British colonel saw Antoine and Jan approaching, he gave them an uncertain look and stepped forward. “Colonel Canfi eld, Third Royal Tank Regiment. Who are you?”

“My name is Antoine. We’re with the armed forces of the White Brigade.

I’m told you’ve been briefed on our activities.”

“Well, yes . . . somewhat,” the British colonel said.

Antoine stepped directly to the map spread out on the hood of the British offi cer’s Jeep and pointed to their location. “We are right here, at the Bonapartedok,” he said. “This dock, along with the next two, the Willemdok and the Kattendijkdok, were seized last night by White Brigade forces and are under our control. A few hours ago our forces also seized the Kruisschans Lock, located right here.” As Antoine said this, he pointed to the location of the crucial lock, almost fi ve kilometers to the north. “Our forces at the Kruisschans Lock are in desperate need of reinforcements.”

Colonel Canfi eld studied the map but didn’t respond.

Antoine glanced at Jan with a quizzical look then turned back to the British colonel. As Antoine spoke he traced a line with his fi nger from the Kattendijkdok to the Kruisschans Lock. “Colonel Canfi eld, I am requesting at least six tanks and a company of infantry to accompany my troops north, along the Kattendijkdok, across the Albert Canal and on through the remaining Night of Flames

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docks to the north. If we move quickly, we should be able to take control of them without much trouble. We will then have secured the entire port and be in position to support the men holding the Kruisschans Lock.”

Canfi eld continued to stare at the map for what seemed to Jan like a very long time. Finally he looked up and rubbed his chin, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have orders to penetrate that area. Besides, it appears to be very dangerous terrain to operate with an armored unit. All these canals and docks, lined with warehouses and cranes. It’s over fi ve kilometers, we’ve had no reconnaissance. We really don’t know—”

“Excuse me, Colonel,” Antoine interrupted. “Our reconnaissance of the entire port is very thorough. My men have been operating here for a long time.

Most of them work in the port. We’ll guide your troops all the way.”

“Well, that may be true . . . but it’s not the same as . . .” The colonel paused.

“No disrespect, but I’m sure you understand. My orders are to proceed to the port as far as the Albert Canal. I have no authority to penetrate farther.”

Antoine could not hide his annoyance. “Colonel Canfi eld, the Kruisschans Lock is vital to the safety of the port. The Germans rigged it for demolition, which we are now in the process of dismantling—”

“Well then, we have some time,” Canfi eld chimed in.

“No, sir, we don’t,” Antoine snapped. “We were able to seize the lock with a surprise attack, but we won’t be able to hold it without reinforcements. If the Germans retake that lock, they will blow it up. Do you know what will happen then?”

“Look old chap, really, I think we—”

Antoine interrupted him again. “Sir, the entire port could collapse. If they blow that lock, the water in the port will go out with the tide, and without the water pressure in the docks the sides of the quays will collapse. The port of Antwerp will be out of commission for years.”

The two men stared at each other.

Jan knew that Colonel Canfi eld was clearly in a bind. He had incomplete orders and was suddenly being asked to risk an armored unit and a company of infantry in an unknown area on the word of a foreign civilian he had never before met. As a career military offi cer, Jan knew that was an untenable position.

But he also knew that what Antoine was asking was absolutely necessary.

“Colonel Canfi eld, may I have a word with you in private?” Jan asked, 334

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stepping a few meters away from the group and gesturing for the colonel to join him.

The colonel stepped over to Jan, but he was clearly agitated. “And who the hell are you, again?”

Jan glanced around. Antoine and the other British offi cers had moved out of earshot. He looked at Canfi eld. “I am a regimental commander with the Polish First Armored Division, attached to the First Canadian Corps. Our unit was on Mont Ormel at the Falaise Gap. I also have advanced training in demolition devices. Two weeks ago I was assigned by General Maczek to special duty with the SOE. I have been operating undercover for the past week within the German garrison here in Antwerp. I am the one who routed you over the Pont van Enschodt. I’ve been to the Kruisschans Lock. I can assure you, Colonel Canfi eld, that what Antoine is asking for is absolutely necessary.”

“Well, he may think it necessary, but—”

Jan held up his hand. “We also need support to seize the bridges over the Albert Canal.”

“That may be, but my orders—”

“Quite frankly, Colonel, I don’t give a shit what your orders are,” Jan said, cutting him off. “We’re both offi cers and we both know we have to make decisions in the fi eld. Will it have made any sense to have fought your way into Antwerp and then let the Germans destroy the port?”

Canfi eld removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. He glanced around at the other offi cers who were all looking off in another direction. “You make a very persuasive argument, but I still do not have the authority—”

“If you don’t have the authority, then get on the radio and contact whoever does,” Jan exclaimed. “But let’s stop fucking around! Those men out at the Kruisschans Lock need reinforcements, and they need them now!”

Canfi eld stared at him for a moment. Then he turned and stormed off, yelling to one of his offi cers, “Captain Anders! Get a radioman up here! On the double!”

Chapter 67

Twenty-four hours later, Jan wandered through the quiet battlefi eld surrounding the Kruisschans Lock. British medics tended to the wounded from both sides with the help of a Belgian doctor. Trucks were on their way for transport to the hospital.

Jan kicked at a small clump of dirt, staring at the wreckage. They hadn’t gotten all they asked for from Canfi eld, but they’d gotten enough to save the lock and, as battles went, this one was minor. Compared with what Jan had experienced at the Bzura River and the Kampinos Forest, compared with Montbard, Chambois and the Falaise Gap, it was really nothing more than a blip on the chart.

But it had now been fi ve years. Five years . . . and he was standing in yet another battlefi eld with bodies of young men sprawled in front of him. Dead Polish boys and French boys now replaced by British and Belgian boys. But they were still dead. And after fi ve years, there were still dead German boys.

Jan rubbed his eyes. By now, he thought, an entire generation of German youth had been wasted across the entire continent of Europe. From the vast expanses of Poland and Russia to the tidy hedgerows of Normandy and now, along the canals of Belgium and Holland, there had been one constant. Young men had died . . . millions of young men. For what?

A British offi cer named Wilson walked alongside him. “How long have you been at this?”

Jan shook his head and kicked at another clump of dirt. “It seems like forever.”

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Douglas W. Jacobson

A little before six o’clock in the evening, Antoine returned to the Kruisschans Lock with an additional British infantry platoon. The Resistance leader joined Jan and Wilson who were standing on the outer gate of the lock. “Another British regiment and two Canadian regiments have entered the city, and the Germans have been pretty well rooted out,” Antoine said.

“What about the bridges to Merksem?” Jan asked.

Antoine shook his head. “They’re all blown. The Germans have Merksem sealed off. Most of them got over the bridges before they were destroyed, but Canfi eld tells me they’ve taken more than two thousand prisoners.”

“Two thousand?” Wilson exclaimed. “Where the hell are they going to put them?”

“Well, he asked me if I had any suggestions,” Antoine said. “I told him to lock them up in the zoo. It’s right near the Central Station.”

“The zoo? What about the animals?” Wilson asked.

“They were all eaten long ago.”

Wilson looked at Jan, an incredulous expression on his face.

Jan shrugged. After what he’d seen in Poland, he knew anything was possible.

Antoine continued. “We’re clearing out the last of the Germans from the docks north of the canal. We should have complete control over the port by morning.”

“But now we’ve got to hold it,” Jan said.

The Resistance leader nodded. “Yes. And until Merksem is taken we can expect additional attacks. With the bridges gone, the only way into Merksem is over the Groenendallaan, which we’ve already tried and failed, or across the canal in boats—but that’s for another day.” He turned to Jan. “You’ve had a busy week. You’re offi cially relieved from my command as of now. Get some rest and report to Sam at 1400 hours tomorrow at the Den Engle Café on the Grote Markt. Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll fi nd it,” Jan said.

Chapter 68

It was after midnight and Anna was still awake, staring at the shadowy outline of the crystal chandelier. Frustrated, she turned onto her side, and her eyes fell on the garish fl owered patterns of the wallpaper illuminated by moonlight shining through the window. Alone and isolated in this bizarre prison cell for almost a week, she felt herself slipping into a well of despair.

She had tried to fi ght it. She had tried to keep her mind occupied, devis-ing a hundred different plans for escape, all of which seemed futile. Otto had shut her out, refusing any further communication, and the stark reality was that she was sealed in a room with a stout, locked door and barred windows in an isolated farmhouse at least fi fteen kilometers inside Germany. The last thought she had before fi nally drifting off to sleep was that she may never see Jan again.

Anna snapped awake at the sound of footsteps outside the door. As the fog of sleep lifted she heard a key turning in the lock. She sat upright as the door opened, her eyes gradually focusing on a fi gure in the doorway.

For a few seconds the fi gure just stood there, then slowly stepped forward and fl ipped on the light switch.

Anna was momentarily blinded by the bright light and covered her eyes.

Her heart pounded.

“I apologize for waking you,” Dieter Koenig said. “But I’ve missed you terribly.” He spoke French, his voice just a whisper.

Anna blinked to clear her eyes and tried to speak, but she felt as if she were choking.

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Koenig turned away for a second, closed the heavy wooden door and locked it, slipping the key into his pocket. He took off his hat and placed it on the bureau, which stood against the wall opposite the bed. “I trust you are well? Otto has taken good care of you in my absence?”