Scent of Triumph (3 page)

Jon caught her arm. “Don’t, it’s no use, Danielle. She’s gone.”

“No, she can’t be,” Danielle cried. She’d never seen a dead person before. Except for the blood soaking the deck beneath her, the woman appeared merely unconscious. Then she saw that the back of the woman’s skull was gone and she started to retch.

Jon shoved his handkerchief into her hand to wipe her mouth. “Keep going!”

Soon they came upon a lifeboat that dangled above them like a toy.

“Max, give us a hand, we haven’t much time.”

Water poured over the rail and mixed with the dead woman’s blood, sloshing across the deck and staining it a deep crimson. All around them people slid across the tilting deck, screaming in hysteria. Danielle lost her balance, along with one leather pump that tumbled into the pandemonium. She kicked off her other shoe and clung to the railing.

Jon and Max began to toss life vests from the boat into the crowd.

Danielle’s heart raced at the sight of the life vests. “Are we...are we going to sink?”

Jon’s jaw twitched. “Just put on one of these.”

“But I can’t swim.”

“You won’t have to if you’re wearing this.”

Despite her panic, Danielle fumbled with the strings on the vest. Jon and Max worked feverishly to free the lifeboats. Within moments, several crew members arrived and began to herd women and children into the boats.

Max checked her knotted vest and kissed Danielle while the first boat was lowered. “You go now. I’ll see you soon.”

Jon motioned to her. “Get in,” he roared.

She glanced at the lifeboat and terror gripped her chest. She’d never liked small crafts, had nearly drowned off one when she was a child. “Max, I can’t.”

“I’ll be right behind you, my love.” Max pressed her close and kissed her again.

Jon grabbed her arm. “Danielle, people are waiting.”

“No, Jon, I–I can’t get into that boat. I’ll stay with Max.”

“Bloody hell, you will.” Jon’s eyes flamed with urgency, startling her. “For God’s sake, woman, get your wits about you. What happened to your famous French courage?”

Max threw Jon a wary glance, then nodded to her. “You must go now.”

Indignant, Danielle jerked her arm from Jon. “I’ll show you courage.” She stepped into the boat, barefoot, still clutching her purse.

Just then, a man with a sobbing toddler rushed toward them. “Please, will someone take my boy?”

Danielle thought of her own little boy, shot a glare at Jon. “I will.” She reached for the frightened child.

“His name is Joshua. You will take care of my boy?”

“I give you my word.” She prayed someone would do the same for her Nicky, if need be. She hugged the sniveling child, sweet with a milky smell, to her breast. Joshua was the same size as Nicky and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing his name.

Jon gave the signal and the lifeboat plunged into the choppy water, jarring her to the bone.

Her teeth chattering, Danielle looked back at the great ship. She was taking on water fast. All around them lifeboats crashed into the sea amidst the most heart-wrenching wails she’d ever heard.

She strained to see through the fog and the frantic crowd, but couldn’t spot Max or Jon. The
Newell-Grey Explorer
, the fine ship that bore Jon’s family name was giving way, slipping to her death. For a moment, the ship heaved against the crushing weight of her watery grave, the thundering din of her imminent demise deafening.

Danielle’s eyes were glued to the horrific scene. Suddenly, she remembered something Jon had once told her and she thought,
I will not die like this
. She turned to the young crew member with them. “When a ship goes down, the force can suck others down with it. We’ve got to get out of here!”

He seemed dazed with shock and made no reply.

Frustrated, she turned to the elderly woman next to her. “Here, take little Joshua, hold him tightly.”

Another woman let out a cry. “But what will we do?”

“We’ve got to row,” Danielle shouted. “Who’ll help me?” She had watched her brother Jean-Claude row often enough.
Surely I can manage this
, she thought desperately.

A stout Irish woman spoke up. “I’ll be helping you, that I will, dearie. I might be third class, but I be a first class rower.”

“Good.” Danielle’s resolve hardened and she moved into position. She tucked her soggy silk dress between her legs, its dye trailing green across the white deck, and grabbed an oar. The smell of musty wet wood assaulted her senses.

“Together, now stroke, and—no, wait.” When she lifted her arms to row, the life vest bunched up around her neck, inhibiting her movement. She glanced at little Joshua and realized he had no life vest. She tore the vest strings open, shrugged out of it, and gave it to the elderly woman. “Put it on him.”

“All right, now stroke,” the Irish woman called. “Steady, and stroke, and stroke.”

Danielle pulled hard against the oars, struggling for rhythm, though splinters dug into her hands and her thin sleeves ripped from the strain.

They were some distance out when she looked up. The immense ship, the jewel of the fleet, gave one last, mournful wail. Within seconds, the proud, gleaming ship conceded defeat; she disappeared into the Atlantic blackness, leaving only a burgeoning swell of water and a spiral of smoke in her wake.

Where’s Max? And Jon? Did they make it off the ship?
Danielle felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. She couldn’t watch anymore, she turned her back to the ship, suddenly numb to the cold.

And there, in the distance, she saw it. A strange vessel was breaking the surface. As it crested, she saw on its side in block print the letter “U” and a series of numbers.
A U-Boat.
Treacherous, Jon had said.
And deadly.

Danielle narrowed her eyes.
So, this is the enemy, this is who holds Poland—and my family—captive.

A scorching rage seized her heart and sent her trembling to the boat’s edge, her hands fisted white.
Look at them, surveying their handiwork, the bastards!
Steadying herself on the bow, she cried in a hoarse voice into the gathering nightfall, “Someday, there will be a day of reckoning for this.
C’est la guerre
. And I’ll never, never surrender.”

“You tell ‘em, dearie,” yelled the Irish woman. As Danielle and the other lifeboat occupants stared at the U-Boat, a mighty force began to gather below them. Silent as a thief, a swift undersea current drew water from beneath the bobbing craft.

Danielle sensed an eerie calm.

She turned and gasped.

A wall of water, born of the wake of the
Newell-Grey Explorer
, rose high behind them.

The wave crashed down, flipping the lifeboat like a leaf. Grappling for a handhold, she screamed, then plunged into the swirling current. As the lifeboat completed its airborne arch, she saw an oar hurtling toward her. She tried to twist away, but the crack stunned her to her core.

Her moans for help were muffled as she sank into the frigid, murky depth. Dazed, she flailed about, desperate to swim the short distance to the surface, but her disjointed efforts only sucked her farther into the unrelenting sea. At last, she felt nothing but the icy claws of the Atlantic as her breath gave way and she slipped into darkness.

Sofia von Hoffman had scant time to prepare her escape. Despite her illness, the aggressive carcinoma that invaded her body with cancerous tumors, she’d worked without a break since the predawn invasion the day before. With the help of Jacob, her chauffeur, they cleared her large ancestral home of much of its personal effects and locked what they could in the cellar.

Now it was almost midnight. She stood in the stone doorway, gasping for breath, the dust from their work aggravating her lungs. Her body shook as she coughed, a violent hacking cough, her lungs aching with each attempt. When she recovered, she drew herself up, her posture impeccable, and turned to Jacob. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll be back for you before daybreak.” Jacob paused at the door and rested his broad hand on her arm. “Are you sure you can manage the rest of this?” His eyes rose to an oil painting in the foyer behind her.

“I’ll try.” Sofia followed his gaze to the fine painting, illuminated with a glimmer of moonlight, a portrait of her in a fluid white gown on the eve of her marriage fifty years ago.

Jacob’s eyes brimmed with admiration. “I remember when that was done.”

Sofia tilted her head. “But you were just a boy.”

“Tending the horses and carriages. Still I knew, even then, that you were an unparalleled beauty,” he said, his voice thick.

She averted her eyes and glanced down at her thin, frail hands, spidery with veins. Her illness had reduced her to a grey ghost of the force she had once been. But she didn’t mourn the loss of her youth, only the loss of her energy.

“I’m sorry,” Jacob said softly. “I didn’t mean that you aren’t still beautiful.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but we have more important matters.” Her heart quickened. “Nazi troops are advancing, your family is right in their path.”

“But I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“Nicky and I will be fine—for a while.” She touched his weathered cheek. “Hurry, we haven’t a moment to spare.”

Jacob hesitated on the doorstep. Beneath his dark bushy brows, his eyes were moist. “If I don’t return, I want you to know that I’ve always—”

“I know.” She gave him a sad smile. “And I want you to know that I haven’t long. I’m—”

“No, you’ll be better soon. You should see a different doctor.”

She shook her head, then raised her eyes to the west, where a faint, eerie light glowed orange on the horizon like a distant fireball. “You must hurry.”

Sofia stood at the door and watched him get into the car. “Be careful,” she called, her grey eyes misting. On his return, they would travel into the nearby forest, hide until danger passed. At best, they could return home. At worst... She shuddered.

I’m so glad Jacob was here
. Heinrich, her husband’s nephew who lived with them, had disappeared after the invasion.

Another round of coughing gripped her like a vise. If only she’d been well enough to travel to Paris with young Nikolov, as she’d promised Max and Danielle.

She pressed her hand against her chest. The doctor had promised her more time. But even he didn’t realize her illness would be so aggressive.

In her dignified way, she’d kept it from her family. She didn’t want to worry Max and Danielle. They had so much on their minds. Now she regretted her decision.

Already, unbelievable stories from the front lines had filtered into town. Thousands of innocent people had been killed in ground and air strikes. People were running for their lives. And their village, Klukowski, lay dead center in the Nazi path.

Sofia gasped for breath as her coughing subsided. What would Max and Danielle return to? She thought of little Nikolov—her precious grandson Nicky—and regret flooded her mind. Danielle had been so anxious about leaving him. Sofia had assured her the boy would be fine, that they would meet them in Paris. How wrong she had been.

Sofia passed a hand over her gaunt brow and leaned against the wall. Suddenly, she heard the rear door slam.

Heavy footsteps raced up the rear servant’s stairs. She knew the sound of those boots. “Heinrich?”

Sofia made her way up the entryway stairs and met Heinrich in the hall. He looked disheveled, his blond hair sticking up like thorns, his clothes soggy with perspiration. He held a small bag in his hand.

“Aunt Sofia. I–I thought you’d left already.”

Sofia pulled herself up and squared her shoulders. “You saw the car leave and you assumed I was in it. You did not want to face me?”

“No, I–”

“Where have you been?”

He lowered his pale blue eyes and studied his feet, then threw his head back and puffed out his chest. “I am going to join in the glory of the New Germany.”

Sofia’s stomach clenched and she reached out to the wall for support. She struggled to speak. “Wha-at?”

“I’ve enlisted.”

“For Germany?”

“I
am
German.”

Sofia was aghast, her breath rattling in her chest. “But you’ve lived here since you were ten. You’re more Polish than German.”

“No,
you
are Polish. My uncle was not. I had no choice after my parents died, did I?” His lip curled in a sneer. “My blood is German and I’m proud of it.
Mein Führer
needs me.”

She knew Heinrich idolized everything German, especially Hitler. Even as a child he’d played soldier games, staged battles and studied strategy. He yearned for the uniform, the comradeship, the imagined glory. How could she stop him? She touched his arm. “Heinrich, I’ve always loved you like my own son.”

“The great Maximillian? Don’t lie to me, Aunt Sofia.” He jerked away.

Anger swelled within her. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what
they’re
doing.”

“Forging a new world order, that’s what. And I’m going to be a part of it.”

“Part of what, Heinrich? Part of their inhumane laws? Part of their racist regime, their fascist philosophy?”

Heinrich’s youthful face twisted with hatred. “That’s right. Your precious Max betrayed his race by marrying a little half-breed French Jew who passes herself off as Catholic. And you welcomed her into this home. You spent more time with her and that brat than you ever did with me.”

“Is that what’s behind this? You’re jealous of Danielle and little Nicky?” She shook her head in disbelief. True, Heinrich had been moody after Danielle arrived, but Sofia had assumed it was just adolescent behavior.

“Jealous? No, they’re beneath me, Aunt Sofia. And so are you.” He spun on his heel and pounded down the stairs.

Sofia heard the door slam. Her eyes welled with sorrow for Heinrich, her heart burned with rage against the Nazis. She leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath.

Her poor, foolish, misguided Heinrich. She recalled how he’d been a frightened young boy, missing his Berlin friends, when he came to live with them. She thought that was the reason for his surly demeanor. But how he must have resented her. She pressed her hand to her mouth.