by Lee Jackson
Suzanne was as bulky and gregarious as Maurice. Whether or not she knew anything of their backgrounds she did not indicate or ask, and they did not volunteer. She showed them to a comfortable room, and then brought them down to dinner.
Late that night, after the children had gone to bed and Suzanne had retired for the evening, Maurice sat across from the Bouliers at the kitchen table. Aside from their earlier conversation establishing their initial cover stories, nothing had been said about how to proceed. Now, for the first time all day, Maurice’s expression turned serious. The girls watched him anxiously.
“You’re good girls,” he said, “good people.” His big eyes turned to Chantal with kind intensity. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” He shifted his view to Amélie. “And what you had to do about it. No one should have to suffer such brutality. No one should have to remember killing another person. If you wish to talk about it, we can. Suzanne is happy to help too. Otherwise, we won’t mention it again.
“Now, as to what you can do to help.” Once again, he shifted his eyes to Chantal. “I’m thinking that you can go with me on my deliveries. Suzanne could probably use help as well.”
Chantal listened with a noncommittal expression.
“As for you.” Maurice turned his attention to Amélie. “We have positions that will be difficult to fill and are almost always open, but they are very dangerous. In fact, it is the most dangerous position inside the resistance. You’ll have to receive specialized training that will take you away for several months.”
Amélie and Chantal exchanged horrified glances. “We’ve never been away from each other,” Amélie said. “I need to be where I can look after my sister.”
Chantal objected immediately. “You don’t need to worry about me. If we’re going to win this war, we can’t hold back.” She turned to Maurice. “I didn’t come here to be a nanny or somebody’s assistant. I want a real function inside the resistance, or I’ll go somewhere else.”
Surprised at her obstinacy, Maurice gazed at Chantal. “All right,” he said, “I’ll give it some more thought. Maybe you could be a courier. That’s also very dangerous, and most people won’t suspect a child; I mean a young woman.”
“I know the risks. I came to fight,” Chantal said.
Across the table, Amélie sniffed. Maurice and Chantal watched as she rubbed her eyes. “The truth is, I don’t know if I can be away from Chantal.” She gave a small, mirthless laugh, directing a concerned look at her younger sister. “I said you’d be the bravest among us,” she murmured. Reaching across and taking Chantal’s hand, she whispered, “I killed that German so you could live. Please don’t get reckless.”
Maurice cleared his throat with a cough. “I’ll get you both in to see Hérisson,” he said. “She’ll make the final decisions.”
36
Dunkirk, France
Hauptman Bergmann looked up slowly from a document he had been reading, his mind distant. “Approach with care,” he murmured aloud, despite being alone in his office. “This man could do me some damage.”
The document bore the title Oberstleutnant Meier, and markings on it indicated that it was confidential. Bergmann had read it through three times, and now ruminated on how best to handle the commander.
Meier, the dossier revealed, belonged to a centuries-old Prussian aristocratic family with an equally long history of military service. A favorite of General Rommel, he had been at the point of the blitzkrieg into France, executing the battle plan in his sector flawlessly, halting his advance only when having received an inexplicable order to do so ahead of closing in on Dunkirk. For his skill and tenacity, he had gained favorable attention not only from Rommel but also from the führer himself. As a result, Bergmann concluded, Meier enjoyed a degree of immunity.
As the captain saw the larger picture, the dilemma for Hitler in dealing with the German army, the Wehrmacht, had been that its officer corps largely consisted of the sons of aristocracy, raised with the notion of loyalty and duty to the fatherland. That commitment had often set them at odds with the dictator’s own vision of where he wanted to take the country, resulting in mutual distrust and suspicion, but he had no choice but to rely on his officers to meet his military aims. Bergmann understood that alienating the military that possessed the weapons of war and the experience of ground combat ran the risk of inviting a coup.
He hated the aristocracy, seeing its members as privileged without merit and an impediment to his own ambitions. In the Wehrmacht, he could probably never hope to be promoted into senior ranks. That factor had been what led him to seek transfer to the SS, where he saw his opportunities for promotion to be more plentiful.
Under the hands of Hermann Göring and later Heinrich Himmler, the SS had been created initially as an eight-man bodyguard for the führer. Over time, Himmler grew and developed the organization into a multi-armed colossus that rivaled the Wehrmacht. Its power was limited only by Hitler’s will, such authority already confirmed by a German court. The SS exercised its terrifying authority through its investigative arm, the SD, and through its executive arm, the Gestapo. Together, the sister organizations used their clout without reservation to hold in check anyone posing a threat to the regime, including private citizens, public officials, and the highest-ranking military officers, never hesitating to arrest, torture, and execute.
Bergmann recalled well the bloody purge of the so-called “night of the long knives” that had eliminated many officials of a competing element, the Sturmabteilung, or SA, a predecessor organization raised by the Nazi party early in its existence. It had gained power and influence such that it and its leader, Ernst Röhm, had been seen as threats to the authority of the führer himself. Brutal action eliminated the threat.
Bergmann envied those of the SS with low membership numbers signifying that they had joined the organization early. They had participated in its growth to become a paramilitary force to match the size and capability of the Wehrmacht itself, loyal only to Adolf Hitler. But he contented himself with the notion that his opportunities now appeared boundless. At some point, I might want to transfer into the Gestapo.
He realized a difficulty in dealing with Oberstleutnant Meier. As long as the smell of victory with lust for more permeated Berlin, the combat leaders were untouchable. Their triumph resulted in the signing of a Franco-German armistice, planned for the next day at the very site of Germany’s previous humiliation, in a train car near Compiègne. In Meier’s case, the commander operated under an umbrella of protection that started with his rank and battlefield successes and ran through his family name and General Rommel to the führer.
Bergmann’s own background did not lack for achievement. His father had fought in the last war, and his family had suffered the privations resulting from the onerous conditions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles.
The elder Bergmann had also been among the first to recognize the economic benefits accruing to Germany by the firebrand Hitler’s positions. He had not only read Hitler’s biographical manifesto, Mein Kamf, as soon as it was published, but he had also pressed his son to read it. Then, when Hitler rose to power and formed the Hitler Youth, the son had joined early and enthusiastically.
When Hitler began clandestinely building his armed forces, Bergmann’s father landed a contract that eventually led to his founding an armaments factory specializing in munitions. When the younger Bergmann reached military age, he applied for and received acceptance into the Kriegsschule at Potsdam, one of several military academies across Germany for training combat officers. His father had glowed with pride when he graduated and accepted a commission.
From there, Bergmann had gone on to learn armor tactics at the Panzertruppenschule I in Munson. However, on finally emerging into active duty with the Wehrmacht, he had been frustrated to see that the plum assignments went to officers with long family connections to the military. He became consigned to staff roles, only achieving command, as Meier had reminded him, when a company commande
r had been killed in action. With Germany’s military at war in far-flung places, replacement officers were already scarce, and thus Bergmann got the call.
Shortly after entering active duty, he had observed the differences in opportunity and treatment between the Wehrmacht and the SS. Perceiving greener pastures, he had submitted his application.
He had reveled in the recollection of the shift in perceived authority when Meier had been required to inform him of his new commission. Then, he had burned at Meier’s remonstrance regarding military decorum. To him, it was deliberate humiliation at the hand of a member of the undeserving aristocracy.
A knock on the door interrupted Bergmann’s ruminations. When he called out to allow entry, the door opened, and an SD sergeant appeared. He advanced to halt in front of the desk and presented himself with the obligatory click of his heels.
“Sergeant Fleischer reports for duty.”
“Good, Sergeant. Welcome. Have you read the plan I forwarded to you?”
“Yes, sir, and I understand it completely. My squad is to reinforce the guard on a neighborhood at the eastern edge of Dunkirk just above the shore. No one is to be allowed to enter or leave.”
“Exactly. We will start interrogating the residents tomorrow or the next day at the maison d'arrêt. Someone in that group knows something about where Ferrand Boulier went. He is the head of a family of terrorists who murdered a German soldier. They cannot be allowed to escape. This is my first case to resolve as an SS officer, and I won’t let it go. Have you done your reconnaissance?”
“We have, sir. The mission is straightforward. Thirteen houses. Roughly fifty people, including the children. That should not be difficult. Any special instructions?”
Bergmann thought a moment. “Feel free to shoot if need be but try not to kill anyone. I need the information. I can’t get it from a corpse.”
“What if we have to kill to prevent an escape?”
“If you must, you must.”
The sergeant looked thoughtful. “Sir, may I ask a question, one of curiosity?”
Bergmann assented.
“I’ve read the case, but I’m not clear on why you are so determined to get this particular individual. The feldgendarmerie is already investigating.”
Bergmann pursed his lips and nodded. “A fair question. I’m convinced that this case is more than just a murder. It took place too quickly, too cleanly, with very little evidence left behind. Then, not only did Ferrand Boulier and his daughters vanish, but so did his extended family and close friends, all within hours of Kallsen’s disappearance. I believe this is the beginning of a resistance network, and it cannot be allowed to grow. That’s what I told Herr Himmler, and why I have his personal support for this mission.”
37
Dunkirk, France
Ferrand Boulier looked over the thirty young men assembled in front of him. All were in their late twenties or early thirties and physically fit. They were gathered in an empty warehouse.
“Training and practice are over,” he said grimly. “Tonight, we go out to save our friends and neighbors. In the process, we might kill some Germans.”
A murmur of approval arose.
Ferrand lifted his hand for quiet. “We don’t want to become them,” he said. “We take no joy in this fight, and we don’t kill wantonly. Your mission is to save French families, not kill Germans. If you do kill, your friends and families can expect retaliation. Try first to render the guards unconscious. Failing that, do not hesitate.
“Remember, they will shoot. We only have knives and clubs. Surprise is our equalizer. If you find you must kill, then like we practiced, slice their throats or stab them. Regardless, take their guns and ammunition.”
Ferrand looked around at the faces of his group, some eager, some afraid. So young. A lump formed in his throat. “All right. We’ve been over all this before. Final reminders: I’ll be at the site in the designated place. Each two-man team will come to me. You have the schedule. At the site, I’ll give final clearance to go rescue the family at your target house. Use the shadows on your approach. The moon will be high, shining on the front of the houses. We’ll make our approach from the rear, among the shadows. Make best use of them.
“If anyone in the house chooses not to go, leave immediately. Don’t linger, don’t try to convince anyone. Just go.
“Those families that come with you should bring only the clothes they’re wearing. Take them to your designated safehouse. Someone else will take charge of them from there. You don’t need to know where they’re going or who takes over. You’ll leave immediately. Is that clear?”
He waited for the murmurings to subside, indicating that his instructions were understood. “Surveillance teams are watching the neighborhood now, and we should hear from them soon. Any last questions?”
“Ferrand,” a man called. “Shouldn’t we wait for a night that will be darker?”
Ferrand nodded with an air of resignation. “Good question,” he replied. “I’d like to wait, but time is not on our side. Hauptman Bergmann is back, and he wears an SS uniform. We know he’s going to press this neighborhood for that soldier’s death. He won’t wait. Any other questions?”
“Wouldn’t it be better,” another man called out, “for all of us to go at the same time? We could be in and out more quickly.”
Ferrand blew out a breath of air, the weight of his decisions lining his face and bearing on his voice. “I honestly don’t know. If everything goes smoothly, your suggestion would be best. But if shooting starts, we could have a lot of defenseless people caught in the open with bullets flying at mothers and children. It could be a bloodbath.” He paused. “Our way keeps our casualties to a minimum in case something goes wrong.” He closed his eyes momentarily in quiet reflection. “I hope I don’t regret my decision.”
Grim silence descended as his words settled in. “Any more questions?”
He received none.
“Everyone knows what to do in case we abort?”
The group’s members nodded and murmured assent.
A man suddenly stumbled into the warehouse through a side door. Sweat streamed down his red face, and he was out of breath.
“Bad news!” he called out. He leaned over panting, cupping his hands over his knees and supporting his torso with bent arms. “The Germans just added nine more soldiers to guard the neighborhood. There are now thirteen. The new ones are SS shock troops. There’s a guard on each house.”
Ferrand’s face became resolute. He held up a hand. “We need to modify our plan,” he said, “but we still go tonight.”
Ferrand sat cross-legged in deep shadows among the ruins of Dunkirk on the opposite side of the alley running behind the row of houses that included his own. Two men hunched at his shoulder. A third hovered behind them. He turned to the third man.
“You are from the last team?” he asked in a low voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Brief me on what you are supposed to do under the new plan.”
“I’ll go with the two members of the first team. I’ll help subdue the guard and will be their lookout while they go inside to get the family. The team leader will take the rescued family to the safehouse. I’ll return here with the other team member. He’ll stay here with you to do the same for the next group, and I’ll return to my team and await our turn.”
“Exactly,” Ferrand said. He turned to the team leader. “Go, and good luck.”
He watched as the three men hunched over, moved out, and scurried through the moonlit rubble to the alley. One by one, they crossed the narrow passageway and disappeared into the shadows.
Less than five minutes later, the second team arrived at Ferrand’s side. Two minutes later, two of the men who had gone out with the first team returned.
“Success,” one of them said. “The guard will not regain consciousness tonight. The family is on its way to its safehouse.” He joined the second team while the other man returned to his own, the
last one in the queue.
Three more times, teams went out with the same result. Then on the fourth, all three team members returned.
“The family wouldn’t leave. The SS guard stood right at their back door. The wife panicked when she saw him lying there after we clubbed him. She ran to a bedroom where she has two young children and wouldn’t come out. She’s terrified. Her husband tried to convince her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Ferrand let out a slow breath. “I was afraid of exactly that,” he said. “Well, it can’t be helped. You did your jobs.”
“We can try again,” the team leader said. “The guard is already subdued. Two of us can go back, and the third man can stay here to help the next team.”
“Too risky,” Ferrand said. “There must be a roving guard checking on the others.”
“We haven’t seen one and earlier surveillance didn’t mention it,” the team leader replied. “I think this is a thrown-together mission that the SS takes more seriously than the Wehrmacht does. If we had waited, security would have tightened. I think we can do this.”
“All right. If the family agrees to go, both of you stay with them until you reach the safehouse.”
With that, the two disappeared once more into the night, followed shortly by the next group.
Waiting alone in the dark, Ferrand looked up at the sky and breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly. His nerves on the raw end, he expected the night to erupt into gunfire at any moment.
“We won’t get away clean,” he muttered. “Bergmann is vengeful. He’ll get even.” Still, we must resist. They cannot take our country without a fight.
Four more teams went through. Ferrand breathed a little easier. With only two more families to rescue—
