by Lee Jackson
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of machine gun fire. Tracers lit up the night sky. He leaped to his feet. The next to the last group arrived, but no third man returned from the previous set.
“Go!” he told the team members. “Abort the mission. Tell the ones behind you. Follow your escape plans.”
38
Oberstleutnant Meier paced, his face red with anger while Hauptman Bergmann stood at attention. Both men had received early morning calls about the skirmish that had taken place last night in the neighborhood on the northeastern edge of town.
“I specifically instructed you to clear your plans with me before taking action,” the commander bellowed.
“Increasing security where it already exists is not ‘taking action,’” Bergmann replied tersely without breaking his stance. “Obviously, the partisans had a plan already underway when my men took their posts in that neighborhood, and my report will say—”
Meier swung around in fury. “Are you threatening me?” he interrupted. “Your narrative might be obvious to you, but it is not obvious to me. What is blatantly clear is that you had a soldier out of control: Kallsen. Without provocation, you entered a peaceful neighborhood to interrogate its inhabitants, you executed a man without the slightest investigation, and then inflamed the population by your continued harassment. From the time you left for Berlin until your return, they had given no problem.
“You haven’t been back even a day, and now I have four men being treated for concussion, and you have seven in the same state. Three of those received bullet wounds, probably from their own rifles, and the weapons and ammunition belonging to the wounded are gone, taken by the partisans. That’s what my report will say.”
Bergmann started to say something.
“I’ll tell you when you can speak,” Meier stormed. He whirled and shook his finger in the captain’s face. “We don’t wage war on women and children.”
“My job is to seek out and eliminate threats to our führer and the Third Reich,” Bergmann blurted.
Meier’s tone mocked. “You’re going to make the argument that a tiny neighborhood with mainly old people and families with young children represents such a threat?” He barely contained his exasperation. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice. “Your job is to do as you are told. You are not alone in defending the reich. We all share that job. During and after the end of this war, Germany will have to govern these people. We should avoid starting a new front behind our own lines by inciting the population to violence against us. Their actions will be aimed primarily at our soldiers whom we need alive and well to fight our wars. Tell me you understand that.”
Bergmann said nothing, standing stone-faced, eyes looking straight ahead.
“Dismissed,” Meier said.
Bergmann did not move.
“Did you hear me, Hauptman. You are dismissed.”
“Sir, may I speak?”
Meier hesitated, holding back his disgust. Then, he gave permission with a nod.
“You might be right,” Bergmann said, “and I have no wish to be at cross-purposes with you.”
Meier shot him a searching glance. “At ease. Speak.”
Mindful of the Meier dossier he had read, Bergman spread his feet apart and relaxed a bit. “If I brought this trouble on us, then I apologize. Regardless, we now have a situation in which our soldiers were attacked, their weapons taken, and probably used against them. Someone organized and led that raid. My considered opinion is that we cannot let that pass.”
“Agreed,” Meier said, only slightly mollified. “What do you suggest?”
“What if we were to announce that we seek the criminal individuals who mounted the attack, in particular their leader? We can offer a reward and state that a reprisal will occur after so many days if we are unable to make arrests.”
Meier continued to pace, rubbing his chin. “I’ll tell you plainly that I’m not a fan of reprisals, and I won’t go after the remaining families in that neighborhood. The last thing we need is to make martyrs out of them and turn their names into battle cries.
“What would you offer as a reward and how would you carry out the reprisal? Keep in mind that a threat is most effective prior to its execution.”
“The answer to the first part of your question is simple,” Bergmann replied. “Money. We need to pick an amount.” He took a moment to put additional thoughts together. “We could structure the reprisals over a number of days. For instance, when we make the announcement, we could say that if we do not have the information we seek by the following day, we will arrest a single person. We’ll double the number each day for the next four days. On the sixth day, if we have nothing satisfactory, we will shoot one of those arrested, double again the next day, and so on. If we reach day eleven without information, we will have arrested and shot thirty-one people.”
“And achieved nothing.”
“I don’t believe it will come to that. When fathers are torn from their homes and jailed, people will talk. I am sure that if we hear nothing by the time of the first execution, we will have something before the order to fire is given. Sir, if you want to spare our soldiers’ lives, this is the way to do it.”
Meier remained pensive for several minutes. “I want to think this through, but a condition I will impose if I agree to your plan…” He looked directly into Bergmann’s eyes. “And that is a big ‘if.’” He stared across the room at nothing in particular. “If I were to issue such an order, it would stipulate that no execution is to be carried out without my written order, and you would be required to sign a statement attesting to your understanding. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go prepare your plan. Run it by the executive officer before bringing it back to me.”
39
Ferrand lay on his bunk within the bombed-out ruins, falling in and out of sleep, held in that nether state by sheer physical exhaustion, and rousted awake by the emotional calamities that confronted him. He ached to see his daughters but forced thoughts of them out of his mind.
“There will be repercussions,” he murmured during a lucid moment. The eruption of gunfire between partisans and the German SS had assured swift, violent retribution.
His sole consolation was that of the thirteen families; all but two of them had escaped, including the family of the reluctant mother. The rescue party had also evaded capture, only one of them having taken a bullet that grazed an arm. By now, the families had scattered to homes across northern France. Partisans there would move them steadily south, past the German front. Fortunately, the Nazis were still engaged in consolidating and pressing south on the Atlantic coast.
Ferrand’s eyes popped open, and he sat up. A sound had awakened him. He strained to hear it again, but when he did not, he allowed his body to fall backward onto the mattress and closed his eyes once more.
He heard the sound again and recognized it as a voice projected through an electronic loudspeaker, but he could not make out the words. “It can’t be good.”
As the minutes ticked by, he realized that the broadcast message repeated. It stopped for a time, he fell asleep, and then he was awakened by another iteration of the message.
Pulling a pillow over his head muffled the noise, but when he awoke again an hour later, he heard the electronic voice once more bellowing in the distance. After a couple of hours, he decided he had better find out what was being said.
He waited until the shadows had grown long and then made his way carefully through the ruins, using the shadows and debris for concealment. Reaching a safe place where he could make out the words, he sat amidst the wreckage and listened.
“To the good people of Dunkirk, you have terrorists and traitors among you, led by Ferrand Boulier, and including his daughters, Amélie and Chantal. They murdered a German soldier, escaped, and then led an attack on a squad of German troops. Three of our brave soldiers were shot, and several others are in critical condition with severe head injuries.
Such
criminal acts should not go unpunished, and you, the good citizens of Dunkirk, should not be exposed to the dangers they bring. Therefore, be advised of the following:
A reward of one thousand francs is offered for anyone bringing information leading to the arrest of Ferrand Boulier.
The daughters are controlled by their father. When he is arrested, they will be allowed to go free.
If by tomorrow at noon, we have received no information, we will arrest a resident of Dunkirk. That will double the next day, and so on through five days.
If by the sixth day, we have received no information, other measures will be considered.
Anyone with information may communicate that such is the case through any German soldier or officer, who will escort you to the appropriate office.
This announcement will be repeated periodically until no longer necessary.”
Ferrand dropped his head into his hands. He felt nothing other than profound fatigue. His mind descended into an empty space in which no thought registered. Darkness gathered around him, the electronic voice scratched the night, yet still he did not move.
For two more hours, Ferrand sat alone, immobile. His breathing slowed, his eyes closed, and he fell over in the rubble.
Above him, a waning moon moved across the vestiges of a once proud city. The stars glimmered against a dark sky, and the chill of night set in.
At dawn, the hateful blare of the electronically broadcast voice awakened Ferrand again. Strangely, he felt refreshed. Checking around his immediate vicinity to be sure he was not observed, he once more made use of the shadows to retrace his steps to his room among the ruins.
When he arrived, a woman waited for him. She was bent like he was and a few years younger. She had waited for him inside the wreckage of the building’s first-floor corridor, out of sight.
“You are a treasure, Anna,” he said on seeing her.
She put a sorrowful hand to her mouth. “Oh Ferrand, you look so awful. This war is killing you slowly.” She looked around at the crooked walls that lacked ceilings and a roof. “It’s killing us all.”
“You’re making so many sacrifices and taking such chances,” he told her. “I don’t know how you do what you do, mopping the floors of those beasts.”
“That was my job there before the Germans arrived. They let me stay. I need to eat. I hope the information I bring you is helpful.”
“Most helpful, Anna. I can never thank you enough.” He put his arms around her shoulders and held her.
“We’ve been friends for so many years,” she said, pulling away. “Who would have said that our beautiful city could have been destroyed the way it was?” Looking around again as if seeing things the way they had been, she shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “We had happy memories here while we were children, and then when we had children.”
Ferrand put his arm around her shoulder and nudged her toward his room. “And now we fight so that all of them can create more good memories. Come. I think I can make some coffee.”
She held her hands in front of her face. “No, I would be late for work.”
“Did you have news for me?” Ferrand asked.
She nodded. “You heard the message over the loudspeakers?”
Ferrand acknowledged that he had.
“That was the work of that Hauptman Bergmann. He’s not very popular with Oberstleutnant Meier. They’ve had several big fights. Meier doesn’t like the way that the captain came into your neighborhood. He had forbidden Bergmann from taking more action without approval. Then that shooting happened. I think Meier doesn’t like the Nazis, and I’m sure he despises the SS. The two men hate each other.”
She started to walk back toward what had been the main entrance. “I don’t know what they plan if they don’t find you, but I do know that Bergmann cannot execute anyone without Meier’s written order. The captain is arrogant, and is throwing his SS weight around, but he’s afraid of Meier. I don’t know why.”
Ferrand had listened carefully. “So, I have at least five days?”
“I think that’s right, but I can’t say for sure.”
“That information you brought about the animosity between Meier and Bergmann could be useful someday, and about the commander being hostile to Nazis. Thank you, Anna.” With his arm around her shoulders, he squeezed her. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You should be somewhere safe and warm, with family looking after you.”
Anna looked around and laughed quietly. “And you? We do what we must.”
“When you’re ready, we’ll get you to a safer place.”
Anna started toward the exit again, and then paused. Turning, she shook her head and wiped her eyes. “It’s too late for me, but I will do everything I can to help my family.” She reached up and stroked the side of Ferrand’s face. “You are a good man. Be careful. I hate to think of what Bergmann will do to you if he finds you.” She started to leave, and then turned with a parting comment. “My sister was very lucky to be married to you.”
40
Marseille, France
Amélie sat at breakfast with Chantal, Maurice, and Suzanne. A knock on the outside kitchen door interrupted them. Maurice saw through the window that Jacques and Nicolas stood on the landing. He waved them in.
Nicolas looked worried. “I just spoke with my father,” he blurted. “He had to travel far south to find a working phone. The Germans are cutting the lines in the north.”
He related that some partisans had rescued several families out of the Bouliers’ old neighborhood in Dunkirk, and a firefight had resulted. “Our groups got away, but several German soldiers were wounded. Some of them were SS.”
He alternated his eyes between Amélie and Chantal. “Hauptman Bergmann is in the SS now. Yesterday, he announced that a man would be arrested today, and they’d double the number of arrests for five days. Bergmann said that if they still did not have the leader in custody by then, they would consider other measures. You know what that means. They’ll start executing until the leader surrenders to them. That’s your father.”
Her eyes wide, her hands shaking in a frenzy, Amélie said, “I have to go to him.”
“I’m going too,” Chantal echoed.
“You can’t,” Nicolas insisted. “Neither of you. Look, Amélie, he sent you away so he could make good decisions without worrying about your safety.”
“He didn’t make good decisions. He got himself caught.”
“He’s not caught yet, and he made excellent decisions. He not only saved you and his own relatives and friends but also several families who escaped because of him, and lots of soldiers. His risk was shared by others who accepted his leadership. You can be proud of him.”
“Of course, I’m proud of him,” Amélie retorted. Her voice descended into a hoarse whisper. “I’m scared for him.”
As she listened, tears began to run down Chantal’s face. Her lips quivered. “This is my fault,” she said, barely above a murmur.
Amélie leaned over and embraced her, while Nicolas grasped her shoulders. “This is not your fault,” Amélie said. She turned her eyes to Maurice. “Do you see why we must be in the fight?”
The big man nodded, studying the girls compassionately. He excused himself and went to another room. There, quietly, he called Hérisson. “We need to meet,” he said. “We must get an urgent message to London.”
Late in the afternoon, Maurice returned from his rounds. He had gone alone and now he called for Amélie and Chantal to join him at the kitchen table. From another room, Suzanne could be heard taking care of the children.
“I met with Hérisson today,” he said. “She’ll meet with you. She knows about your father and she understands the situation. She sent a high priority message to London and received a reply a short while ago. They’re going to send a team here within a few days.”
Chantal’s eyes sparkled and she jumped in the air with excitement. “That’s wonderful,” she cried. “They’re coming to save Papa.”
/> Almost immediately, she noticed that Maurice did not smile, and his brow furrowed. She glanced at Amélie and saw that her sister’s eyes were fixed on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Chantal asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Maurice replied, “and this is a good thing. The British are implementing a program they had already planned, and they’re doing it ahead of schedule.”
“Then why aren’t you smiling?”
“Because, my young friend,” Maurice said, tousling her hair, “it is important that you understand the realities of war.”
Chantal started to protest, but Maurice held up a hand. “Please listen to me, and I will tell you all.
“The team that’s coming will be here to save the network your father established. If they save him too, so much the better, but that isn’t their chief objective. They’ll bring with them weapons, ammunition, and money, and Nicolas will guide them back north to rendezvous with Claude, but their mission is to safeguard the network. Do you understand that?”
Wide-eyed, Chantal watched Maurice’s face. She nodded vigorously. “I do,” she said, almost breathless with excitement. “I’ll go with them. We can rescue Papa, and the British team can do whatever they want, as long as we have the weapons.”
Maurice pursed his lips and shook his head. “It’s not going to be like that.”
Dismay spread over Chantal’s face. “What do you mean?”
“I know what he means,” Amélie said quietly. She faced her sister. “Papa sent us away so that he could carry on the fight without worrying about us.”
Chantal’s anger flared. “So, are we going to sit by and watch while he is tortured and killed?”
“Not at all,” Amélie replied. “We have to fight here while we trust our family and friends to rescue Papa; well, his network, and hopefully him as well.”
Chantal crossed her arms, her chin jutting forward with obstinacy. “I’m going.”
