After Dunkirk

by Lee Jackson

  She took a last puff on her cigarette and stuffed it out in an ashtray. “There’s one other person we need to talk about,” she said. “Jacques.”

  Maurice arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Is there a problem with him?”

  Fourcade shook her head. “Only potentially. He’s completely trustworthy, but he’s Jewish. If he’s found out, what the Nazis will do to him is unspeakable. We need to make sure that we always have his back.”

  “Of course,” Maurice replied. “He’s a good man.”

  Fourcade sighed and leaned back. “What a world we live in.” She closed her eyes as if to blot out despairing thoughts. “All right, to finish up today’s business, the team coming in tonight is only the first of many. We’ll need to train more people on how to prepare for arrivals, how to signal from the ground so that the pilots see them at night, and how to wave them off if we need to abort. That’s a good place for Amélie to start. If you like, she can be part of the reception committee for our friends coming in from England tonight.”

  49

  A field north of Marseille

  The big Lockheed Hudson bomber lumbered south. Its flight path remained high and well west until it was just north of the Pyrenees, avoiding German anti-aircraft guns already taking up positions along the coast of France. Then it turned east, flying along the valleys that skirted the great mountain range. When it reached the Mediterranean, it continued out over the sea until the lights of Marseille twinkled beyond its left wing. Then it banked north and began its descent.

  In the back of the plane, Jeremy’s three-person team prepared to jump. They were incongruously outfitted with their parachute and equipment over jumpsuits, and beneath that they wore the street clothes intended to allow them to blend with the French public immediately.

  The crew performed last-minute checks under a red light.

  The bomb bay door opened.

  Jeremy approached it gingerly, his breath coming in short gasps as the reality sank in of jumping from an aircraft flying swiftly through the night at hundreds of feet in the air. A crew member guided him to sit on the rim of the bay, his legs dangling below. He clung to its sides, sweat stinging his eyes inside his goggles. Wind blew through the aircraft, but it was surprisingly quieter and less violent than he had expected.

  The red light turned to green.

  Jeremy pushed himself off and dropped, his nerves strung tight. The wind tossed him around a bit, and at first, all he saw was darkness. Then he was past the turbulence of the aircraft’s propwash. He looked up, saw his parachute inflate, and felt the tranquility and thrill that comes from feeling safe under an open canopy before factoring in that someone below might shoot, or that trees or jutting rocks might cause a tragic end. The illumination of a half-moon added to the ambient light over Marseille, allowing him to see his surroundings better than he had expected.

  Far below, he recognized the shape of the field, seeing in the same instant a flash of signal lights. He searched around in the sky, spotted his teammates and the three equipment cylinders under open parachutes, and prepared to land.

  On the ground, Maurice was the first to hear the aircraft’s low rumble. Some of his team had spread out on one end of the field where the chutes were expected to land. Others positioned themselves at the opposite end to signal the pilots.

  The bomber appeared as a dark shadow with a deep, throaty roar as it reached its nearest end of the field. Six dark objects fell in sequence from its underbelly, and then the canopies opened, and the three team members and their equipment containers floated to the ground.

  “The first jumper will be the leader,” Maurice had told Amélie. “I’ll take care of him and find out what orders he carries. The radio operator is a woman. Help her. She’ll probably be glad to see a female welcoming her.”

  Amélie had watched in awe as the parachutes drifted down, barely visible blots against the night sky. The remark Maurice had made earlier rang true about these people endangering their lives just by making the jumps, and that did not even consider the risk of being shot down on the way to France.

  “Be careful as you approach them,” Maurice instructed. “They’ll be armed and ready to shoot, so be sure to whistle the tune I taught you earlier and wait to hear the right tune in response.”

  Her heart beat furiously as the dark figures touched the ground and rolled. Maurice trotted out to the leader as Amélie started toward the other two jumpers. She watched as Maurice slowed his approach and proceeded cautiously. He whistled a faint tune and she heard the musical response. Then she saw the man in deep shadows. In the darkness, she could make out none of his features. As she passed by, he ran to unclasp and deflate his parachute while Maurice moved in to assist.

  She went on to the second person, another man, and continued to the third, the female radio operator. She stopped in the darkness, her heart still pounding, whistled as instructed, and heard the correct response.

  Another of Maurice’s men arrived at the same time. Together, they helped the woman out of her parachute harness and jumpsuit and gathered her equipment.

  “We have a safe place for you to stay tonight,” the man told her. “You can transmit from there to let London know everyone arrived safely.”

  “And did we?” the woman asked in French with a perfect Parisian accent. Her voice was calm but held an inflection of anxiety.

  They looked around in the ambient light. All three parachutists were busily engaged, securing their equipment and preparing to move out.

  “You did,” Amélie said, and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  The woman exhaled audibly. “Thank you. This was more nerve-wracking than I had thought it would be.” She grasped Amélie’s outstretched hand.

  “You’re safe now,” Amélie told her. “The Germans haven’t yet come to this part of France. Hopefully they won’t.”

  “I’m Brigitte,” the woman said.

  “I’m—” Amélie hesitated. Maurice had briefed her that the woman would not use her real name, and he had assigned Amélie a code name. “I am Colibri.”

  “Hummingbird. Nice,” Brigitte said in English. She tried to study Amélie’s face, even in the dark. Then, reverting to French, she asked, “Will I be staying with you tonight?”

  “No. This reception ends my participation in your mission. You’ll meet the team to take you north tomorrow. I won’t see you again, but you are in good hands.”

  “I’ve been impressed so far,” Jeremy said. The group conversed in French. “How was your treatment?” They were together in a farmhouse on the northern edge of Marseille. Maurice had taken them there, seen to it that they were comfortably settled in with the host family, and set out a guard. He had left with a parting comment that their escorts would arrive in the morning.

  “Nicely done,” Brigitte said. “I met a young woman in the dark who goes by Colibri. She was very sweet and happy to see us. I’m almost sorry she’s not coming along. And the family downstairs is so nice.”

  “I have to say, Brigitte,” Jeremy said, “I was surprised to see a woman on the team.”

  She nodded. “Wartime exigencies. I was the most qualified and available on short notice. Officially, women are still not authorized to be in combat areas, so officially, I’m not here. There’s a lot of discussion taking place at high levels on the subject and the policy might change soon.” She laughed sardonically. “It’s amazing what can be done when there’s a need.”

  Jeremy scrutinized her a moment. “Well, thank you for coming.” He changed the subject. “The leader uses the codename ‘Renard.’ He said that a team will meet us tomorrow to guide us north. There’ll be four members, one to help each of us move through enemy lines, and one to watch out ahead of the whole group when we travel. We’ll head north as far as we can on the east side of the country, and then turn west and travel behind the lines.”

  The third member of the team, Théo, the courier, had so far not said a word. Now he spoke up. “We didn�
�t get much chance to talk before leaving England,” he told Jeremy, “but I overheard the sergeant who checked you out say that you’re weak in knowing details of your cover story. If you trip up, we could be exposed. Your codename, ‘The Fool,’ doesn’t exactly build confidence.”

  Jeremy shot him a glance. Théo was a wiry man, in his late twenties, of medium height and build, and with a florid complexion and dark hair. His eyes showed no malice, but they bore a pugnacious expression that warned against nonsense.

  “I think we’ll be all right,” Jeremy replied. “I left France less than a week ago. I was one of those left at Dunkirk. I think I’m good for another go. I’m on this mission because I already know the people there who are resisting the Germans. They got me out, and they’ll get us through. I’m ‘The Fool’ because I played the fool. That was my cover story.”

  Théo stared at him. “Vive la Résistance,” he said at last. “I understand the mission is to protect a network,” he said, “give it some backup. Can you give us more detail?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Sorry we didn’t have time to do that before departure.” He explained who the Bouliers were, that Ferrand had set up a network, and the success they had realized in aiding British and French soldiers as well as his own family members evade capture. “Their ability to communicate is going to be constrained as Germany destroys telephone hubs and lines, and they currently have no direct contact with Britain or any other networks.

  “That’s where we come in. I’ll assess the needs. Théo, you’ll courier my messages to Brigitte”—he turned to face her—“and you’ll code and transmit the messages to London. One thing to know is that I won’t be with you long. As soon as we’re settled in, London will pull me back there for training.”

  “You seem to be doing a fair job so far,” Brigitte cut in. “Why send someone else whom we don’t know?”

  “You’re making London’s point,” Jeremy replied. “So much of the resistance effort will rely on trust. My replacement will be someone you’ve already trained with. Whoever it is will bring the benefit of having been fully up to speed and will be more familiar with the country than I am. I’m the stopgap intended to establish initial trust. You’ll have to fill in the new leader.” Neither Brigitte nor Théo seemed fully mollified, but they did not press the matter further.

  50

  The farmhouse north of Marseille

  “Jeremy! I can’t believe it’s you,” Nicolas enthused when they saw each other. He wrapped his arms around Jeremy in a bear hug. “No one told us you were the one coming. You’ve been gone barely a week. And you survived the ship that sank.”

  Jeremy was equally surprised and thrilled to see Nicolas and Jacques. “I made it thanks to you two. I didn’t know you’d be our guides. This is great.” He introduced them around. “These are the men who got me out of France. Nicolas brought me out of Dunkirk down to Saint-Nazaire. He knows the country. Jacques got me out to the ship.”

  “Seeing you is like seeing a ghost,” Jacques chimed in. “I didn’t know if you had survived.”

  Théo regarded Jeremy with new respect. The farmer and his wife called everyone to breakfast. While they ate, Jeremy noticed an undercurrent of anger coming from Jacques and Nicolas despite the pleasant surprise of seeing each other, and they both appeared distracted.

  Then the farmer asked, “Have you heard anything about what agreement Marshal Pétain is making with the Germans?”

  Jacques scowled. “The swine,” he muttered, and looked across at the farmer’s children. Seeing that as a cue, the farmer’s wife shooed them into another room.

  “What’s happened?” the farmer asked.

  “That damnable traitor gave away more than two-thirds of the country. It was in the news this morning.”

  Nicolas looked equally disgusted but let Jacques do the talking. He just shook his head and said, “It’s true,” while seething with fury.

  Jacques uttered a string of epithets. “That cowardly ‘hero.’” He said the word with animated contempt. “He gave the Germans the industrial north of France all the way south of Bourges and a wide swath of land along the entire French Atlantic coast. Most of our army is to be disbanded down to one hundred thousand men. Citizens will be disarmed, and the French police have to assist in putting down anti-Nazi unrest.”

  “So that part of France belongs to Germany now,” Jeremy asked, appalled.

  “In theory, no. The French government supposedly has administrative control over all of France with the capital still in Paris, but Pétain’s government is moving from Tours to Clermont-Ferrand. The Germans will occupy most of the country, and you know they’ll never give it back. Not willingly.”

  “What about our navy?” the farmer asked.

  “Oh, we get to keep it,” Jacques said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “But what good is it? It’s parked on the coast of North Africa.” He laughed, a loud, angry guffaw. “We call our new country New France.”

  His face had flushed a deep red. It contorted with rage. He dropped his voice, striking a threatening note. “I promise you, that traitor, that collaborateur, will learn what it means to betray France. Death to him, and death to all collaborateurs.”

  The small group sat in stunned silence.

  Jacques started up again. “He ordered a change to our national motto. According to this great defender of France and our culture, it is no longer, ‘Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.’” He jerked from his seat in fury. “Now, according to him, it is, ‘Work, Family, Country.’ He thinks he can take freedom away from us with the stroke of his pen. Who does this scum think he is? God? And he gives away our country.”

  He jabbed a finger in the air. “I’ll tell you who he is. He’s not just a Nazi sympathizer.” He spat out his next words. “He is a fils de pute Nazi!”

  While Jacques ranted, Jeremy kept a close eye on Brigitte and Théo. If their discomfiture rose, they did not show it. They sat in their chairs, stoic and listening.

  When Jacques had run down, Jeremy said softly, “Should we be going soon?”

  Jacques seemed to come out of a reverie. “I’m sorry,” he said. He stood, stepped around the table, and offered his hand to Brigitte. When she lifted hers, he took it in both of his cupped palms. “I apologize. I was rude.” He did the same with Théo.

  “Perfectly understandable,” Théo said. “If Mr. Churchill had given away most of our country, I’d be upset too. But that’s why we’re here, to help get it back, isn’t it?”

  Jacques bowed his head graciously and made apologies to the farmer and his wife. They waved it off, sharing his sentiment and rage.

  Only much later in the afternoon did Jeremy and Nicolas find themselves alone with a chance to talk. The group had already divided up into their traveling mode. Jeremy resumed his persona as “The Fool,” led by Nicholas. The others traveled singly under the watchful eyes of their escorts, and Jacques maneuvered out front. Before leaving the farm, they checked and double-checked each other’s forged papers, and ran through reviews of their cover stories. Théo was much more comfortable and even amused when Jeremy morphed into his brain-damaged alter ego.

  “How’s your family,” Jeremy asked when he and Nicolas had placed distance between themselves and anyone else. He noticed that his friend had lost much weight, that his skin was tanned, and he looked much more serious than when the two first met in the barn of his family’s dairy farm in Dunkirk. He quickly found out that Nicolas had not shed his humor.

  Nicolas grinned. “Why don’t you ask the question you want to ask?”

  Jeremy’s cheeks flushed. “All right, how is Amélie?”

  “She’s fine and thinking of you all the time. She’s in love.” He laughed. “I told you, the two of you are right for each other.”

  Jeremy shoved Nicolas’ shoulder. “Where is she?”

  The humor dropped from Nicolas’ face. “Think, brother. I cannot tell you that. What if you get captured? Under the circumstances, do you really want to know?�
��

  Jeremy closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly. He shook his head. “Is she safe and well? What about Chantal?”

  “Yes, they are both well. Chantal is having to grow up too fast.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  Nicolas’ face grew serious. “I couldn’t tell you where they are anyway. By now, they’ve moved. I won’t know to where.” He grimaced. “I need to tell you some things.”

  He recounted what had happened at the Boulier house after Jeremy had left. “That’s the reason the family had to flee. We have no time to waste.”

  As Nicolas spoke, Jeremy felt a boiling rage welling up such as he had never faced, recalling that he had first arrived in France to build airfields, a young, recently graduated and commissioned engineer wanting to do good. Finding himself in combat with almost no training, his primal instinct had been survival. Then in the Boulier house he had experienced emotions with Amélie that he had never before known.

  After surviving the haunting trip across France with Nicolas and out to the Lancastria with Jacques, another drive, that of caring unselfishly for a child, had guided him through his actions on the ship, and then in the waters with Timmy.

  Timmy! He realized that he had barely thought of the child since accepting the mission to return to France. Oh my God, how is he? His heart wrenched on remembering how the toddler had clung to him, and he realized that he did not want Timmy’s relations to find the child. But he needs them. I might not be around.

  Now he felt intense internal conflict, rage pitted against caring, and he thought of what Nicolas told him had happened to Chantal and what Amélie had done about it. His mind went to Amélie again, and he imagined her in the beauty of their short time together.