"Got a letter for me?" Colonel Hogan asked the following morning as he bent over her desk to kiss her on the forehead.
She shook her head. She never had had the chance for her letter after her mother's news and their combined decision to go to America. Instead, she said under her breath, "Colonel Hogan, what is the quickest way of getting to America?"
He raised his eyebrows. "You want to go to him?"
A quick nod. "Well, actually my mother does. Her home got hit by a bomb yesterday – killing her parents. She was at work at the time, so that's how she escaped. I let her read my father's letter when she came to tell me, and suddenly she is adamant to go and see him. And I certainly wouldn't mind coming along."
He smiled a little. "I can imagine that." He thought for a moment. "How quickly can you leave?"
She shrugged – the beginning embers of hope lighting up her eyes. "Pretty quickly, I presume. My moth..."
"Excellent. I'll be back in a sec." And he was out of the office before she even realized he was leaving at all.
The 'sec' turned into a good twenty minutes, but then the unorthodox American officer returned with a huge grin on his face. "Do you know the turn-off from the Hamelburg Road to Flenzheim?"
She nodded, not quite understanding where he was going, but sensing his obvious sense of being pleased with himself.
"Good. Then pack what you can carry tonight. Follow the road to Flenzheim for about half a mile – a kilometer maybe. There, where the woods give way to pastureland, you'll find a sandy track veering off to the left, leading to a decrepit sheep-shed. Hide in the shed and keep quiet. We'll meet you there around midnight, and you'll be in England before sunrise tomorrow morning."
Helga's jaw dropped. "But... how...?"
He shook his head. "Sorry. No questions. Safer for everyone. Are you in?"
"Yes. Of course!" Never had she imagined it could be that easy! But... "And my mother?"
"Her, too, of course."
"Oh, Colonel Hogan...!" She jumped up and hugged him.
He chuckled. "I'm going to miss that, you know that?"
She laughed, a little embarrassed. "I'm sure you'll find your way with whoever the Kommandant will employ as his new secretary. It's just... it's all so sudden. I'm so grateful to you for enabling me to finally get to know my father. First his address and the letter, and now this..."
Irmgard took it stoically when her daughter returned home from work that evening with the announcement that they'd have to grab a bite to eat, pack what they could carry, and dress as warm as they could to go and hide in a sheep-shed that night on their way to America.
"You pack your things; I'll make us some supper," was all she said.
So Helga quickly packed her clothes, her father's letter, some toiletries and some of her books and beloved mementos of her childhood, and within the hour they sat down for their – hopefully – last meal on German soil. At least for a long while.
They ate in silence, the only interruption coming from Helga's inquiry whether or not her mother did have her ID papers. After all, she'd lost everything else except the very clothes on her back.
"Of course I have them. Can't walk around without them these days," was the curt reply.
Helga wrote two short notes about her having to attend to urgent family business in Duisburg – one to be left for her landlady, the other to be mailed to Kommandant Klink on their way out of town.
And so, with less than an hour to go before civilian curfew, mother and daughter set off on their long postponed journey to America. One with a small suitcase and a letter in her hand, the other with a rather tight sweater and cardigan of her daughter's over her matron's uniform, and carrying an old carpet-bag.
The town was dark. Windows were blacked out, no lanterns were lit. Even the moon was not to be seen tonight.
Their footsteps echoed off the houses in the cobbled streets. A few people passed them, an old acquaintance lifted his hat. A man in Gestapo uniform stood watch at a corner, and eyed every passer-by with a suspicious glare. Helga felt her fiery blush as they passed the man on the other side of the street. Good thing it was so dark...
She mailed her note to the Kommandant in the first mailbox they passed, and soon they had left the small, dark town behind them and walked along the unpaved road through the woods. At least their footsteps didn't draw so much attention here anymore. But on the other hand, if they were stopped here – especially after curfew – was there any plausible explanation they could give for their walking here? With suitcases and all?
They were already approaching the turn-off to Flenzheim when Irmgard suddenly grabbed her daughter's arm. "There's a car coming. Quick!"
Helga followed her mother into the shrubbery by the wayside, and breathlessly they waited for the dangerous car to pass. Dangerous – oh yes. For those in cars were most likely to be patrols or Nazi bigwigs, and two ladies like themselves, who had no legitimate reason to be out here in the woods at this hour, would make an easy prey for any malevolent officer...
They watched as the car with its slits of dimmed headlights rumbled past – even in the dark, Helga was pretty sure it was the more luxurious type of a general's car. Perhaps even General Burkhalter's. But they waited until the sound of it was completely drowned out by the rustling leaves overhead before they ventured back out onto the road.
It wasn't much further to the crossing now, and from there on, it was a matter of ten minutes to reach the sandy track that marked the edge between the black woods and the bluish open pasture ahead.
A furtive glance around to make sure (at least to some degree) that they were unobserved, and mother and daughter hurried along the darkest side of the path in silence.
"That must be it," Helga whispered as a massive black shadow loomed up in the darkness.
She felt her way around the structure. It felt awful – all mossy and rotten and dilapidated. It certainly wouldn't be pleasant to wait inside the place. But that's what Colonel Hogan had instructed, so unfortunately, there was little choice in the matter.
So in they went.
It smelled even worse inside. Helga wrinkled her nose, and carefully took a few steps inside. How anyone could choose this as a hiding place was a mystery to her. Or maybe not – if no one wanted to use it, perhaps it made for the perfect hiding place after all?
She heard how her mother felt her way around the assorted junk, and finally her quiet voice said, "There's a small bench here. Come and sit down, sweetheart. We may have a long wait ahead of us."
Helga shuddered. "No thanks, mother." Who knows what might be on that bench... Spiders? Bugs? Cockroaches? The less her body was in contact with anything here, the better...
Silence.
"Helga..." her mother ventured at last, startling her daughter out of a black reverie about all the possible creepy crawly insects that might be in her immediate neighbourhood. "Are you angry with me?"
A sharp intake of breath. "Angry with you? No. Why should I?"
"I don't know," came the quiet reply out of the dark. "You just seem to be a little... curt with me tonight."
"I'm sorry," Helga mumbled automatically. She shook her leg and shuddered – was that a spider or something crawling up?
"Could it be that you regret your decision to come along? That you'd rather stay here?"
"No! No, that's not it."
"What is bothering you then?"
Helga gulped. "The idea of all the bugs and spiders crawling around here." She could hardly miss her mother's chuckle, but continued uninterrupted, "And what Colonel Hogan said, about us being in England before sunrise. I think he... he has organized a plane for us. How else could we be in England before the night is out?"
"The bugs you're simply going to have to endure for a few hours or so. They won't eat you. And as for the flying... I admit the idea of going up in the sky is a bit unnerving, but those boys in the Luftwaffe and the RAF and so on do it all the time. It shouldn't be so bad, I imagine. It might even be beautiful to see the world from a bird's point of view."
Helga let out a trembling sigh. "I suppose so. All the guys in the prison-camp are flyers."
Silence.
Helga shook herself. She was beginning to feel like there were bugs and spiders crawling all over her. And she jumped as out of absolutely nowhere she suddenly felt a hand on her arm. But it was only her mother, taking her jittery daughter into a comforting embrace. Almost as if she were five years old again, and scared of the neighbours' ferocious dog...
"I love you, Helga. And I'm sure your father will love you, too. My dearest wish right now is that we both may find what we seek in your father. And judging by his letter, I have reason to believe that we will indeed. So try and concentrate on that. The flying is merely a means to a happy end."
Helga held onto her mother tight. She so much wished she could share her mother's optimism. But now that she was finally on her way to go and meet her father for the first time, she suddenly felt awfully nervous. What if she wouldn't get along at all with her new-found father? After all, despite his kind letter, they were perfect strangers. Hadn't she idealized him – almost idolized him over the years beyond anything any man could ever live up to? And of course the higher the pedestal, the deeper the fall...
The wait was long. Too dark to check their watches even by the meagre light of the stars, and uncertain as to when exactly Colonel Hogan would show up, time seemed to pass at an excruciatingly slow pace.
The cold penetrated the worn soles of their shoes, and continued to crawl up their legs. Temperatures were unlikely to come below zero at this time of year, but the humidity could make it feel much colder than it really was. And all the time they waited with alternating patience and impatience for...
"Psst!"
Both Helga and Irmgard jumped.
Against the slightly less dark quadrangle of the shed's entrance was now the dark shape of a man visible.
Helga ventured closer, and was ever so relieved to recognize the familiar but sootblack features of Colonel Hogan by the faint light of the stars.
"Are you ready?" he inquired under his breath. "Where is your mother?"
"Here," came Irmgard's calm reply.
He gave her a courteous nod. "Good. Come along then. Bring your luggage, and keep quiet."
They followed him to the far edge of the field, where a man in RAF uniform was waiting in the bushes. Next to him lay a large bulky package.
"Here are your fellow passengers, Dunsmore," Colonel Hogan said softly.
They exchanged an appraising nod, and as the Colonel gestured for them to come down to the ground as well, he chuckled to Helga, "Surely you didn't think I'd organize a plane just for you and your mother, did you?"
"But who is he – an escaping prisoner?" she hissed back.
"Uh-uh. No questions, remember? Besides, we wouldn't want to spoil the Kommandant's record. No one escapes from Stalag 13."
She acquiesced in that with a sigh, but started again at his next question. "Did you bring any money?"
"What?" She almost sat up in indignation. "You never said anything about...!"
"Ssh." Gently, he placed his hand over her mouth to remind her to keep her voice down. "Not like that. But you're going to need some money once you get to England. Do you have any?"
"I brought my savings." She was ever so relieved that her first thought upon his mentioning money turned out to be wrong. He really just wanted to help.
"In marks, I guess? That won't do you any good." He pulled a small bundle of rustling papers from his pocket. "Here. Take this."
Even in the pitchblack of night, Helga recognized the bundle as banknotes, and she raised her eyebrows. "Counterfeit, I presume?"
A flash of white teeth as he smiled. "We only counterfeit German money. This is the real stuff, so don't worry."
"Thank you." She rummaged in her bag to put it safely away, and pushed another bunch of banknotes into his hand in return. "You better take this then. It's real, too – at least as far as I know."
A chuckle. "Thanks."
They waited together in silence in the soft but cold grass. Leaves and branches rustled in the woods around them, an occasional nocturnal creature ventured across the field... and finally, there was the low rumble of a single plane.
Far out, at what would be approximately the corners of the open field, four lights flared up. And but a moment later, they saw the giant birdlike form coming in low over the trees, and setting down in the field.
"Come on!" Colonel Hogan hissed. He already ran to the plane as it was turning around for its immediate take-off. The noisy propellers were still rotating faster than the eye could see.
The side door in the plane opened, and out of nowhere, two men Helga recognized as some of Colonel Hogan's closest friends in camp popped up to receive a few heavy bags full of... something. The man called Dunsmore pushed his heavy package inside and jumped in after it. Colonel Hogan took the ladies' luggage and threw it into the plane; then he and the tall black man with him gave Irmgard and Helga a hand to climb on board.
"Take care, and good luck!" Colonel Hogan shouted over the noise of the engines.
And the other helper – the young man with the pimple on his cheek – called out cheerfully, "Yeah! Send us a postcard when you get to the States, okay?"
But the heavy door already banged shut, and forceful hands pushed them down on uncomfortable chairs and quickly strapped tight belts in place over them.
Irmgard grasped her daughter's hand, and was surprised how cold and clammy it felt. Strange. She herself felt calm and excited at the same time.
The noise of the engines was deafening. The plane was already moving across the bumpy field, faster and faster, and suddenly, as they were pushed back in their chairs, the bumping turned into gliding, and they were up in the air – flying!
On their way to England – to America. To George!
