Rose Under Fire (Code Name Verity, #2)(94)

‘My gosh, Anna.’

‘I wonder what those American judges think,’ Anna said fiercely. ‘What are they thinking when those girls get up and tell them about what happened to them? The soldier boys are OK. They’ve seen things. They have some idea. But sometimes I really feel like everything is so f*cking unfair. What gives those old men the right to guess what I’ve seen – what I’ve had to do? The right to judge me?’

She stubbed out her cigarette in the sink. The attendant sighed, tutted and put down her knitting. She heaved herself to her feet again and pushed the ashtray that was sitting on the little dressing table right next to her a little closer to Anna, then turned on the tap and swooshed out the sink. Anna lit another cigarette.

‘How’d you make your mother go to work, when she was too scared to leave the house?’ I asked.

‘Forced her,’ Anna said. ‘I mean, I really forced her. Pulled her out the door, pushed her down the stairs. I’m a Kolonka – green triangle, red armband, I know how to bully people, remember?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Every morning for a month, till she started coming along without a fight. I fought her and fought for her too. I wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She’s better now – she made friends with the woman who runs the canteen where she works, and they visit each other – you know, play cards, darn socks, gossip about their terrible daughters. She gets up and eats every day. And you have to, you know? You can’t just sit in a corner weeping or you’ll die.’

She looked over at me suddenly. ‘You know, Rose. You’ve seen people do it. You’ve seen what happens.’

I have seen it.

‘I don’t know . . .’ Anna shook her head. ‘Maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe I was too hard on her. But I had to do something. I had to get her going.’

‘Anna – is there anything I can send you? Anything I can do for you?’

‘Well . . .’ Her face hardened in its cynical frown. ‘Bah. Bribe the judges?’ Then she smiled a little, hesitantly, like it was something she wasn’t used to doing. ‘Look, if I ever get out of prison, and we’re ever in the same place at the same time again, I wish you’d take me flying.’

I stubbed out my own cigarette in the ashtray and held out my hand. She took it.

‘Deal,’ I said forcefully. ‘Scout’s honour. I will take you flying.’

‘I am looking forward to it already,’ Anna said warmly.





4. Thrust





There’s got to be power somewhere. The engine has to turn the propeller, and something has to start the engine. Someone has to lift the kite, maybe run with it. A bird has to beat its wings. Things don’t magically take off and fly just because it’s a little windy.

I spent twenty minutes on the telephone at the reception desk in the hotel, driving everybody crazy because I had to make someone translate for me whenever an operator came on. But I finally got through to the Operations hut at the temporary European Air Transport airfield where I’d landed nearly a week ago. I knew they were doing supply runs all the time, keeping Nuremberg stocked for the lawyers and soldiers and newspapermen.

‘Yes, I know they’re not supposed to take me back to Paris till Monday, but is anyone going anywhere tomorrow? Anywhere? Taking reconnaissance pictures or something? I just wanted to come along for the flight. We don’t need to land –’

‘Let me put you on the line with a pilot, honey,’ the disembodied, gum-cracking American voice said kindly. ‘You’re Roger Justice’s niece, right? Yeah, we heard all about you. How’s the trial going?’ She laughed. Fortunately she didn’t give me time to try to answer – I think she was just being polite and didn’t really want to know. ‘I got somebody here you can talk to –’

‘Hello?’

She’d handed the phone over. The voice was gruff.

‘Can’t get enough of joyriding in the C-47s, huh?’

It was Chuck Brewster, who’d flown the plane from Paris. I’d told him my story about buzzing the Eiffel Tower on VE Day and I’m not sure he believed me – I’m sure he didn’t believe I’d been flying longer than he had, which is also true. He was a serious guy – neither one of us suggested he let me take over the controls for the fun of it – but we got along all right.

‘Well, you’re in luck, Miss Justice, because I’m doing a run down to Ronchi dei Legionari in Italy tomorrow morning to pick up Christmas dinner for this outfit.’

I laughed. ‘Christmas dinner?’

‘Yep, a couple of hundred frozen turkeys straight from a farm in Connecticut, plus, would you believe it, a dozen Christmas trees and all the trimmings, waiting at the docks at Monfalcone for the GIs camping out here over the holidays. You can come along if you want – it’s about an hour and a half down, another hour and a half back. Plus a few hours there while they load her up. You can go to the beach!’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nah, I’m serious! We’ll get someone to run you to the beach while we pack up. Right on the Adriatic Sea.’

For a moment I couldn’t talk – I could hardly breathe.

In my head I heard the voice of my murdered friend Karolina, whispering an impossible fantasy in my ear as we lay clutching each other for warmth on the filthy wooden bunks of Ravensbrück: Let’s go to the beach on the beautiful Adriatic Sea.