Chapter 833: Forget It

While Smolensk was turning into a hell on earth, London, a city that had already been through hell, was now showing vigorous signs of life. The Germans were systematically restoring Britain’s shipyards and ports, and Northern Britain was also working hard to restore production throughout the country.

Faced with a series of German tricks, many British families had joined in the plan to rebuild Britain. They served the Germans, working with great efficiency to revitalize Britain’s withered industrial system. In return, many British families had taken German citizenship and had become, in the truest sense, legal German citizens.

A large amount of supplies was being shipped from Germany to Britain, including grain and some daily necessities. These things were subsidized to the collaborating British, or rather, to the former British who had already joined the great family of the Third Reich. Many families were thus able to live a decent life, and the German occupation forces were also very willing to maintain the decency of these families.

The morning sun brought a sense of peace. The cold winter was about to pass, and everything was full of hope. The middle-aged Johnsen was reading the newspaper in his newly repaired house. He sat in the slightly cramped kitchen, letting his young son and daughter play and make noise.

Mrs. Johnsen was putting the prepared food onto plates. For her, to be able to see her family together and happy was already a blessing from heaven. Every time she thought of the terrible bombing of London, she felt that for her entire family to still be alive was a gift from God.

Their neighbor, Mrs. Williams, had a family of seven. Now only four were left. This was war, this was the memory that the seemingly distant war had left for everyone.

Knock, knock, knock! A light knock came at the door. Johnsen put down his newspaper and, with a helpless look at the inferior food on the plate in front of him, which had probably been the same for a thousand years, slowly stood up and walked to the front door. He didn’t know who would be disturbing a family like theirs so early in the morning, so there was a hint of displeasure on his face as he opened the door.

“Who is it?” he asked as he pulled the door open. Although the Germans had brought suffering when they had occupied this place, it had to be admitted that after having been through the test of life and death, and also because of the constantly patrolling SS with their rifles, the security here had become exceptionally good, so good that one felt very safe even when opening the door first.

“Sir,” a young man in an SS uniform said with a smile. He had a soft SS cap on his head, the national emblem on it machine-woven and looking a bit rough. On his chest hung the metal nameplate worn by special branches like the signal corps and the railway troops, glittering in the sunlight.

Mr. Johnsen immediately wiped the look of disgust from his face. After all, his family could be said to have maintained a close connection with these Germans all along. The fact that they could live in a decent house and have the same-old food that others couldn’t get was all thanks to the help of these Germans who had come from afar.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, forcing a smile. Because the young German soldier in front of him was smiling so brightly, he had no choice but to cast aside those ethereal words like “nation” and “country” and return a similar smile.

“It’s a beautiful day,” the German soldier said in slightly broken English. As he spoke, he fumbled in his satchel and finally pulled out a small package. “A letter for your family, from Poland.”

Poland. This word was very sensitive for the Johnsen family. Their eldest son, after being captured by the Germans at Dunkirk, was said to have been serving his sentence in Poland all along. There were terrible concentration camps there, and people died in them almost every day. This made the Johnsen family very worried about their son’s living conditions there.

But the good news was that about four months ago, the Germans had begun to implement a new policy. For families with someone in a concentration camp, they could redeem their relatives by cooperating with the Germans. And by cooperating with the Germans, they could immediately improve the treatment their relatives received in the concentration camp and better their living conditions.

And so, Johnsen, a merchant who had once run a small shipyard in London, had immediately found the local German dispatch officer and had expressed his willingness to cooperate. And so, his small shipyard was immediately granted a special permit to operate, responsible for repairing the light transport ships that traveled between Germany and Britain.

Subsequently, the local German constable had very kindly and enthusiastically helped Johnsen to investigate the matter of his eldest son. The final result had been satisfactory to both sides. The son was in a concentration camp in Poland, and he was still alive and relatively healthy.

Johnsen’s son had written a letter home. In this letter, he had described his miserable life in the concentration camp. He had begged his family to help him. In order to leave that inhuman state of life, he was willing to submit to the Germans.

And so, the Johnsen family had, without hesitation, taken German citizenship and had become legal Germans with papers. And his son had immediately become one of the administrators who persecuted others in the Polish concentration camp. He had been transferred to a camp that managed Soviet prisoners of war and had become a manager responsible for recording and inventorying the production tools.

“Thank you very much. Would you like to come in for a bite to eat?” Johnsen took the letter from the German postman and made a gesture of invitation. It could be said that his whole family was very worried about their son who was far away in Poland. This letter was very important to every one of them. And so, with a grateful heart, he made a sincere invitation.

“Thank you, I… still have many letters to deliver. We’ll have a meal together some other day if we have the chance,” the young German soldier said with a smile and a nod. He carefully fastened his satchel, which was slung over his shoulder, and then saluted. “Heil Akado Rudolph, our Führer!”

“Ah… Heil Führer!” Johnsen quickly returned the salute. This was the custom of his current “motherland,” and it had to be strictly followed. Otherwise, the SS soldiers patrolling with rifles down the street would come over and have a talk with those who did not salute about the importance of the Führer to the Third Reich.

After seeing the postman off, Johnsen closed his door. He walked back to the kitchen with the letter in his hand, sat back down in his place, spread the letter out on the table, and then said to his wife, “A letter from Jon.”

“My heavens, thank God,” his wife said, very moved to hear this news. At this moment, she felt that all the criticism from her neighbors and the curses of “traitor” from the children on the street were all worth it. At the very least, her family was safe.

“Daddy! Daddy! A letter from brother?” the little girl asked, tugging on Johnsen’s trouser leg in a childish, coquettish tone. “Read it, Daddy. We miss brother very much.”

Jonathon smiled and stroked his little daughter’s head, then tore open the letter and began to read its contents: “My dear father, mother, brother, and sister, I miss you all very much.”

“I am living well in Poland. Unlike the terrible things that were said before, I am really living well now. I am now in charge of all the production tools in a large factory. These tools are for producing the military uniforms of the German soldiers. The Soviet prisoners of war in the factory work day and night, but I can rest one morning every week and go to the nearby market with my German friends.”

“To have a day where you don’t have to work on an empty stomach is really too good. I am very grateful for the sacrifices you have made for me, and I am also working hard to strive for a better life. I have some good news for you, Father… I have now learned a lot of management experience and also have the ability to manage dozens of people. When the war is over, I can help you run our shipyard together. I am more useful than when I left home.”

“How is Mother? She is still so young and beautiful in my memory. There are many British prisoners of war like me around me. Although the food is still not very good, at least this SS uniform without insignia that we are wearing looks quite smart.”

“Take care of yourself, Father. Wait for me to come back. Take care of Mother and my younger siblings. You are my most important family. Forever yours, Jon.” After reading the letter, Johnsen handed the paper to his little daughter beside him and then looked at his wife.

Mrs. Johnsen sighed and said to her husband, “I know Britain has been defeated, and we are all very sad. But we can’t change anything on our own. For Jon’s sake, for the hard-won life we have now, just pretend you don’t hear the sarcastic remarks from the neighbors.”

“I know how to handle this kind of thing, my dear. I was just worried about you,” Johnsen said, looking at his wife with great affection. “I have to go to work. I hear my factory has a new batch of orders in a few days. A Vichy French patrol boat is going to be repaired in my shipyard. If I do a good job, then there might be a few German patrol boats coming over.”

More work meant more income, and more income could be exchanged for more food ration tickets. Mrs. Johnsen’s face lit up with a happy smile when she heard that her husband’s shipyard business was getting better and better. She was already beginning to calculate whether she could use the extra ration tickets to exchange for some luxury sausages to improve the family’s meals.

As for the neighbors who were eating disgusting ration flour and making sarcastic remarks about her, after being diluted by this good news, Mrs. Johnsen had on her own initiative interpreted it as envy and jealousy.

“Go and visit the constable’s wife more often,” Johnsen said, turning his head back as he was about to leave. “From today on, my dear… let’s just forget that we were ever British…”

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