Scent of Triumph Read Online Free PDF Page B

She recalled the horrible stories that had filtered in from Germany and realized now, with a sinking feeling, that the stories must be true. People were being terrorized by their own police force. They had little choice but to acquiesce to the new laws. How had this madman risen to power? She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat.
He’s nothing but a brutal little wallpaper hanger from Austria with a gift for public speaking and a clutch of barbaric ideas.
To Danielle, his popularity was utterly unfathomable.
    Muted sobs reverberated in the salted midnight air, but Danielle remained dry-eyed, resistant to any emotion but rage, her breath coming in short rasps.
    She clasped her knees and rocked in the biting cold. Her husband might well be among the dead, yet she dared not think of mourning. She fixed her gaze toward England. They’d been told the Red Cross would help them find shelter and help with arrangements for the dead.
    But no doubt, Nazi U-Boats tracked the ships’ movements. Would they even reach England?
And then what?
    At least Heinrich was with Nicky and Sofia. Although in truth, she’d always been wary of Max’s cousin. Heinrich acted distant, but Max only laughed and said it was his Prussian background. Heinrich treated her cordially, yet she sensed he viewed her as an interloper.
    Danielle turned to concentrate on the blackened form of the Norwegian vessel. As the night progressed, exhaustion set in and despite her vigilance, she drifted into a troubled slumber.
    When Danielle woke, the English shore was in full view. Groggily she thought,
Where am I? What’s happening, where’s Max, where’s Nicky?
Then the memory of the night before rushed through her mind, and she stumbled to her feet.
    She drew herself farther into her soggy blanket and crinkled her nose against the sour smell of the still wet wool. The damp air held an ominous chill, and the charcoal sky reflected the somber mood of the morning.
    She watched as the British destroyer maintained its position until the Norwegian ship docked, then the destroyer maneuvered into port.
    Danielle saw solemn passengers lining the rail of each vessel, and strained to see if Max or Jon were among them. She peered out over the throng of people who’d gathered to greet the ships, heard them call out names in hope. Then the heavens burst with a crack of thunder and far below, furtive clusters of umbrellas unfurled against the sudden rain.
    Danielle shuffled with the shivering mass of survivors herded off the ships and into a bleak processing area. She searched the crowd.
Max, Jon?
Where are they?
But all she found were dry blankets and bland soup, and volunteers who could do little more than offer condolences.
    “Refugees,” she heard them called. Her face burned with renewed anger.
That’s what we are now
, she thought, facing the bleak truth.
    Barefoot and clutching her purse, Danielle moved to the front of the line and gave an efficient, grey-haired woman her information. With her heart in her throat, she asked about Max.
    The woman consulted a list, frowned, then excused herself.
    As she waited, Danielle licked her raw lips, tasting salt water. The smell of perspiration and dampness infiltrated her nose. Not far away, she noticed a trim man with a press credential tucked into his hatband. He sounded American.
    “How many people were aboard?” he asked an official.
    “Twelve-hundred ninety-four,” came the reply.
    “Survivors?”
    Danielle strained to hear.
    “At last count, nine-hundred seventy-six.”
    Her head throbbed as she calculated.
More than three hundred dead.
    The reporter scribbled in his notebook. “And what can you tell me about the
S.S. Athenia
?”
    The official shook his head. “She was bound for the States, but suffered a U-Boat attack just north of Ireland. More than a hundred civilians and crew died.”
    No, not another ship, too
. Danielle’s head swam with fury.
So this is war
, she thought.
Then I will fight, and I