The groan of their engine wanes. But is it from distance, or are they slowing?

It’s harder to discern while the brothers again quarrel in undertones. They’re debating strategy when suddenly our boat lurches and speeds away, southward, parallel to Holland’s coastline. The younger brother has taken charge. And now there’s no question if we’ve been heard. A searchlight beams from the patrollers, sweeping their surroundings.

We have no option but to try to outrun them.

The misty air whips across my face. An edge of the blanket flaps behind me. I clasp Evelien’s hand—solely for her. Strangely I feel no rise of panic. Perhaps I’m too tired, in every sense. Besides, there’s no control to be gained nor benefits from fear.

“They’re looking toward the coast,” someone says in Dutch over the roar of our engine. Indeed, the searchlight is directed away from us. It shrinks by the second. Then the beam shuts off, snuffed out like a flame.

Sustaining the light could make them sitting ducks, I realize. We’re not the only ones being hunted.

Our boat slows a bit, giving way to a droning sound. We look to the skies. The noise grows from an unseen aircraft. It could be Allied or German. Is the pilot’s view of us clearer than the reverse? A strafing run could be the end of us all.

More searchlights flash on, these ones ahead in the distance. Seemingly from land. Or are they from additional patrol boats? It occurs to me we’re being boxed in. But then the lights arc upward and a series of fireballs burst through the darkness. The chug-chugging of anti-aircraft guns indicates that the plane, at least, is on our side.

Our captain turns us west, away from it all. He and his brother are still testy but relieved, as are the rest of us. For now.

“Pretty,” Evelien coos, pointing toward our wake. Green luminescence leaves a glowing, almost mystical trail.

I can’t help but smile a little, not only at the irony in the setting but at the innocence that her life somehow, incredibly, hasn’t crushed.

“It’s beautiful,” I agree and gaze back at the water until it fades to black.

***

Later in the night, tension returns at the sighting of two boats traveling together. They move so quickly a passenger assesses them to be British motor torpedo boats, yet for the chance they could be German Schnellbooten, the group decides it’s best not to draw attention.

Hence, with the older brother firmly reasserting his duties, he simply slows our pace, hoping not to be spotted. Once the speedboats vanish from sight, he increases our speed and continues on.

The air turns colder as the winds pick up. My stomach goes slightly queasy from the worsening swells. A couple passengers look terribly ill. One retches off the side.