Her travels also allowed Ans to map the Nazis’ movements and report on the area where the rockets were being launched. “It’s very important to get an estimate of the number of troops and tanks in this region,” Leeuw had said. “The Allies are in Belgium, and we’re expecting something big in the Netherlands very soon.” His words brought Ans hope, renewing her resolve.

The autumn day still held the warmth of summer when Ans rode her bicycle to the towns of Woerden and then Bodegraven to deliver ration cards. She noticed an unusual amount of Nazi activity with troop vehicles and tanks heading toward the southeast. At her last stop in Bodegraven, she asked to use the bathroom and marked down all of the military information in coded symbols on her map, afraid she wouldn’t remember them by the time she’d cycled back to the farm. Ans folded the map into a small square and tucked it under the front of her bra. Late in the day, she climbed onto her bicycle to head home.

She was somewhere between Bodegraven and Woerden, riding back roads because of the Nazi activity, when two Nazi soldiers approached, one on a bicycle, the other striding alongside. Her heart ticked faster. There was no chance that they hadn’t seen her. Her legs were already weary but she pedaled faster, gazing straight ahead, hoping to race past them. But the one on the bicycle halted and waved his arms at her.

“Hey, hey! Stop!” he said in German. “Where are you going in such a hurry, pretty Fräulein?” The other one stepped into her path. Ans had no choice. She braked to a stop but pretended she didn’t understand them.

“Here’s your chance,” the one with the bicycle said to the other soldier. “You can get a bike for yourself.”

“It’s in pretty bad shape but it beats walking,” he replied. He grabbed the handlebars. “I’ll take that now, Liebste.”

Ans hung on tightly, knowing they could do whatever they wanted but hoping they would show mercy. “Please don’t take my bike!” she begged in Dutch. “I’m miles and miles from home!”

Whether they understood her or not, they seemed indifferent, chatting about how they’d use the bike on their days off. “Please, I need it to get home. Otherwise I’ll never make it there before curfew.” Her tears were very real. One of them made a crude comment about Ans in German, and she tried not to blush so they wouldn’t know she’d understood. “Please!” she begged. The soldier yanked the bike from her grasp and climbed on.