A Secret Mission

      ”Sietze!“ Dad called. From the tone of his voice I could tell that something was important. It wasn’t Dad’s custom to have little casual chats with his children. He probably never regarded it as important. But clearly, something was important now, and I quickly dropped my garden hoe and walked over to where he was standing. As I was approaching, Mom came out of the pump house to join us. This must really be important, I thought. Dad seemed worried and very uncomfortable. Mom, also nervous, clearly reflected fear in her facial expressions. ”Sietze,“ Dad began, ”life is getting very dangerous around here. Especially for those known to be involved in the resistance movement. You know we’re hiding Mr. Schipper and his family. We know that Folkert Nobach is suspicious.“ I nodded my head vigorously, remembering Mr. Nobach interrogating me about the lady he had spotted hanging clothes on our clothesline. I had never told my parents about that scary time, but I understood the mistrust.

     ”You know that the high ranking German accomplice in this region is Folkert’s brother, Pete Nobach.“ Now Mom seemed nervously eager to join the conversation. ”Sietze, do you remember I told you about Piet Nobach threatening Dad after Dad had to tell him that the church elders would not allow him to partake of communion?“ I nodded my head, and she continued immediately. ”PeteNobach has two sons who are both members of the brutal and much feared German SS forces. One of the sons was home on furlough and was hand-milking the cows in the field, leaving his dad sleep in that morning. Someone from the resistance movement, not knowing that Pete was not milking this morning, snuck up through the pastureland on the unsuspecting cow-milker and shot him in the back of his head, killing him. We are certain that terrible retaliation by an enraged father can be expected. We have received a tip that sometime today the Germans are conducting a regional manhunt. We hope they will not come in this area, but we cannot be sure. Dad will not be around today. You are too young to be picked up by the Germans. You will be working today with Kees van Dekken who is probably still too young to be taken, but perhaps borderline.“

     ”What about Mr. Schipper?“ I asked. Mom said, ”He’s hiding here. He doesn’t have any place else to go. We must pray that danger will not come near.“

     I worked hard at trying to keep a calm expression on my face. Inwardly I was trembling with fear, when Dad started talking again. ”Sietze, we suspect that you know about our secret radio.“ He looked at me as if expecting an answer. Almost imperceptibly, I nodded. ”We don’t think you know about our secret pistol.“ Fortunately he didn’t seem to expect an answer. I didn’t need to confess that I knew about the pistol, and that I knew exactly where its secret hiding place was. Or that I also knew that Mr. Schipper had a pistol, a gun much bigger than the one hidden just below the roof tiles in the straw.

     ”Sietze,“ Dad continued, ”it’s getting much too dangerous to keep those items.“ If I were to be captured, the Germans would ask me about such things. If I was to deny it and the items should subsequently be found, they would not be very easy on me. That’s why we want you to take the radio and the gun and bury them somewhere. Make sure it’s not an obvious place that could easily be discovered. You must figure out where to hide those items. Mom and I do not want to know where you hid them, and you are absolutely never to breathe a word about their existence.“

     With that he reached into his inside coat pocket and handed me the revolver and a small box of bullets. As both my parents turned to go to the house, Mom said, looking at me: ”You know where the radio is, don’t you, Sietze?“ I nodded as they left me staring in bewilderment at the sight of a pistol in my hand.

     Then it was as if an electric cattle prod jolted me. It shocked me out of my state of momentary incomprehension, and quick as a flash I slid the pistol and the bullets into my pocket, safely keeping my hand on it. Aimlessly I walked into the field where our cows were peacefully grazing. I looked at them with a tinge of jealousy as one of the cows lifted her head and looked at me with those large trusting eyes without a trace of anxiety, worry, or fear--the very emotions and senses that now threatened to overwhelm me. I kicked the heavy corner post that supported the large wooden gate leading to the field. I needed time to think. Time to plan where and how I should hide the clandestine pistol and radio.

     Kees van Dekken was coming across the field, a hay rake slung over his right shoulder. I would be working with Kees today. Even though he was my friend, I couldn’t tell him about my secrets. Sauntering back toward the house, an idea struck me. More resolute now, I picked up my walking pace and entered the house. There was no one around, and I quickly crawled under the alcove bed and retrieved the large wooden radio. I walked through the summertime-clean cow-stall area, grabbed a shovel, and slipped into the chicken coop. Much to the consternation of about a hundred chickens, I removed their large, round, metal drinking water container, and started digging. Five minutes later I carefully lowered the radio, which I had placed in a cardboard box, into the hole. After quickly covering the boxed radio with sand, I slid the water container back into place and viewed the result with satisfaction. There was no sign of disturbed sand, and the earth below the water container would never yield its secret. The pistol in my pocket would be a challenge.

     As I exited the chicken coop, there was an enormous explosion. Almost simultaneously there was a terrific blast of what seemed like compressed, concussive air. It tore at my clothing. Nearly petrified with fear I fell to the ground.