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It was such an odd question that Leila temporarily forgot her sickness. She presumed he was attempting to make conversation. Perhaps he had never met a woman in uniform before.
‘Assuming that’s a purely hypothetical question, I suppose I can answer in the same spirit. Preferably, I’d rather be a dormouse or a sunflower.’
He looked at her wide-eyed, and then reverted to ignoring her. She smiled quietly to herself, and another hour went by.
‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little surprised to find you on board, Major,’ he said suddenly. ‘What does headquarters want you to do exactly?’
‘Re-education, Colonel. Or, at least, that’s the way Colonel Potter put it to me in London when he recruited me. I’d been working for ABSIE – with Brewster Morgan… Major Morgan?’
The Colonel shook his head. ‘Don’t know either of them.’
Suddenly the plane went into a dive, causing her stomach to lurch violently. The colonel pressed a packet of chewing gum into her hand. ‘Chew this,’ he advised. ‘It works.’
Leila unwrapped the gum and put it into her mouth. As she closed her eyes, she felt the waves of nausea gradually subsiding.
It was only when they had landed at the Frankfurt military airport that she reopened her eyes. ‘Thank you for the gum, Colonel – it really worked.’
‘I’m glad,’ said the colonel, unstrapping himself from his seat belt. ‘Well, good luck, Major – I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
Climbing down the steps of the plane that afternoon, Leila stood for a few moments, enjoying the last rays of the evening sun. It was momentous. She was back on German soil for the first time in a decade.
‘Excuse me, Major – but are you heading for HQ?’ The voice came from a young woman in uniform – the only other female on board.
Leila nodded.
‘They told me there would be a jeep to pick us up,’ said the girl, looking around.
Within minutes a fleet of cars drew up next to the plane, and the generals and colonels were driven off, leaving the two women to fend for themselves.
‘Let’s ask over there,’ said the girl, heading for the makeshift reception building. ‘I’m Penelope, by the way,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Lieutenant Penelope McMasters.’
‘How do you do, Penelope. I’m Leila Labowski. Major Labowski, I suppose I should say. I’ve not really got used to all the army titles, yet.’
The young woman smiled. ‘You new to the army, then?’
‘You could say that, Lieutenant. What’s your job here?’
‘Secretarial work, mostly. Don’t worry, Major – I’ll sort out our transport.’
Inside the reception building, an attractive young German woman was chatting animatedly with a group of American GIs. She had blond permed hair and spoke surprisingly good English with an American accent.
‘Major Labowski is expecting a car to take her to headquarters,’ said Penelope briskly. ‘Can you help?’
‘Sure, I’ll sort that out,’ said the girl.
She made a couple of phone calls while giggling and flirting with the GIs, flashing her nylon-clad legs.
‘Clearly, being friendly with GIs is the only way to get on round here,’ muttered Penelope, laughing.
A few minutes later a large staff car arrived, and the two women sank gratefully into the back seat.
‘This is the sort of car they normally send for three-star generals,’ exclaimed Penelope. ‘You obviously have friends in high places, Major.’ She smiled at Leila. ‘Still, I’m not complaining. It’s probably the last luxury we’ll experience for some time!’
It was dusk as they drove through the streets of Frankfurt. Leila was horrified. London after the Blitz had been bad enough, but this once-magnificent city had been reduced to rubble. Debris had been piled by the sides of the roads, and now almost the only traffic was US tanks, troop carriers and jeeps.
A grey fog lay over the city, which Leila at first presumed was mere condensation but soon realised was actually dust rising up from the decimated buildings. Through the gloom she spotted the odd person, walking hurriedly through the devastated streets. Men and women – it was hard to tell them apart – were busy collecting firewood from the ruins, or trundling belongings on makeshift carts. On the stairway of a bombed-out house sat a child with a flower in her hand. She waved at Leila as the car drove past, and Leila – not for the first time – thought of Clara.
It was well after dark when the car finally arrived at the American headquarters in Bad Homburg. The driver stopped at the guardhouse, set into the barbed wire perimeter. Leila and her companion passed their identity papers through the car window, and were waved through. Once inside the compound, it was like a different world. Light streamed from every building, and music blared from loudspeakers. In the well-lit streets, uniformed men and women strolled about happily, laughing and joking.
