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No Neutral Ground (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

By Terri Wangard

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The wind sliced right through Jennie Lindquist’s coat. So warm in Illinois, it now felt as thin as a pillowcase. Late winter was the wrong time of year to cross the North Atlantic. The temperature hovered around ten degrees, but with the wind and the ship’s speed, it seemed far below zero.
Her gloved fingers had grown stiff from the cold. She had to keep sketching, though, or she would lose her model.
The soldier continued to stare at the spot where the Statue of Liberty had long since faded from view in their wake. The quivering of his chin was his only movement.
Jennie perched on a stowage bin. After adding several pencil strokes to shade the edge of his arm, she held up her drawing and studied it through narrowed eyes. Had she captured his forlornness?
It would have to do. She shoved her sketch pad and pencil into her tote bag. Plenty of time remained aboard the ocean liner-turned-troopship to accomplish her goal of sketching a series capturing life aboard ship.
Overhead, the last escorting U.S. Navy patrol plane dipped its wings and turned back to New York. The Queen Mary was on her own to cross the North Atlantic and elude any skulking German submarines eager to hurtle a torpedo into her. Jennie scanned the horizon. Nothing but endless waves.
Ice crystals sprinkled down, luring her gaze upward. Lifeboats hung suspended overhead. A flexing chain caused more ice to break loose. Dismal gray camouflage paint hid the Cunard Line’s signature colors of red, white, and black. Behind her, one of the ship’s funnels belched smoke as the ocean liner charged full speed ahead at thirty knots. At least the frigid wind prevented soot from drifting down on the military personnel crowding the deck.
An officer standing ten feet away didn’t seem to mind the arctic blast as he raised his face to it. Jennie avoided contact with the military men. Her father had warned her to be wary of their intentions.
This one, however, tempted her. His profile presented classic lines an artist would love to paint. Portraits weren’t her specialty, but, my, oh my, his handsome features practically begged her to try her hand at capturing his likeness. Below the edge of his cap gleamed close-cropped blond hair; his eyes, when he turned his head, shone a startling blue. His heavy coat failed to hide broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist. To her eye, he presented the epitome of male perfection. Did the inner man match the gorgeous outer appearance?
Stray snowflakes swirled about him, and he brushed them away. She set aside Dad’s advice and invaded the solitude surrounding him. “You must be a northerner to be enjoying this glacial wind.”
He straightened to his full height, at least six feet tall, and settled his gaze on her. A quick grin lit his face, and her numb fingers itched to start sketching. “With a choice between enjoying the invigorating sea air or the warm, uh, unventilated air inside the ship, the cold air won.”
“Unventilated air?” Jennie laughed. “How polite.”
His smile came easily, as though he was used to wearing it.
“Someone on the last voyage must have been quite seasick in the room I’m assigned to. The smell was bad enough to drive me into this gale.” Looking back out to sea, he hunched his shoulders and tilted his head to the right, then the left. Weak sunlight glinted off white-caps as the morning overcast broke up, but the restless waves continued to batter themselves against the ship’s hull. He maintained his grip on the railing. “The way the ocean’s churning, we may have a lot more gastronomic upheavals. And to think, I used to enjoy being in a sailing club.”
“Did you sail on the ocean?”
“Sail, no, although I’ve been on a previous ocean voyage. Rivers or the North Sea was where I mostly sailed, but” ― he glanced back at the milling crowd of servicemen ― “we weren’t packed in tight like this.”
The North Sea? Wasn’t that in Europe? Jennie grabbed the railing as the Queen Mary veered to port. Every eight minutes, the ship zigzagged to avoid a potential submarine’s crosshairs. She’d timed the turns.
His voice held an unfamiliar accent. It wasn’t English. He’d been on an ocean voyage, singular, and he’d sailed on the North Sea. He must be from Europe, maybe from a country overrun by Hitler’s army. He should have some stories to tell.
The cold and the pressing crowd of soldiers faded into the background. “Where are you from?”
She leaned forward for his reply.
“Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee?” She stepped back. So much for hearing about foreign lands. “Really? I’m from Chicago.”
His gaze roved over her. “You’re not in uniform. What’s a civilian doing on a troopship?”
Jennie straightened to her five-foot, six-inch height. “I’m joining my parents in Sweden. My dad’s a military air attaché based at the American legation, where he works with interred American airmen. He came home on leave for the holidays and took my mom back with him in January. Now I’m going, too, to help out.”
“My grandparents came from Sweden. Do you speak the language?”
“Enough to ask for help if I get lost.” She laughed at his widened eyes. “Yes, I speak Swedish. Maybe not as fluently as a native, but I have Swedish grandparents, too. My mom’s been pen pals all her life with a cousin whom we hope to meet.” She tugged her hat down more securely and retied her scarf before the wind pulled it free. “Do you have relatives there?”
“Opa’s brother, my grandfather’s brother, lives on the west coast of Sweden.”
“The west coast. Highly unlikely I’ll be able to pay him a call and tell him I met you.” As a group of rowdy soldiers brushed past them and eyed her, Jennie stepped closer to her new acquaintance and pulled her coat’s collar tighter.
She turned back to face his puzzled perusal.
“There are twelve thousand troops onboard.” He looked around the deck. “Are civilian quarters still available?”
“Well, I heard about the accommodations used by Prime Minister Churchill when he sails, but somebody already claimed those.” She could get used to his grin. “Did you know there’s a hospital unit onboard? I’m billeted with the nurses.”
A soldier stumbled hard into the officer, who muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound like English.
She stared at him. “You said something in neither English nor Swedish.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and his relaxed posture stiffened. “I am Rafe Martell, second lieutenant and navigator in the United States Army Air Force. In a more peaceful time, I had another name and lived in Germany. But then Germany decided I wasn’t good enough to be a German, and America offered me a new home.”
A hint of challenge gleamed in his eyes.
Why would Germany not want him?
“I’m Jennie Lindquist.”
“Jennie Lindquist? Good Swedish name. Do you sing?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sing. Have you not heard of Jenny Lind, the Swedish Nightingale? My great-grandparents heard her sing and my grandfather says they insisted they heard an angel.”
The ship lurched to starboard, causing Rafe to stagger against the rail and inhale sharply.
Jennie grinned. So he wanted to know if she could sing? Now was the time to demonstrate her ability. “Rock a bye airman, on the ship’s deck. When the ship rolls, the airman gets sick.”
A startled laugh burst from Rafe. Tears welled in his eyes ― from the wind? ― and he used both hands to whisk them away. The childlike gesture was endearing.
“May I ask why Germany didn’t want you?”
He stared out to sea as though he wouldn’t answer. Why should he? His experiences were none of her business. Then his gaze probed her soul, and she resisted the urge to squirm.
“I’m half Jewish.”
His clipped answer was totally unexpected. Jennie had read newspaper reports about the Night of Broken Glass a few years ago, when the German people destroyed Jewish property. The pictures in the newsreels had been stunning. Hard to imagine such crime could be committed by civilized people in this modern era. Editorials speculated the destruction was inflicted by members of the Nazi Party and most Germans hadn’t approved. However it happened, Jewish lives and livelihoods had been ruined. That’s what he’d faced? She hugged herself to stop a shiver.
His look dared her to say something. What could she say? He didn’t resemble the people shown in the pictures.
“You don’t look Jewish.” She cringed at her rude reply, but a smile stretched across Rafe’s face.
“I agree. I should have been pictured on Aryan propaganda posters instead of being forced to run for my life.” He bounced his fist on the rail. “I had no idea my mother was Jewish until I was expelled from the Hitler Youth. That’s a Nazi version of the Boy Scouts. To suddenly be lumped with a social group I had no relationship to or understanding of…” He paused for a moment as he searched the horizon. He shook his head. “It was a shock.”
“How did you get away?” She might be probing an unhealed wound, but she might never have the chance to talk to someone from Germany again.
“My grandfather is a partner in a Dutch flower bulb business. I arrived in Amsterdam within two weeks of my disgrace, supposedly as an apprentice. The next week my grandparents, mother, sister, and brother arrived. The following summer, in 1937, we boarded the Statendam and never looked back.” His grin returned. “And as of last summer, I am a citizen of a country where the nationalities are mixed up and melted together.”
“What about your father?”
“He divorced us to keep his job.”
Jennie opened her mouth to ask him to repeat that, but Rafe’s flat tone hadn’t invited questions. Bitterness, anger, and hurt glittered in his eyes. His jaw shifted as though he battled his emotions.
She looked out to sea to give him time to himself, and they stood in silence.
What was it like to have a father who would turn his back on his family? And what was life like for Jews in Europe? They were so far away. Jews in America had it better, didn’t they? Did she know any? There may have been some among her colleagues at the art museum where she’d worked. How could she be so ignorant? She massaged her brow as her head began to ache.
“The Hitler Youth. Is that what we see in newsreels of the children marching in uniforms with swastika banners?”
“Yes, the regular groups. I was in the Naval Hitler Youth. Some of my best memories are of the sailing activities with my friends. We had fun.”
“Didn’t you have to learn how to be little Hitlers?” In conversations with her colleagues, they had speculated on how the German children were being brainwashed as Nazis.
“Our meetings weren’t political. Some groups undoubtedly were. The leaders set the tone. Membership was expected. Some parents refused to allow their children to attend, and that could make life… difficult. If you didn’t conform, you could expect a backlash. But my sister, brother, and I enjoyed our meetings. They were like scouting, from what I saw in Milwaukee.”
“How old were you when you left?”
“Sixteen.” Rafe grinned. “And that was eight years ago, if you’d like to do the arithmetic.”
The wind should have already reddened her cheeks enough to hide the blush that warmed her face. All right, yes, she had wanted to know his age. Her subterfuge needed work. Lots of it.
“You’re an airman headed for the war in Europe. Is that wise? What if you become a prisoner of the Germans, and they find out you have Jewish ancestry?”
A voice behind them answered her. “If we’re shot down, all the Krauts will see is a blur. That’ll be Lieutenant Martell, running like mad for the coast, and then swimming for England.”
A group of six grinning young men, boys really, surrounded them. They didn’t look old enough to be off to war, yet all wore air corps coats. One whipped off his cap and clutched it between his hands, gazing at Rafe with admiration, a big smile on his face.
Rafe folded his arms across his chest. “I understand the ship’s crew is looking for help to swab the decks.”
His comment sent the men scrambling, four in one direction and two in the other.
“This way. This way.”
The two skidded around and raced after their mates, bobbing and weaving through the crowd.
“Looks like they’re doing fine.” Rafe’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. He jerked a thumb after them. “They’re the enlisted men, the gunners, on my crew. We’ll fly bombing missions in a B-17 Flying Fortress.”
Passing men jostled them against the railing. Rafe fidgeted with his life preserver. “This thing is pointless.”
Jennie’s eyes widened. “Pointless? We’re heading into a war zone. Sinking the Queen Mary would be a huge coup for the Germans. Precautions are necessary.” His expression said she’d made another gaff. “What?”
He glanced around at the ebb and flow of soldiers and up at the lifeboats hanging over their heads. A spark of humor lit his eyes as he met her gaze. “You’ve heard the rule―women and children first. Should we be torpedoed, you’ll be saved, if there’s time to get to the boats.” His eyes grew serious. “But we have twelve thousand passengers on board, besides a thousand crewmembers. That’s ten thousand more than this ship carried in peacetime. The number of lifeboats, however, hasn’t increased. Most of us would have to rely on rafts or these Mae West life preservers, and the North Atlantic isn’t favorable for survival. No one would come to our rescue in time, so why bother?”
Just like the Titanic thirty-two years ago. Jennie stared at him. Her grandparents had known a couple who sailed on the ill-fated ship. The woman survived. Her husband’s body had been pulled from the freezing water, strapped in a life preserver. The woman had been grateful for a body to bury. That was all the life jacket had been good for.
Jennie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t seem bothered by those odds.”
He flashed another heart-stopping smile. “I’m headed for combat in the air war. My chances of survival are better here than they’ll be in the air. This crossing should be a piece of pie.”
She blinked. “Cake. A piece of cake.”
Rafe shrugged. “Besides, as my Oma says…” He adjusted pretend spectacles and spoke in a high-pitched voice. “The good Lord’s already assigned you a number of days. Don’t fight Him.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” Jennie brushed errant strands of hair off her face, and yawned. “’cuse me.”
His brows rose. “Don’t try to blame a sleepless night on rolling waves, because we were still in port last night.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The nurses and I didn’t get on board until after seven and guess what? No supper service, and I was so hungry. Fortunately, a crewman escorted us to our cabins, or we’d still be climbing up and down those endless flights of stairs. My cabin’s on the main deck, and it’s this little bitty room meant for two. Instead, there are three bunks in tiers of four. I’m on the top. If I raise my head, I hit the ceiling.” She spread out her hands, fingers splayed. “And there are no safety straps. If I get tossed out, it’s going to hurt.”
Rafe shook his head, amusement lighting his eyes. “Twelve occupants. How luxurious. Eighteen officers are stuffed into my stateroom. We’ve got hammocks three deep. And if that weren’t enough, because the air is so foul in the bowels of the ship where the enlisted men are packed in, four of them came up to sleep on our floor.”
Jennie wrinkled her nose. “If all those men are down in the bowels, why were so many marching past our door and tramping across the ceiling right over my head? All night long. And all the chatter in the bunks around me. The chatter finally died out, but then the snoring started. Oh my goodness. What a racket. I’m used to having a quiet, private bedroom.”
His laughter could become addictive.
The jostling crowd shoved her toward him, and he caught her arm.
“Guess I’ve gotten used to noisy roommates during training. I slept well until the ship’s engines vibrated me awake this morning as we left New York.”
Jennie jumped at the blast of the Klaxon horn, and she searched the ocean for a periscope. Conversations around them ceased as others peered about.
Rafe slapped a hand on the railing. “Abandon ship drill. Time to report to our lifeboat stations, even if we don’t have reservations.”
Jennie returned his smile. A carefree attitude like his must make life less worrisome. His Oma was right. Trust God and don’t worry over what couldn’t be helped. She stepped back. Their time together had been too short. “My station is where passengers used to play tennis.”
He nodded. “Stop by again. This is my self-appointed post for the voyage.”
Jennie’s smile grew as she turned to leave. So, he would welcome her company. She maneuvered around three soldiers who blocked the deck, oblivious to the flow of people trying to get past them. Another soldier winked at her, and her smile dimmed.
She hadn’t told Rafe the real reason she was bound for Sweden. Going overseas during wartime to help her father, a member of the military, hardly seemed logical. Yet Rafe hadn’t questioned her explanation.
They’d just met, of course. It’s not like they had to immediately exchange life stories. He’d picked up on the fact she was heading for Sweden, a country with special meaning for him also. In the coming days, he might ask about her duties. And she couldn’t tell him. Those were her orders.
A blast of icy wind swept over her, and she snuggled deeper into her coat. Those orders sounded so melodramatic. Her responsibilities wouldn’t be life-threatening. Their country was at war, however. Far be it from her to give any aid or comfort to the enemy. Idle talk could result in serious repercussions. And Rafe came from Germany. He might not be welcome back, but he must still have friends and relatives, including his father, living there. His story was probably one hundred percent true. But she couldn’t share hers.

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