Chapter 15: A Generation Lost 3rd September 1939
Sunday morning at church was a time for reflection. For some a time to atone for sins that were committed and for others a time to communicate with the Lord in their own way. The mass on the first Sunday of September 1939 was the same for all.
Morose.
The mass at every church in the United Kingdom was the same. It didn't matter if you were attending mass in Glasgow or Truro, Derry or Tenby. The same mood could be felt from the young to the old. The drums of war beat across Europe to signify the impending conflict, like they'd done at around the end of July and beginning of August twenty-five years prior. Once more young men would be forced to take up arms and paint the sodden soil of the continent red. Ideals would meet in the killing fields, opinions would go toe to toe in the air and viewpoints would come to blows at sea. The last generation had not forgotten the feelings of those years before and took little pleasure from knowing many of them would not be called upon again. There was more anguish than relief. Anguish for the next generation.
At fifteen minutes past eleven that morning, radios across the nation were tuned in ready to hear the words that no one truly wanted to hear. Neville Chamberlain held the precocious task of informing the country that battle would be required to vanquish the darkness that existed across the channel. The worst task of them all.
In the living room of the Quinn house, everyone was gathered around the radio. Erin and Orla were holding hands, as they had done the day before, their loving concern for their men who'd gone off to enlist shared. Mary, Gerry and Sarah all stood together, Anna safely within her father's grasp whilst Joe sat on his own in the armchair.
The stable, but clearly exhausted voice of the Prime Minister soon rang in their ears.
"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street…".
Gerry stole a quick glance at his older daughter and niece. He could already see the tears reflecting back at him in the very corners of their eyes.
"This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.".
"I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany".
There it was. The confirmation of war that was long overdue for some. For Lyla Walsh, it was weeks in the making if truth were to be told, for James and David it was at least a couple of days.
Britain was at war with Nazi Germany.
"You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different that I could have done and that would have been more successful".
"Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between Germany and Poland, but Hitler would not have it. He had evidently made up his mind to attack Poland whatever happened, and although he now says he put forward reasonable proposals which were rejected by the Poles, that is not a true statement. The proposals were never shown to the Poles, nor to us, and, although they were announced in a German broadcast on Thursday night, Hitler did not wait to hear comments on them, but ordered his troops to cross the Polish frontier. His action shows convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will. He can only be stopped by force".
Chamberlain echoed the sentiments that the boys had. Peace and appeasement were no longer viable options. It would only be through the use of force that the far away terrors that the Nazi's were committing could be halted.
"We and France are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poland, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on her people. We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace. The situation in which no word given by Germany's ruler could be trusted and no people or country could feel themselves safe has become intolerable. And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage."
"At such a moment as this the assurances of support that we have received from the Empire are a source of profound encouragement to us".
"The Government have made plans under which it will be possible to carry on the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain that may be ahead. But these plans need your help. You may be taking your part in the fighting services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of Civil Defence. If so you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you have received. You may be engaged in work essential to the prosecution of war for the maintenance of the life of the people - in factories, in transport, in public utility concerns, or in the supply of other necessaries of life. If so, it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs".
"Now may God bless you all. May he defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail".
The broadcast ended and certain hopes of a peaceful, trouble-free life ended with it.
"So, that's that. There's war.".
Gerry was the only one capable of saying anything, applying the appropriate tone to do so. However, his father in-law soon proved that initial belief in all of them to be wrong. Rising from the armchair, Joe hid a face that masked pain. A pain long locked away within the patriarch of the family.
"I'm off to see Colm…". He muttered to them.
Mary tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it did little to help her father. He couldn't be with them after listening to that.
"Another generation sent to die…".
The statement was uttered with his back to them whilst walking out of the living room, but was loud enough for them all to hear and experience the heartfelt emotion in his voice. Erin's own heart, under stress from already missing James, felt as if it had taken a bullet. Her English fella was part of that generation that was being sent to their graves. Next to her, Orla knew her David was too. They were aware that their Granda hadn't intentionally set out to upset them, but the deed was very much done.
"Ach, David will be fine love".
Sarah bent down to hug her daughter, being as gentle as she could around her for fears over the safety of the baby. Anna removed herself from her father's hold to rush over to her big sister, who's sniffles were beginning to take over.
"James is comin' back Erin". She reached out to squeeze her sister's hand. "He promised me he'd look after me ye know…".
Instinctively Erin pulled Anna into her chest, incredibly grateful for her most eloquently delivered words about James.
"He'll look after us both…". She squinted, her feelings tearing at the fabric of her being. "… thank ye Anna. I love you".
"Love ye too Erin". She mumbled into her sister's chest in reply.
A declaration of war would change a lot of things in their daily lives, and quite how many changes were still vastly unknown. But one thing would not change at all. No German could destroy what they had.
The bond between their family and friends would be one redoubt that no Nazi could scale.
The afternoon before…
Every second of the walk home, Michelle Mallon's mouth remained open. Though for once it was not because she was talking shite. It hung open from the shock of having Erin slap her across the face. The last thing a friend expects is one of their best, if not their best friend, to commit an act of violence upon them. Yet somehow, deep within the hatred-fuelled young woman's heart, she knew that it was a well-deserved one.
Her parents were more than aware that she'd gone asking for it, little sympathy coming from them towards the red mark on her cheek. Her poor attitude towards James had gone on long enough without being truly questioned but the interrogations would come at home. The door was barely shut when Deirdre grabbed her daughter by the arm, pulling her into the kitchen to sit her down, demanding an explanation.
"Right then, yer goin' to tell us right this minute what yer problem is with James!" Deirdre snarled.
"Aye, right this minute!" Martin added. "Ye already know yer alternative option".
The alternative option had its advantages. With no parents around she could have as many lads over as she wanted, whenever she wanted. The problem was money. As it so often did, money dictated the flow of the conversation.
"I…".
"Spit it out Michelle!" Her mother shouted.
"I just… I don't like him, that's all…". She replied sheepishly.
"Catch yourself on Michelle!" Deirdre continued the verbal tirade. "I'm yer mother in case ye've forgotten. I know when yer withholding the truth from me!"
The truth was withheld out of embarrassment. On the latter part of the walk home, literally on the final stretch before the front door, the realisation truly revealed itself. A petty truth that would only make her look like the fool she knew she was. But with the alternative choice's drawbacks lingering at the forefront of her mind, little could be done to prevent her image being tainted.
"I'm jealous…". She muttered, a voice barely above a murmur.
"Sorry?"
"I'm jealous, Ma, alright!"
It was Martin who was proven to be right. She was indeed jealous of her cousin, just as he'd suspected. Internally he was gleeful for being correct, though was smart enough to leave those emotions on the inside in order to reprimand his daughter.
"Jealous?" Martin took over questioning from his wife.
"Ye. I'm jealous of James. Are ye happy now!?"
Her shout contained an unexpected upset that neither parent counted upon. The typical Michelle brashness dissolved within it, the little sniffles a few seconds later confirming that it was genuine.
"Michelle…". Deirdre changed her tone to a more soothing one.
"No Ma! Ye don't need to be nice to me. I've been stupid".
"Love ye shouldn't need to feel jealous…" Martin equally softened. "… James is yer cousin. Sure, he might have that gentlemanly way about him, but he's a good lad as well".
And didn't she know it. James was a handsome fella, a fact that she wouldn't contend with whenever it was pointed out, and he was also a kind one. Beneath the English accent and the layer of wealth was a young man with a heart of gold. Having viewed him in a tunnel vision that could not see past the country of his birth, always supressing that he was not the character she envisaged him to be, it was truly eye-opening to give up. Michelle didn't give up too often, only when defeat could not be altered. This was one of those times. James had always been a fine fella and she was damn lucky to have him as a cousin.
"He is… I just…".
"Why love?" Deirdre placed a hand onto hers. "Why?"
"He… He…".
Discovering an unexpected loss for words, Michelle's sniffles turned into a full-on cry. It was all getting too much for her, starting the day with her usual dislike of James to then being at the other end of the scale and shedding tears over him.
"He comes here, with his nice car and his nice clothes and… and ye all loved him straight away. I… I just felt like ye… ye were forgettin' about me…".
"Ach Michelle!" Her mother giggled slightly, squeezing her hand. "I don't think anyone could ever forget about ye".
There was a small smile on Michelle's face for a brief second, but it was soon pushed away for the crying to return. She was unforgettable, she knew that without having to be arrogant about it, however it was not for the right reasons. Unforgettable for the amount of trouble she caused her parents, not for her actions to help the family and their friends.
"He's just so… great. And ye know I'm not him and when everyone liked him… I… I couldn't accept it. Being English isn't that bad I suppose when ye think about it… I… I just didn't want to see it that way…".
"Ye weren't jealous of him taking Erin away from ye?" Martin enquired.
"I… she's different now…". Michelle started. "… I'm happy for her… for them but I j-just. I've been so used to it being the four of us girls and now Erin's with James, Orla's married to David and… well I end up with Clare all the time and… ye know she's my friend but by Christ can she be a craic killer…".
"Change is inevitable love…".
"I know da. I can't even apologise to him now…".
Forgiving herself for disliking him was a very new feeling. If she'd been told the night before that twenty-four hours later she would be sat in the kitchen blubbing about the way she'd been and wanting to apologise to him, she would have laughed in the face of whoever made the statement. However, that was where she was and there was no escaping from the cloak of guilt that crept up over her shoulders.
"He'll be back Michelle". Deirdre told her.
"Will he? What if he dies, Ma?"
Her parents both looked away from her in dismay. They couldn't comprehend losing their nephew, displaying reactions that indicated that the two had thought about it independently at one point or another.
"Sorry…". Michelle went to apologise.
"No Michelle…". Martin cut her off, but not aggressively. "… we have to consider the fact that James… won't come back".
"Martin…".
"Deirdre love, that… that's war".
Martin's voice, laced with upset he scarcely could believe himself brought further tears to his daughter's eyes and saw the first few fall from his wife's too. James was so well ensconced within their lives that losing him would be the most despicable of tragedies.
"Ye know Michelle, I love that lad like he was our boy and not Kathy's. I want him home".
"Da…". Michelle reached out and squeezed his hand.
"He'll be h-home by Christmas".
Deirdre tried to put the same positive slant on the fighting as most of the country was. Whether anyone who uttered it truly believed it, remained to be seen.
"Ye think?" Michelle asked, slightly aghast.
"Of course he will". Martin tried to be cheerful like his wife. "It won't last long all this…".
"Isn't that what they said the last time?"
The voice of reason was a title very much foreign to Michelle, yet she found herself being the voice with her parents. They might have believed in the 'It will all be over by Christmas' malarkey, but in her limited knowledge of the art of war, she disagreed.
"I reckon it'll be years before we see him again…".
"Michelle!" Deirdre returned to being frustrated with her, snapping in reply.
"We can always hope that James will be back here when the snow starts to fall love… we will always have hope".
Martin's conclusion betrayed his own fears that his daughter was more likely to be correct than his wife on the matter of the duration of the conflict. He'd not volunteered during the Great War when he could have done, although he was not the man he was then, and hindsight was a negative weapon he did not wish to wield. However, the Martin of those years would never have thought beyond his family; seeing James and David think beyond theirs scratched away mercilessly at his conscience.
Consciences were being examined for many men and women that afternoon. Whether they were safely within a city like Derry or staring down the barrel of the German juggernaut like they were in Warsaw.
War could do devilish things to a human being.
When they'd arrived the afternoon before, James found them somewhere to stay for the night. He had a friend who lived near to the airfield that they'd landed at, who was more than welcome to accept him and David for the night. Allowing David the only bed, James slept on the floor that night and dreamt of Erin, reminiscing to himself of having her in his arms again. They'd only been separated for a few hours, but he missed her ever so dearly. It was the same for David, who's mind was on Orla and their unborn child throughout the flight over the sea. Despite their overactive minds, the two slept soundly ready for the following day's trip to another old friend of the Englishman's.
The Major would be at the airfield where James learned to fly, Hendon, and that would be their destination. He would have landed there normally but was advised not to over radio frequency, instead landing a few miles away. His friend that they stayed the night with was their driver for the day, though after reaching Hendon, the friend was no longer needed. Their service to the United Kingdom would begin from that moment on. As for the Major, James had known him for many years. He'd fought in the last war amongst the very first ace fighter pilots, retiring with distinction in the years that followed after transferring to the regular army. Having been taught a lot of what he knew by the Major, the young man was delighted to meet one of his mentors once again.
There was only a minimal air force presence at Hendon, just a few fighter pilots and their machines sat at the base. The small office to the left of the entrance was their destination, having explained to the guard at the gate as to why they'd come. Understanding, the guard allowed them in straight away without hesitation.
"That was easy enough". David said to him as they approached the office.
"Yes. Remarkably so…". James pondered in return.
"Ach, I suppose it can only get worse from now on though".
James would usually chastise David, and anyone for that matter, for being so negative, but his friend wasn't wrong. A life at war would bring with it few pleasantries or success. War was about the struggle in fighting for a flag or a belief at whatever the cost to the men and women who fought for it. Life really could only get worse from there on out.
Walking into the office, James expected to find the Major, but instead found a middle-aged man in uniform asleep behind the desk. Frowning, he exchanged a look with David, who took a different approach to the situation entirely by shaking the man awake.
"W… what?"
"Good morning, we've come to sign up". James took over.
"Sign up?" The rather confused airman asked.
"Yes. Major A-".
"Are you James?" The man cut him off.
"Yes". He answered, marking his turn to be perplexed.
"We've been expecting you. Follow me".
For a man who was asleep a few seconds before, he shot up quickly to take the two men outside. Neither of them could understand what was going as it was a far cry from what either were expecting to find once they'd signed up. There weren't any planes out taxiing at all at the base, which left it almost ghostly quiet. War might not have officially been declared but the thoughts in their minds told them that it should at least be busier than that.
"Where is the Major?" An inquisitive James said to the man a couple of moments later.
"He's been called to the city…". His fellow Englishman replied. "… though he said that you would come".
"I only made the decision yesterday, how would he know?"
"James…".
The man stopped, placing his hand on James's shoulder, looking into his eyes with a smirk wide across his face.
"Sometimes a man knows. The Major said that you would come if war looked likely".
"Right".
They walked on towards a big hangar at the end of the airfield with James still not completely sure that he believed the man's explanation. The Major would very rarely go anywhere and was retired. The need for him in London was minimal, unless it was for expertise, but he never had been before in years of retirement. The sudden need for him even with conflict so close seemed bizarre. There were more qualified men who could be used as an advisor over him.
"Who are you?"
The airman addressed his question as he looked back at David, who was walking a couple of steps behind the other two men. Perking his head up, David answered.
"I… I'm David, David Donnelly".
"An Irishman?"
"Aye that's right. Ye got a problem with that?"
"Not at all". The airman laughed. "Forgive me. We don't get too many Irishmen around here that's all".
Continuing to walk, they approached a door at the side of the hangar due to the giant doors being closed. The airman led them through to the main hangar, where there were only two planes inside despite their being room for a lot more.
"Is that… it?" David questioned.
"Not enough for you is it Mr Donnelly?" The airman asked. "We don't host multiple squadrons here".
"But you are a Royal Air Force base?" James interceded.
"Yes of course".
The strange setup befuddled the young men. There were hardly any other airmen around other than the man leading them and there was no one out on the airfield. The only other man they'd even encountered since getting out of the car was the guard at the gate. Hendon, supposedly a base of operations for the air force, looked more like a civilian airstrip. James noted the lack of any anti-aircraft guns around the airfield, apart from one right over on the other side of the base. For a force on the brink of going to war, there was little urgency or preparation around the place.
"What's that one then".
David addressed either man, his hand pointing towards the aircraft nearest to him. It was a biplane like James' that they'd flown over in but what it was doing in a hangar for aircraft that were to fly into battle mystified him. However, James knew differently. It was not so out of place when it came to aerial combat. Judging it by its look was the mistake, for the aircraft that they lay their eyes upon was a sturdier beast than a quick glance would give it credit for. Although quite what it was doing in the hangar of an airbase that was not under the control of the Fleet Air Arm did puzzle him. The Royal Air Force themselves didn't use the biplane, but it was one of the main assets for the country's carrier force. Obsolete but brilliant.
"That's a Swordfish".
The Swordfish, built by Fairey, was nothing more than a welded together metal frame with some fabric put over it. Compared to the other planes available, the bombers like the Wellington or the fighters like the Hurricane, it was not well armoured or fast. What it lacked for in speed and strength, it made up for in resilience. It could take a pummelling and still fly on regardless, making it a useful tool to be deployed from an aircraft carrier. To be able to take such damage against Capital ships was a trait that few other planes could boast.
"Swordfish? Weird name for a plane…". David commented.
"It is more like a string bag…". James described to him. "… I remember the Major telling me that it could carry anything. A bomb, a torpedo, a delivery of food…".
"Who'd be mad enough to fly that in a battle?"
The two of them, who'd stopped to admire the stringbag, turned to see the Airman grinning impishly at the pair. It didn't take a genius to realise why.
"Get used to it gentleman. You will train in that".
David's face dropped upon the confirmation of what the two had realised a few seconds prior. They would be the madmen that he described. Mad, crazy men who would inevitably be going into battle with little more than the a few bits of welded together fabric to cover them. Without a roof, they would be left exposed to the extreme heat and the extreme cold in the stringbag too.
"He's not serious?"
"He is David. He is". James sighed.
"Well we are dead men then".
Unwilling to dwell on the very fair notion that David had raised, James tilted his head in the direction of where the airman had gone, indicating that they should follow. In the rear corner of the hangar were a couple of offices. Another man exited the door of the larger one of them dressed in overalls, a site that reminded David of his own job back at home, albeit fixing cars rather than aircraft. Arriving at the offices themselves, the airman knocked on the door inside that separated the offices, waiting to be called in.
"Sergeant".
The man who opened the door addressed the airman. Even to James, the man was incredibly posh, a voice that almost emitted coins from it to quantify the man's wealth. His moustache was thick but well kept, carrying no other facial hair. His haircut was slick like James' though lacked the length of the younger man's. He was certainly an officer.
"Flight Lieutenant Sir!" The man stood to attention. "Mr Maguire who we were expecting and a Mr Donnelly Sir!"
"Donnelly? Who are you?"
"David Donnelly from Derry… sir".
Taking both David and James by surprise, the posh man began to chuckle in the most ungentlemanly way along with the Sergeant. Like with the Swordfish, first looks could be deceiving and the man they'd taken for being a traditionally posh, authoritarian officer was anything but. He enjoyed a laugh with the men.
"You haven't signed on yet. But I accept the description". The Flight Lieutenant smiled. "Sergeant Smith, find Mr Donnelly a uniform and get him signed up would you".
"Yes Sir". The man saluted, standing to attention. "Come on then Donnelly".
James flashed him an encouraging smile, allowing David to depart without worry. They'd promised each other to stay together for as long as possible, and though his initial thoughts were to the worst, David was calmed by his friend. James knew they wouldn't be separated just yet. The comment about the training was still fresh in his mind.
Once David left with Sergeant Smith, James was shown into the Flight Lieutenant's office. It was a small room, with just a desk and a few chairs in front of it. There were pictures on both the desk and the walls showing the man's family, leaving James with a painful reminder of what he'd left behind in Derry.
"From this moment on Mr Maguire, we hold equal power".
"Sorry?" Not for the first time that morning, James was confused.
"The Major's influence still seems to hold some power. We are of equal rank now Lieutenant Maguire".
"But you are a flight Lieutenant?"
James uttered the first words that appeared on the tip of his tongue, shocked by the immediate promotion to a more senior role without the experience to back it up.
"You will be serving with the Fleet Air Arm once a suitable position becomes available for your rank, and I suppose we can find Mr Donnelly a role too. The ranks are slightly different you see…".
"Wh-Wh…".
"I appreciate this is quite a surprise for you Lieutenant, but the Major thought that serving with the fleet would be the role you would be suited to the most".
James couldn't quite understand why the Major formed that opinion. He wasn't against doing it, especially if it contributed to the war effort, but he'd never envisaged himself taking off from an aircraft carrier to fly into battle. It really was a surprise…
"I…".
"We can go through the finer points another time. You will complete your officer training here with me whilst we put Mr Donnelly through his regular training. The two of you will finish training together and by that time, a suitable position for the two of you will be available".
"That could be…".
"Months? Please do not tell me that you have fallen into believing that life will be back to normal by Christmas?"
The silence from the newly commissioned officer gave away that very belief.
"Patience Lieutenant".
"I just hoped that we would be out on the front lines straight away. Making a difference".
"Trust me…". The Flight Lieutenant smiled. "… you will".
"Surely I need time to practise on taking off from a carrier?"
"There will be more training once the right position becomes available. Settle down James, this is going to be a long war".
A long war. A war where he would be away from home for many more months than anticipated, or perhaps even a year… or more. They would be allowed leave at some point, he assumed, but whether he would be alive to see it was another matter. David did need the training, therefore it made sense to stay at Hendon for a short while at least. But for months… that was a very different prospect entirely.
The Flight Lieutenant handed him his new uniform, showing him to another room at the back of the hangar where he could change. The uniform was impeccable, the proper dress for an officer who served at his majesty's pleasure. Strangely, his rank was already sewn onto the relevant sleeve, an honour he'd assumed he would have to himself. He would have to get a picture in it, Erin would certainly love to see him wearing it, he thought as he walked out of the changing room. Once he returned to the Flight Lieutenant's office, they went through the paperwork he needed to fill in to sign up. The form to fill in signified the transitory battlefield where his content life in Derry met the rigours of serving his country, with the latter coming away as the winner. There were no more lazy mornings cuddling Erin or beautiful days spent out in the garden. Dark starts and bloody afternoons would be the new norm.
The new norm for young men around the continent.
A few minutes later, David returned wearing his own new uniform. It might not have been the pristine officer's uniform that he was wearing, but his friend looked very dapper. Like Erin with him, Orla would no doubt want to see David in his uniform too.
"Yer lookin' well… sir".
David couldn't help but snort as he addressed James. Smith informed him of James' rank on their walk to where he'd filled out his own papers. Delighted for the Englishman, it felt odd to address him with a superior title considering their friendship, but he'd done so without hesitation. Although the giggles were an inevitability.
"Please David, just James…".
"No Lieutenant". The more senior officer reprimanded him. "Even if Airman Donnelly here is your friend, you cannot be seen to favour him over anyone else. You are an officer now, it is your duty".
James wished to protest in the heat of the moment, though revised his opinion after taking a couple of moments to think about it. David would remain his best friend away from the responsibilities of being an officer, that would never change. However, when it came to the real thing, a real battle or even a minor engagement, David was just another of the men. Another man who he would command and have responsibility for. A life that he could throw away based on one poor decision, though no other man's loss would ever have such a profound impact on him. He already hoped that day would never come.
"Well Gentlemen…". The Flight Lieutenant addressed the three men. "… I think we should put the radio on. Mr Chamberlain has something he wants to tell us".
Gathered around the radio in the cramped office, Flight Lieutenant Bentley, Lieutenant Maguire, Sergeant Smith and Airman Donnelly listened intently to what the Prime Minister had to say. For the news that the rest of Britain would also be digesting. James and David looked at each other briefly, knowing that the other was thinking of the one they loved, pained from not being able to be with them as the news was officially announced.
"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street…".
The following day…
The morning was quiet in Berlin. A strange, eerie silence had fell upon the city over the past few days, one which did not shake until the greener grass of the countryside could be felt underfoot. The Polish invasion caught few by surprise. Many had hoped for it, some feared for it, but very few were caught off guard when the news that the border between their country and their Polish neighbours had been advanced over. The people of Germany knew what it would mean for the rest of the continent too. The French and the British would once again stand in the way of German expansion, though without the support of the Russians, the entire focus would be upon them.
In the bedroom of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, the same hush was in operation. He was awake, nestled into the side of the woman that he loved. She was awake too. They'd woken together an hour before as the first light of the day shone in through the window, conversing for a while about their plans for the day. Kurt's life was now jam packed full of meetings and presentations, spending more and more time out of the comforts of his office. The meetings were mostly with various members of the German High Command, the Führer being present at one or two of them. The relentless time away meant very little time spent with Lyla or even Lieutenant Hartmann for that matter, the young man not always being permitted to attend meetings with him.
Lyla's life was taking a new direction too. Once the news reached them in Berlin on the morning of the first day of September, she officially became a secretary for Kurt. Now she was not only sharing a bed with him, but she was also sharing an office with him, though it was an office that he barely used. Utilising her ability to speak more than one language, communicating with various members of high command and other medical professionals was a comfortable, if unspectacular job for her. It was what she needed though. A role where little attention would really be paid to her and where she could almost blend into the fabric of Das Reich, to learn it's secrets that would be reported back to the country that her true allegiance belonged too.
Her loyalty to the crown was as strong as ever.
"Ich muss jetzt weg, Lyla".
("I must go now Lyla".)
Kurt's whisper filled her right ear, pressing a kiss onto her cheek to the side of it a second later. It was a chore to have to act like she held feelings for him on a daily basis, but Lyla was perhaps the greatest actress in service of His Majesty. Pretending to be in love with a Dutch doctor who contributed to the vicious machinations of Nazi Germany was well within her repertoire. It didn't hurt to be kissed and shown affection too either.
"Schon jetzt, Kurt? Ich hatte gehofft, dass wir zusammen frühstücken würden…". She replied, a hint of mischief in her voice.
("So soon Kurt? I hoped we'd have breakfast together…".)
"Das geht leider nicht. He sighed."Der Führer befiehlt, dass ich sofort dabei bin."
("I cannot". The Führer demands my presence at once".)
His meeting that morning would be with Adolf Hitler. She'd not seen the German leader for some time whilst the man set in motions his plan to quash the inferior races of the world. Some days he was in Berlin and others he was not, with a trip to Poland no doubt soon on the agenda once the brave Poles finally gave in and surrendered. She'd heard through Kurt that some of them were not being brushed aside like the Army commanders expected. The original attack on the Westerplatte peninsula failed quite miserably, and still the Poles held out from what she'd heard. Casualties were mounting on both sides, irreplaceable for the Polish Army and almost unthinkable for the German army.
"Warum denn?" She asked.
("Why?")
"Das ist ein Geheimnis, meine liebe Lyla…" Kurt stopped, placing a kiss on her outstretched hand. "…aber ich erzähle dir heute Abend was ich kann."
("It is a secret my dear Lyla…but I will tell you what I can tonight".)
The evening was a long time away. She didn't react to his comment about what he could tell her, schooling her features so that she didn't seem any more or less excited by the prospect than anyone normally would. After all, to him, she was just his loving partner who cared for what he did and also his secretary, who needed to know where he was and what he was doing. The happier he felt in sharing information that he'd learned, the better for her.
Sitting up in bed, she spent the next twenty minutes watching his every move as he got himself ready to leave. There would be a car coming for him to take him to the meeting with the Führer, which was the real reason behind his prompt removal from underneath their covers. It brought a few childish giggles to her when he tripped over a pair of shoes he'd left out the night before, crashing back down onto the end of the bed. Even the Doctor laughed at his own misfortune when he lifted his head from the sheets. Skipping breakfast, something he very rarely did, he wasn't too far from being ready when Lyla finally got up from the bed herself, walking over to him in her nightgown as he was finishing the last buttons of his jacket.
"Ich werde ohne dich einsam sein."
("I will be lonely without you".)
She lied effortlessly to him, applying her smooth hands to help him finish off the buttons on the jacket. His own hands became redundant to hers, so he instead deployed them around her waist, his thumbs stroking at her sides in a circular motion.
"Das weiss ich schon." He replied, smiling warmly. "Ich habe mir aber eine Weise ausgedacht, dagegen zu helfen."
("I know you will. I have thought of a way to help though".)
Pausing with her movements, she stared up at him for a moment, curious as to what he might have thought of. Their relationship didn't often extend to a long list of family and friends as neither had them to be able to rely on. It wasn't as if a friend would be coming to spend the day with her or she would be off to visit his mother.
"Was ist das?" She pressed for the answer.
("Which is?")
"Hans kann heute nicht mit mir kommen, also habe ich ihn gebeten, dir Gesellschaft zu leisten."
("Hans can't come with me today, so I have asked him to keep you company here until I return".)
Lieutenant Hartmann… of course. It would be another one of those meetings where the Lieutenant was not allowed to attend, making him available for other duties as Kurt saw fit. If that duty meant looking after Kurt's partner for him until he returned, then the young man would complete the task without a second thought. A most loyal young man to the Doctor, the Lieutenant made an impression on Lyla too. She might have been against their ideals secretly, reporting on any details that she could find about German intentions, but she truly held the young man in a high regard. It reminded her of another man, one she no longer had access too, though one who'd no doubt changed in the time she'd been away. The kind-hearted, honest young Lieutenant treated her as he would a senior officer, with the upmost candour and respect.
"Na ja...das ist ganz lieb von dir." She feigned shock.
("Oh… that is most kind of you".)
"Alles für dich, mein Liebling."
("Anything for you my dear".)
After replying, he cupped her cheeks and leant down into what turned out to be a long kiss. A kiss that she tolerated, the Doctor not being the worst kisser she'd ever faced and there was quite the pool to choose from.
A shout of his name from outside took them away from each other.
"Ich muss jetzt wirklich los.". He informed her upon hearing the noise.
("I really must be going now".)
"Tschüss, Kurt". She spoke pleasantly, kissing him on the cheek. "Bis später."
("Goodbye Kurt. I will see you later".)
"Auf jeden Fall, meine liebe Lyla. Ich hab dich lieb."
("You will my dear Lyla. I love you".)
Love. Internally she bristled at the thought that he truly loved her. Being unable and quite frankly unwilling to love him in any way, hearing of his love for her was disgustingly difficult to digest. He was the enemy in more simplistic terms. Being loved by an enemy was not something she would wish upon anyone, let alone herself. An actress she was though, the greatest of them all.
"Ich hab dich auch lieb."
("I love you too".)
The words hurt her, the grin she put on afterwards adding to the pain too. Successful it was though, as Kurt smiled back without a hint of suspicion that the woman in front of him was ready to throw up at any moment.
She walked with him to the door out to the stairs that led down to the front door of the offices. If she'd have dressed, she would have accompanied him all the way down to keep up the ruse to any awaiting officers, but not wishing to get cold, she stayed upstairs. It also gave her time to change ahead of Lieutenant Hartmann's arrival. Knowing the Lieutenant, he would arrive promptly after Kurt left, seeing as his mentor imparted the time of his departure on the young man. She would also have to get working soon enough too as Kurt's books needed to be balanced and be ready for him to review himself that evening.
Her belief about the Lieutenant was confirmed as no more than five minutes after Kurt had left for the meeting, there was a knock on the door to the offices. Hartmann could have barged in, being the regular attraction that he was in the offices but was always pleasant enough to knock to check who was in before he did so. Striding out of the kitchen where she was making a cup of tea for herself before starting the work on Kurt's finances, Lyla calmly approached the door.
"Es ist wunderbar, Sie zu sehen, Herr Leutnant."
("It is wonderful to see you Lieutenant".)
She addressed him once she'd opened the door, beckoning him inside with her hand. He followed the instruction diligently, walking in purposefully to take up a position next to the desk where she was going to start working. He was wearing his full uniform, which made him look most handsome, she thought, with his hair swept back carefully.
"Seitdem Kurt mich gebeten hat, dich zu besuchen, freue ich mich darauf, Frau Walsh."
("I have looked forward to it since Kurt told me to visit you, Miss Walsh".)
His words were genuine, his smile even more so. She enjoyed it when the young man smiled, as his smile was almost a perfect one.
"Sie sind zu lieb, Herr Leutnant." She replied.
("You are too kind Lieutenant".)
"Bitte, Frau Walsh, nennen Sie mich bitte Hans."
("Please Miss Walsh, call me Hans".)
A rare break in character, the young man appeared to relax in her company. Though they'd been together many times over the past few months, it was always due to necessity. In a more social setting like they were in at the offices that morning, they were crossing into new territory for their friendship. For a young man who Kurt once commented to her was 'nervous around women', Hartmann didn't seem too phased by her.
"Hans". She beamed back to him. "Darf ich dich dann bitten, dass du mich Lyla nennst?"
("Hans. Might I ask, you call me Lyla?")
"Sehr gut...Lyla."
("Very well… Lyla".)
The two of them giggled at his slightly nervous delivery of her name, a redness in his cheeks from what he considered an embarrassing task to perform. Being the gentleman that he was, he never thought he would get to address his mentor's partner by her first name; actually saying it was quite the strange experience.
For the next hour he sat with her, helping her with anything that she asked for help with. The job of balancing the books was an easy one to her but collating everything to keep records of Kurt's expenses was a slightly harder task that was made easier by a second pair of hands. The Lieutenant proved adept in assisting, even going as far as to make her another cup of tea once she'd drank her first. Kurt only tended to get her a drink when it was an alcoholic one that she would be sharing with him, Hartmann getting her one without hesitation became just as refreshing as the beverage itself. They shared jokes throughout too, an odd reality dawning on her that whilst men fought and died miles away on the border, she was sat in Kurt's offices exchanging quips with the young Lieutenant Hartmann. Not that it stopped her.
Once the work was done, she made them some lunch. Briefly considering making some for Kurt, she decided against doing so once a telephone call was received from him, informing them that he would be out for longer than anticipated, though he would be back soon after lunch. It appeared that the Führer would be catering for him that lunchtime instead. Sitting down next to the Lieutenant, Lyla decided to engage him in conversation to pass the time.
"Kurt spricht viel über dich…". She began. "Er hat dich sehr gern."
("Kurt talks about you a lot. He has a great fondness for you".)
"Seitdem ich ihm zugeordnet wurde ist er zu mir ganz gut. Er hat mir viele Sachen gezeigt." Hans explained in return.
("He has been very good to me since I was posted to him. He has shown me many things".)
"Du bist ein sehr talentierter junger Mann, Hans."
("You are a very talented young man Hans".)
"Danke, Lyla". He replied quietly, blushing at the compliment. "Aber ich wünsche es mir, dass ich so talentiert wie mein Bruder wäre."
("Thank you Lyla. Although I wish I was as talented as my brother".)
"Dein Bruder?"
("Brother?")
She was surprised, enquiring immediately about the relative. In the months she'd known Lieutenant Hartmann, he'd never mentioned a sibling.
"Karl. Er ist Kapitän bei der Infanterie." He confirmed.
("Karl. He is a Captain in the infantry".)
"Er ist älter als du?"
("He is older than you?")
"Fünf Jahre älter. Er ist eher ein Soldat als ich."
("Five years older. He is more of a soldier than me".)
The slight dejection in his voice concerned her. A usually upbeat character, she suddenly found herself very concerned for him. The motherly instincts which had been locked away within her came to the fore, with her mind telling her to reach out and hug him as if he were a relative of hers. Without a second thought, she wanted to know the meaning behind his statement.
"Was meinst du?"
("What do you mean?")
"Karl...ihm passt das Leben eines Kämpfers an der Frontlinie. Ich bin sicher, ob mir es so passt. The young man responded, with a voice that remained shaky.
("Karl… he is suited to the life of a fighting man on the front lines. I am not so sure that I am".)
"Sei doch nicht so streng mit dir, Hans. Nach dem zu urteilen, was ich von dir gesehen habe, bist du zu jeglicher Sache fähig, die du dir entscheidest zu tun."
("Do not be so hard on yourself Hans. From what I have seen of you, you are very capable at whatever you decide to do".)
Attempting to bring back the Lieutenant Hartmann that she liked to see, Lyla paid him a compliment that was completely sincere. Kurt's list of requests came at different ends of the spectrum at times, yet Hans would complete them without failure. She'd never seen him fail at anything he turned his hand to.
"Aber nicht zum Leben eines Soldaten". He sighed loudly. "Draußen in der Kälte zu sein, unwissend, ob sich dein Feind um die Ecke oder ganz weit weg befindet. Der Vorstellung davon gefällt mir nicht."
("But not a soldier's life. Out in the cold, not knowing whether your enemy is around the next corner or miles away. I do not like the thought of that".)
Understanding of that thought, her mind slipped back into thoughts of another man. He was the opposite, although he certainly wouldn't thrive upon the front lines, he would adapt to them the best that he could. He was that sort of man.
"Du bist mutig, dass zuzugeben." She explained, once again trying to show some compassion to the Lieutenant.
("You are brave to admit it. And it does not make you less of a man".)
"Mein Vater denkt nicht so."
("My father does not think that way".)
Father…
There was always a father to impress. Most of the time anyway. She didn't quite know what her father would think of her for doing what she was doing, nor the rest of the family for that matter… except him.
"Er hat im letzten Krieg gekämpft." Hans continued on. "Den Kampfgeist, den er in den Schützengräben gezeigt hat, schätzt er mehr als jede andere Kenntnis im Leben."
("He fought in the last war. He still values the fighting spirit he carried with him in the trenches over any other skill in life".)
"Er muss aber deine anderen Kenntnissen schätzen."
("He must value your other talents?")
"Nein. Wir reden jetzt selten. Jetzt is Kurt eher mein Ersatzvater."
("No. We rarely speak now. Kurt is more my father".)
Hans' voice broke as he described his true relationship with his birth father. Kurt appeared at a time of his life when a father figure was warranted, but it was only now that Hans fully appreciated it. A true fatherly figure in his life to guide him on decisions was all he could ask for. And it appeared he had a motherly figure too. Emotion tapped on the conscience of Lyla Walsh and she reached out to squeeze the young man's hand.
"Es tut mir leid, ich habe dich aufgeregt, Hans…".
("I'm sorry, I have upset you Hans…".)
"Nein, Lyla". He cut her off. "Ich rede mit Kurt nicht davon. Es ist nett, jemanden zu haben, zu dem ich das sagen kann."
("No Lyla. I do not talk of it to Kurt. It is nice to have someone to be able to tell".)
They looked at each other with slightly curved lips, the young man appreciating her sensitive approach to the topic. The scars of the lack of love from his father still gripped him tightly and to have her sooth them for a few moments was most welcome.
"Wohnt dein Vater in Berlin?" She asked softly.
("Does your father live in Berlin?")
"Meine Eltern wohnen in Potsdam. Ich bin nach Berlin gekommen, um denen zu entfliehen." He said in return, chuckling momentarily.
("My parents live in Potsdam. I came to Berlin to escape them".)
"Entfliehen? Du sprichst auch nicht mit deiner Mutter?"
("Escape? You do not speak to your mother either?")
"Ich liebe meine Mutter und sie liebt mich, aber mein Vater will nicht, dass sie mit mir redet. Sie muss Karl ihre Aufmerksamkeit zukommen lassen."
("I love my mother and she loves me, but my father does not want her to talk to me. Her attention has to go to Karl".)
A loud sigh escaped the young man. He was accustomed to playing second fiddle to his brother, but was not so used to having to vocalise his thoughts about it.
"Wie ist es mit Karl? Was hält er von dir?"
("What about Karl? What does he think of you?")
"Wir reden nicht oft aber er war einen Monat her in Berlin. Unser Gespräch war nett...wir sind im Guten auseinander gegangen."
("We do not speak often but he was in Berlin a month ago. Our conversation was pleasant… we left on good terms".)
"Wurde er schon instradiert?"
("He has been deployed?")
"Kurt hat die Liste von instradierten Verbänden entdecken können. Karls Verband hat dazu gehört."
("Kurt was able to discover the list of units deployed. Karl's unit was amongst them".)
"Ich hoffe, dass er sicher sein wird."
("I hope that he will be safe".)
"Danke, Lyla."
("Thank you, Lyla".)
Sparing a quick thought for Hans' brother, she squeezed his hand again. It had the same calming effect on the young man as it did before, feeling him relax after it. They remained sat in silence for another couple of minutes while she digested his news and he reeled from the impact of finally getting it off of his chest. He would never talk to Kurt about such matters, though he knew his mentor would have been understanding, but somehow with Lyla the words came naturally. She was very easy to talk to in his opinion, holding a very caring nature within her that he'd come to appreciate. A valued friend.
"Was denkst du jetzt darüber, Hans?
("What do you think about this now Hans? Now that the British and French have declared war".)
Lyla decided to change the topic of their conversation completely. With the declaration by their respective governments the day before, Britain and France had fully committed to stopping the German war machine. It was only the verbal confirmation of what she already knew would happen as the German High Command would never back off of Poland and the British and French would never let their actions stand unchecked.
"Du möchtest meine Meinung hören?" He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her request.
("You want my opinion?")
"Ja, wenn das ok ist…"
("Yes. If you do not mind…".)
"Ich glaube, sie sollten aufhören, sich in unsere Angelegenheiten einzumischen."
("I think they should stop involving themselves in our business".)
His reply did not catch her unawares. Many young German men were taken in by Hitler's very effective propaganda and were hostile to the idea of other countries trying to stop German expansion as well as their crushing of the inferior races.
"Ist es nicht deren ehrenhafte Pflicht, ihrem Alliierten zu helfen?"
("Is it not their honourable duty to help their ally?")
"Vielleicht. Aber die Franzosen, die sind Feiglinge. Die sind uns unterlegen aber die Briten...die könnten unsere Brüder sein, wenn sie verhandeln würden."
("Perhaps. The French though, they are cowards. They are inferior to us but the British… they could be our brothers if they would negotiate".)
"Fürchtest du die?"
("Do you fear them?")
"Die Briten?" He laughed loudly. "Nein. Eine Lektion wartet auf sie, sollten sie sich noch mal Konflikt wünschen."
("The British? No. A lesson awaits them should they wish for conflict again".)
Realising that moving onto the topic was not her best idea, Lyla was saved by the door opening to reveal a returning Kurt. She rose up from her seat, Lieutenant Hartmann rising next to her to salute his mentor. She flashed Kurt a warm smile, finding the gesture reciprocated by him a second later.
"Lyla, mein Liebling." He spoke first.
("Lyla my dear".)
"Guten Nachmittag, Kurt."
("Good afternoon Kurt".)
She addressed him before leaning in for a short kiss to welcome him back. Another kiss where she fought the contents of her stomach.
"Ich gehe davon aus, dass Hans ein guter Gesellschafter war?"
("I assume Hans has been good company?")
Taking a look up into the eyes of the young Lieutenant, she couldn't help but curve her lips up into a wide smile. Kurt's assumption was correct.
"Auf jeden Fall, sehr erfrischend. Er ist ein kluger junger Mann."
("His company has been very refreshing. He is a smart young man".)
The doctor nodded his agreement with her description, knowing him to be exactly that. The Lieutenant himself grinned bashfully at her side but got over his instinctive shyness to address her properly.
"Danke dir, Frau Walsh. Es war mir ein Vergnügen, mit dir Zeit zu verbringen."
("Thank you, Miss Walsh. It has been a pleasure to spend time with you".)
It really had been. Finding himself someone new to be able to share his thoughts, a woman who was kind and understanding of him, allowed him to dream of having a mother like her. A mother who would be there to listen to his fears and help him with his emotions. Kurt could only do so much as a mentor; he needed a woman too.
He wasn't the only young man in Europe with that problem though…