After Dunkirk

by Lee Jackson

  Then he pictured Chantal, small, frightened, exuberant; a teenage girl, full of life, having to contend with evil monsters. He saw Ferrand in his mind’s eye, the gentle, bent old man who had gone out into a storm to save him from the Nazis.

  The Bouliers are family now. This just became personal.

  51

  Coudekerque-Village, France

  “This is one of those out-of-the-way villages that was passed by as the Germans attacked Dunkirk,” Nicolas told Jeremy. “There’s not much here, no one had the means to resist anyway, and neither the French nor British armies bothered with it, so the Germans didn’t either. I guess the villagers should count their blessings; it’s only about six kilometers to Dunkirk, which is almost completely destroyed.”

  They had arrived during the night after nerve-wracking journeys in tiny farm trucks, buses, cars, and whatever modes of transportation that friends of the Bouliers had or could arrange that took them in the right direction, including horse-drawn farm-carts. Jacques had steered them around German checkpoints so that they were able to arrive at this small village without being challenged.

  Exhausted, they fell into beds in another farm, this one owned by a longtime family friend. Claude arrived to greet them the next morning, overjoyed to see Jeremy alive and well. “We didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he said. He gave a sidelong grin to Nicolas and jutted his chin at him. “I hope my no-good son didn’t steer you in the wrong direction,” he teased. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him either since before you left.” He gave Nicolas a jocular bear hug and tousled his hair.

  “He did well by me,” Jeremy replied, smiling, and introduced his team and Jacques.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Claude said. “I won’t say I’m glad you’re here. I hope we can gather again in better times.”

  A somber silence followed. Jeremy asked him, “Do you understand our mission?”

  “I’m not sure,” Claude replied. “I secured housing for Brigitte and Théo separate from you and each other, and well away from here. I got them employment that fit their cover stories. I received word that Brigitte is a trained nurse, so I put her in for a job at a clinic. The area is short of medical help, but the need is great, as you can guess. She’ll be able to travel around to visit ‘patients,’ and she can camouflage her radio case as a medical bag, so she should be able to make her transmissions from various places to avoid detection.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Good. And the people in the area where she’ll live and do her rounds, they don’t know where she comes from?”

  “Correct. As far as they know, she was assigned there by the Pétain regime.” He spat out the name derisively. “We forged papers that say so.”

  “Good, and what about Théo?”

  “He’s a mechanic, oui?”

  Jeremy and Théo both nodded.

  Claude laughed. “That’s good. I have some vehicles needing repair.” His brow furrowed, and he directed his comments to Théo. “Seriously, a lot of vehicles in the area need work. There’s a garage in a nearby village that’s looking for a mechanic. They want to talk to you. You’ll be able to move around to meet people’s needs too.”

  “How about transportation?”

  “Everyone travels around on bicycles these days. With all the destruction…” Claude bowed his head, wiped his eyes, and coughed. “So many dead,” he mused. He looked toward the horizon. “We just had another cousin die, fortunately of old age, but we couldn’t even give him a decent burial.” He caught himself. “Getting on with business, we had no problem finding spare bicycles.”

  He looked at Jeremy questioningly. “What do we need to do for you?”

  Jeremy grasped Claude’s shoulder. “I won’t be around long,” he said. “This team came here months ahead of schedule. I will be replaced. My headquarters sent me because I already knew the people here.”

  “And we trust you,” Claude added. “Are you here to rescue my brother?”

  Jeremy did not answer directly. “Let’s you and me take a walk.” He glanced at Brigitte and Théo to indicate that he needed to speak to Claude alone. They nodded.

  Secluded as the farm was, the countryside gave only a few hints that a savage war raged. But for knowledge of the real situation, the sterling weather beneath a blue sky among rolling fields would have given reason for a sense of well-being. Only a few of the crops had been trampled by passing engines of war and infantrymen, although smoke still rose on the southwestern horizon in the direction of Dunkirk. Occasionally, the tranquility was broken by the low rumble of explosions in the far distance.

  “It’s hard to believe that not even three weeks have gone by since you were here,” Claude said after they had walked a ways into the fields. Then he sighed. “You didn’t come to rescue Ferrand?”

  “Officially, I’m not here for Ferrand. Where is your brother? Bring me up to date.”

  “He stays in an apartment he found in the ruins of Dunkirk,” Claude said. “His sister-in-law, Anna, knows where it is. She’s like a courier to him, but it’s very dangerous for her. She works at the battalion headquarters where this Nazi SS vermin, Bergmann, has his office.” He leaned back and furrowed his brow. “I worry about Anna. She’s old and should not be working so hard, but she gets valuable information. If we manage to rescue Ferrand, I think she’ll be in even greater danger, so we need to think of pulling her out.”

  He provided further detail, and Jeremy absorbed it. When Claude had finished, Jeremy explained that the MI-9’s concern was to preserve the network that Ferrand had established, assist in training for more effective resistance, and pass intelligence back to headquarters; but mainly, to be ready to help the large number of British and allied airmen and soldiers expected to pass through when the war was brought back to the Germans.

  “We will be bombing targets in Germany and France,” he said. “Planes will be shot down. Crews will be on the ground evading capture. Others will get caught and then escape. Soldiers will be separated from their units. We need the network in place to help them, and that’s what Ferrand did so fast and so well. We need to ensure that those people stay active as much as possible.”

  Claude listened with anxious eyes. “And what about my brother?”

  Jeremy smiled kindly. “I told you the official reason why I’m here. Your brother saved my life. So did his daughters, and you and Nicolas, and all those others who helped get me back to England. I could never forget you, and I could never leave any of you in the lurch, especially Ferrand.”

  Claude wiped tears from his eyes. “You’re a gift from God,” he said in a broken voice.

  “No,” Jeremy replied, “your family is a gift to me.”

  “Why can’t you stay? If your bosses are going to keep someone here anyway, why not you?”

  “Two reasons, the first being that I haven’t been trained.”

  “Neither have any of us.” Claude chuckled. “We’re getting on-the-job training.”

  “And that’s exactly the point. I was good for bringing in the team and settling in, but there’s a lot I don’t know to be most effective. My replacement will be someone who is fluent in French, knows the area, and is fully trained for the mission. I know only enough to be dangerous.”

  Claude dropped his head and nodded reluctantly. Then he cast Jeremy a sidelong glance. “And what of Amélie? She’s in love with you.”

  Jeremy swallowed hard as his throat constricted. “Nicolas tells me she’s safe.” He coughed. “I can’t think of her right now.”

  “Ah, my boy,” Claude said, watching Jeremy’s face and placing a hand gently on his shoulders. “We fight for better days ahead.” He took in Jeremy’s gaunt appearance. “You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in days.”

  Jeremy grunted. “I haven’t had much time or opportunity for luxuries.”

  Claude chuckled. “Whoever could believe that in France, eating would be a luxury. Still, we have food at the house. We’ll fatten you up.”

&nb
sp; “If there’s time,” Jeremy replied sardonically. Then he brightened. “We brought rifles and ammunition with us.”

  “They were good to see,” Claude replied. “Our fighters thank you.” His face scrunched with a question. “You mentioned two reasons you could not stay. What’s the second one?”

  Jeremy told Claude about Timmy and how the little boy had fallen under Jeremy’s care. “He’s so small, and as far as we know, he was left alone in this world.” He bit back emotion. “I love him like a son. I have to make sure he’s cared for until he’s united with his own family. He’s already lost so much.”

  The two men continued walking across the fields. When they reached the end, they turned and walked back, still talking.

  “You said that this Bergmann threatened retaliation?” Jeremy asked.

  “He hasn’t said he’d execute anyone, but I think that’s what he means by ‘other measures.’ If you add up the numbers, he’s talking about killing thirty-one people if Ferrand is not arrested. We can only pray that he will not take women and children too, but that man has no soul.”

  “I’d like to see him face-to-face,” Jeremy said, gritting his teeth. “The challenge is to get Ferrand away from here without inciting retaliation.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Jeremy outlined a plan formulating in his mind. When he had finished, he said, “I only have one question. Is my French accent good enough?”

  Claude grunted. “You sound like you come from the south of France. The Germans won’t know the difference.”

  52

  Dunkirk, France

  Bergmann worked at his desk sorting through papers, reading documents, signing others. Several days had gone by since he issued his ultimatum concerning Ferrand Boulier, and he had filled the time by delving into his other areas of responsibility. Certain that prior to the first execution someone would reveal their whereabouts, he felt no frustration as each day passed with no information. As a result, he had delegated responsibility for making arrests to the SS sergeant, and otherwise he had maintained a hands-off stance. That seemed to have eased tension between him and Meier.

  Today marked the sixth day since the pronouncements had been made in the streets over the public address system, and still no one had come forward. That meant that as of today, thirty-one people had been arrested, and by midnight tonight, barring something unforeseen, they would conduct their first execution. He smiled. Someone will come forward.

  Late in the afternoon, a soldier knocked on his door, presented himself in front of the desk, and clicked his heels at attention.

  “Sir, I have a man waiting outside with news about Ferrand Boulier. His name is Villere.”

  Bergmann grinned with self-satisfaction. “Bring him in.”

  Villere had a haggard appearance, as though events of the past weeks had taken their toll. He wore a long, wrinkled overcoat despite the warm weather, and he hunched over and presented a nervous demeanor, holding his hands in front of his chest and wringing them. His hair had not been cut in weeks, and his eyes had sunk in their sockets.

  “Papers,” the captain demanded.

  Villere nodded wordlessly, his hands shaking as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his documents.

  “Why are you wearing that coat in this weather?” Bergmann asked.

  “I don’t want it stolen,” Villere replied. “All that I have is what you see.” He handed his papers across the desk.

  Bergmann examined them. “It says here that you are a schoolteacher. What did you teach?”

  “Basic elementary topics. My pupils were very small. I’m not much good at technical subjects, so I stayed with the younger children.”

  “I see,” Bergmann said with no effort to hide his disdain. “Why are you helping in the search for your fellow countryman?”

  “He’s endangering us all, sir. I need to eat.”

  Bergmann eyed the man dispassionately. “You look hungry, not starved.”

  “I’ve been able to scrounge some food, but it’s gone,” he pleaded. “I don’t have another source.”

  The captain continued to scrutinize the man. “Tell me where Boulier is and how you know he’s there.”

  Villere hesitated. “Sir, the reward—”

  “You’ll get your reward,” Bergmann snapped. “Now answer my questions.”

  Villere’s body shook, but he nodded. “I stay in the ruins. There are a few places that have only a little damage, but they’re hard to find and get to. My apartment was damaged, but it’s livable. When my neighbors fled, they left food behind, so I found things to eat, but as I said, it’s gone. I need to buy more.” He took a step forward, his face anxious. “You know it’s dangerous for me to be here. If I’m labeled as a collaborator—"

  Bergmann pushed his chair back impatiently and rose to his feet. “You’ve told me your personal problems,” he sneered. “I want to know about Boulier and how you know where he lives.”

  Villere’s mouth went slack, and he peered sideways at Bergmann while his head bobbed up and down. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m coming to that. He’s staying in one of the deserted apartments that’s still habitable. It’s not far from mine, and he has to pass by to get out to the main street. I’ve seen him several times.”

  “Do you know him?”

  Villere shook his head. “Only by sight and reputation. He’s an artist and fairly well known in the area. You surely know how to verify his identity.”

  “And how would we do that?” Bergmann growled.

  Villere looked at him with a startled expression. “His sister-in-law works in this building. You must know that.”

  Disbelief crossed Bergmann’s face. “She works here? What does she do?”

  “Unless her job has changed, she’s a cleaning lady, a janitor. She tidies the offices, mops the floors... Anyone could have told you that. Her name is Anna.”

  Stunned, Bergmann’s eyes bulged. He yelled for his sergeant.

  When the SS non-com appeared, he ordered, “Get me that cleaning lady.”

  Before dusk, Villere led Bergmann and his SS squad deep into the ruins of Dunkirk. With them, terrified and trembling, was Anna. Her head bent, a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, she struggled to keep up. An SS man pushed her along when she faltered.

  Gloom had settled into the bombed-out shell of Dunkirk as the group proceeded through the rubble-strewn, abandoned streets. Shards of glass from storefronts crunched beneath their boots on the cobblestones. Above, intact outer walls leaned precipitously, weighted down by half-roofs and partial floors. Surreal sights met them, of bedrooms half destroyed, with fully made beds teetering at the edges of the floors, and beyond them, views into untouched kitchens and dining rooms. They maneuvered around ruined cars and trucks with heavy crusts of dust and tossed about at impossible angles; and everywhere, the smell of stale explosives mixed with decomposing bodies and other stenches that accompany unbridled warfare. Stray dogs and cats, their bones poking under stretched skin, watched them go by, some desperate, some hopeful, some snarling, all filthy and starving.

  Villere turned into an alley blocked by piles of toppled bricks. He climbed over them along a faint pathway and entered a passage that forced proceeding in single file.

  The SS men nudged each other for increased alertness as they followed behind Bergmann, with the last two dragging Anna along.

  Fifteen minutes later, they came to an area that had been surrounded by the rain of fire and brimstone, but by comparison to its immediate environs, it had survived in fairly good shape. Several of the apartments looked intact.

  Villere pointed. “He stays in there.”

  Bergmann nodded to his sergeant, who, with a slight motion of his hand, caused his men to line up abreast of each other, their weapons locked and loaded and pointing at the hollowed-out entrance.

  “Get him,” Bergmann ordered Villere.

  The schoolteacher peered at him in resignation, walked forward, and disappeared into th
e shadows. Moments later, he reappeared.

  He bore a shocked face. “He’s dead,” he said. “Do I still get my reward?”

  Anna shrieked her anguish. “No,” she cried, and started toward the door.

  Disconcerted, Bergmann swung around to his sergeant. “Come with me.”

  The two of them followed the old woman into the deep shadows of the apartment. Above them, the hall opened beyond successive collapsed ceilings to the wreckage of the roof. At the far end, the old lady entered an intact doorway.

  When the two men arrived in the room behind her, she had already bent over a man lying on a bed. He stared up, sightless. Lifeless.

  Anna turned grief-filled eyes on Bergmann. “You did this.” She dropped her head onto the corpse’s chest and sobbed. “Ferrand, what have they done to you? To us?”

  Suddenly, she stood and hobbled over to Bergmann, fists raised. “You did this. You. What do you want with us? Why do you destroy people’s lives and their homes?”

  Bergman grabbed Anna’s wrists and tossed her into a corner. She landed in a heap, weeping, her hands covering her face.

  Bergmann walked over to the bed and stared at the still figure, observing that the man had been deceased for at least a day, maybe more. The body was bloated, the skin mottled, but behind the scruffy beard and balding head, Bergmann thought he recognized Ferrand Boulier.

  He instructed the sergeant to move the body to the morgue and set out to return to headquarters.

  Villere stood at the entrance to the narrow passageway. “My reward?”

  “He wasn’t arrested,” Bergmann snarled. “He’s dead. Show me the way out.”

  Shaking, Villere complied, and Bergmann followed.

  53

  Bergmann shoved Villere into the dark passage, ignoring his faint surprise that the man he pushed was solidly built. “You were useless,” he barked impatiently.