Page 276 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Emilie entered, carrying a tray. “Though I’ve tried, I’m afraid the smell may never come out of your uniform, Major.”

“Please call me Jack and thank you.” Jack knew the words were inadequate for what this man and his family had done. He knew they were in danger, not only for dragging him from the crash, but for harboring someone the Germans would consider a spy. Thinking of that, he said, “It would be best if you go ahead and burn the uniform. But my satchel? I had some—”

Bernard waved his words away. “It’s hidden for now. We are not resistance, but we consider ourselves partisans. Our island is a small one, which allows us to keep you in relative secrecy. Once you’ve healed enough, we will get you back to the mainland, but I’m afraid that is all we can offer.”

“It is a great deal,” Jack corrected. “The sooner I leave, the safer your family will be.”

Bernard nodded. “Don’t worry about that for now. We hate the Germans just as much as our countrymen on the mainland do. They are destroying our world and considering that you were on the wrong side of the channel, I’m guessing that you weren’t over here just for the wine.” He stood and allowed Emilie to take his chair. “For now, you need to eat and start regaining your strength. We’ll worry about getting you back home once you’ve rested and healed.”

Jack managed to eat a bit of broth before Emilie changed his bandages, wrapping his ribs tightly. The pain was constant and yet he was able to sleep as soon as she helped him lie back again. It was another three days before Jack was allowed out of bed. He’d lost weight but had switched from broth to food and was slowly regaining his strength. His ribs still ached and would for several weeks, but he was grateful that the bullet had gone straight through his thigh.

He started walking about the small house, meeting Bernard’s son, Henri, and thanking him for his cleverness in hiding among the fish that night. Soon he was taking short walks, going a bit further each day. In consideration of the family’s safety, he stayed within the small village, wearing Bernard’s clothing and using the opportunity to practice his French. The villagers were friendly and helpful and though Bernard assured him that his neighbors were loyal to France, Jack knew his presence put them in danger. Finally, at the end of a month, he, Bernard and Henri sat down one night to discuss his departure.

“We can get you to the coastal village of Diélette. It has a port where we can land for servicing our boat. Once ashore, I have a friend who will collect you and put you in touch with people who can get you home.”

Jack nodded and thanked them yet again for saving his life.

“No thanks are needed,” Bernard said. “You just get home safely.”

Emilie smiled as she poured him a glass of wine. “And when you do, you tell your Betsy that she is all you thought about when the fever tried to take you.”

Jack smiled, knowing she was right. He ached wondering how frightened Betsy must be and thanked God once again for allowing him to live… to have another chance to hold the woman whose voice had kept his soul alive while his body recuperated.

Two nights later, he stepped off the fishing boat. He was once again wearing borrowed clothing. They were old but serviceable. He’d fed his uniform—that indeed had reeked of fish—into a barrel, watching it burn, understanding that to be caught wearing it would condemn him immediately. He’d given the leather satchel to Bernard, knowing that its very presence against his chest had kept him from more serious injuries. He’d removed the papers, amazed that the plastic Maurice had wrapped them in kept them relatively dry. When dressing that morning, he’d tucked the papers beneath his shirt.

His escort was a wiry young man named Tomas. “We will take you across the channel tomorrow night.”

Jack was pleased at the quickness of the plan. “You’ve got a pilot?”

Tomas laughed. “Our pilots drive boats, not planes. You’ll be on a large trawler with… other contraband to England.”

Understanding he would be traversing the channel by boat, Jack asked, “The German patrols?”

“Are out every night,” Tomas said, “but tomorrow there is a storm predicted. It will be dangerous, but this has been done several times before.”

And dangerous it was. This time Jack was aware of being in the hold… not with fish but with the other contraband. He moved into a small room that had been built against the hull and found he wasn’t alone. Nearly two dozen people were his companions—Jews who had somehow avoided capture up to this point. Jack knew that if the boat was boarded and they were found, he would be destined to join these innocent people in Struthof or another one of the supposed work camps where millions of their people had already been sent. Jack also knew from the intelligence reports he had seen that being sent to one of these concentration camps meant death.

The smell of the fish, the rocking of the boat in heavy seas, the confinement in a closed, dank area, and the seasickness of at least half of the people made for a very difficult voyage. Jack held a small girl in his arms, her mother struggling to keep her baby brother quiet. The fear was palpable as the water rose until it was sloshing around his calves. After several hours, Jack no longer worried about the boat being boarded by German patrols. Instead, his greatest fear was that they’d be blown out of the water by British coastal batteries. He gave yet another prayer of thanks when the boat reached England, was met by a British patrol, and they were escorted to safety. He was the last to leave the hold and he had never been more grateful to see daylight.

Once his travel companions had been taken away, he was approached by a British officer. “Major Novak?”

“Yes,” Jack said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Welcome home, Sir. I’m sure you wish to get to HQ as quickly as possible?”

Jack agreed as he climbed into the man’s car. Five hours later, he shook the man’s hand again and then stood looking up at the building he’d been waiting to see for weeks. He wasn’t in uniform, smelled of fish and sickness, and yet didn’t hesitate to walk into the building and was grinning when Mrs. Knoll looked up. The woman shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she came from around her desk and enveloped him in a hug.

“Thank God,” she said. “Oh, Jack, don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Jack laughed as she swatted at his chest. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned,” he assured her as she finally released him and ran to open the door to the general’s office.

“He really is alive!” she said, ignoring all protocol.

Richard Helmsley pulled Jack to him, pounding him on the back, parroting Mrs. Knoll’s words. “Thank God.”

Despite the warm homecoming, Jack knew there was business to attend to. As Mrs. Knoll went to bring coffee, sandwiches and cookies, he pulled the papers from his shirt. He and the general spent the next several hours going over everything until finally Richard sat back.

“This information is invaluable and time sensitive.”

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