Of Windmills and War by Diane H Moody Page A

locations. Others dropped so many paratroopers,
the sky resembled a snow storm with all the white parachutes fluttering down. At
the same time German soldiers poured over the border into every town and
village, many disguised as Dutch citizens, priests, and soldiers. When the real
Dutch soldiers rushed to load their weapons, they found their ammunition cases
filled with sand, further evidence of sabotage.
    Danny remembered
Anya once telling him her country didn’t believe in war and therefore didn’t have
a fully trained military. She’d told him how hard she had laughed at a group of
Dutch soldiers riding bicycles with their rifles slung over their shoulders.
How could such an “army” fight the mighty Germans? With war all around them,
why hadn’t they better prepared to fight?
    He scanned
the rest of the article, hating what he read and sick with worry about Anya and
her family. Had they survived? Were they safe? As the questions raced through
his mind, he remembered Anya’s last letter. Would it be her last? Would his
letters get through to her? No, of course not. The Germans immediately cut off
every form of communication in the countries they took over.
    Danny cursed
and wadded the paper in his hands. He sat down hard on the steps of the diner
ignoring the customers coming and going. He stared across at the theater. Had
it really been only moments before when he’d groaned about having to put off
college for another year? His eyes tracked downward to the paper in his hands.
He carefully spread it across his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles and refolding
it. Somehow it felt like Anya was in those pages and he wanted nothing more
than to protect her. What was a delay in his plans for college compared to the horror
she must surely be facing?
    He
closed his eyes, imagining the dark sky over Holland , the
ghost-like shapes of the German Luftwaffe flying overhead, the inky blotches of
flak dotting the sky, the massive explosions blowing up bridges and buildings.
    He pushed
the thoughts from his mind, trying to stuff them somewhere so he could think of
some way to help, some way to get through to Anya. But what could he do?
    Nothing.
    Nothing
except pray.
    And
right there, on the steps of the 75th Street Diner,
he prayed. Oh Lord, keep Anya safe. Keep all of them safe.
     

 
     
     
     
    Part
II
     
     

14
     
     
    May 15,
1940
    Utrecht , The Netherlands
    Anya
sat across the kitchen table from her father. She studied the new creases on
his face, the stubble on his chin; his eyes, normally shining with hope and laughter,
now shrouded and troubled. But it was his silence that unnerved her, almost as
much as the distant gunfire echoing through the streets. His hand, still poised
around his coffee cup, trembled ever so slightly. Anya reached across the table
and placed her hand over his.
    “Father?”
    As if
snapping out of a trance, he looked up. “Yes?”
    “So
quiet you are. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
    He
turned his hand, taking hers in his, as a tired smile tried to form. “I was
thinking of the day I married your mother.”
    “Tell
me about it.”
    “It was
such a beautiful day. The sky so blue. Birdsong filled the air. A cool breeze
danced through the flowers in her hair. How lovely she looked, her hand in mine,
as we walked from the church to the parsonage surrounded by those we loved. The
parishioners had prepared a great feast in our honor.”
    A
distant explosion rumbled through the air, shaking the foundation below them.
They’d grown wearily accustomed to such interruptions over the past few days.
Since 3:30 on Friday
morning, when the Germans invaded in spite of Dutch anti-aircraft and ground-to-air
artillery, Anya and her father had watched their way of life turn upside down.
The Germans quickly made themselves at home, emptying homes and warehouses,
stealing everything in sight, even forcing families out of their homes so they
could move in. They gathered food from shopkeepers, raiding