Of War and Women

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 8

  Journey to Oblivion

  East of Rouen - June 6, 1944

  Trant’s captors apprehended two more British airmen, bringing the total to five. By now they outnumbered their captors, a squad of four German Wehrmacht soldiers. Although their truck was clearly heading southeast towards Paris, transit was hampered by occasional strafing from allied aircraft that forced the occupants to repeatedly leap from the truck and find cover within a ditch on either side of the road. The frenetic military activity made it apparent to both captors and captives alike that the invasion had begun in earnest.

  By the third time that the truck had been strafed, Trant had begun to form a plan of escape. As he and one of his fellow captives lay in a ditch, he whispered to him, “What is your name, Flight Officer?”

  “Wimble, sir,” came the reply.

  “Right, Wimble. The next time we are strafed, I want each of you to pick a German and follow him into the ditch. If one of them gets hit during the strafing, then whomever is nearest to that soldier should grab his weapon and fire on the remaining three. The rest of us shall join in and attempt to overwhelm the remaining three soldiers. Got it?”

  “Right, sir, capital idea,” Flight Officer Wimble replied.

  “Excellent. Pass it on to the others,” Trant responded.

  Towards sunset they were strafed yet again, and this time the five captives followed Trant’s orders. Before they made it into the ditch beside the road one of the German soldiers was fortuitously struck by fire from the aircraft passing overhead. Trant immediately grabbed the German soldier’s weapon and fired on the other three soldiers. He managed to hit two of them before they realized what had happened. But before Trant could fire on the third, his lone remaining opponent began firing at Trant’s fellow captives.

  Meanwhile, Flight Officer Wimble had managed to grab a weapon from one of the two soldiers that Trant had shot, and he fired on the last soldier, killing him, but not before one of their fellow captives had also been shot and killed. Though the small group had lost one of their own in so doing, they had managed to kill their captors. Trant thus had made a command decision that had likely saved the lives of the remaining four British airmen.

  Once the strafing ceased, Trant climbed out of the ditch, ensured that the four Germans were dead, and motioned for his fellow airmen to join him. “Men, I am Wing Commander Trant Sutherland. I seem to be the ranking officer here. I am therefore in command of this small force. We’ve already accomplished the easy part. Now we have to do the difficult part – stay under cover until the Allies get here.”

  “How soon do you think that will be, sir?” Wimble asked.

  “We’re a long way from Normandy Beach,” Trant replied. “It could take weeks or even months for the Allies to get this far east.”

  At this rather daunting estimate one of the airmen exclaimed, “We’ll never last that long!”

  “What is your name, airman?” Trant queried.

  The pessimistic airman responded forlornly, “Flight Officer Sanders, sir.”

  “Just be patient, Sanders. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. We may yet get out of here, but we must all stick together.”

  “What tricks?” the airman asked doubtfully.

  “Well, for one thing, I am fluent in French. Any of you speak French?” As no one responded, Trant continued, adding, “Well, then I suggest that you stay close to me.”

  “That’s good, sir, but it isn’t much, if you ask me,” Sanders responded.

  “True, but I have another trick up my sleeve. I worked with SOE for several months, and I have some connections in the French Resistance here in France. If we can connect up with them, then we shall likely be able to survive until the Allied Army pushes through.”

  At this suggestion, Wimble put in, “Now you’re talking! I’m with you, sir. What do you propose at the moment?”

  “Why don’t we just take the German’s truck and drive west? We can meet up with the Allies somewhere,” Sanders offered vacuously.

  “That is most likely the quickest way to get killed or captured, Sanders,” Trant replied dismissively. “I assume that you’ve noticed that our own aircraft have been strafing us today. That is due to the fact that this truck is clearly German, and the Allies have complete control of the skies, as you doubtless know. Accordingly, if we get back in that truck we could well be strafed and killed by our own forces. On the other hand, if we somehow manage to avoid that, we shall likely venture into a German force that will either kill us or take us prisoner yet again. Therefore, I suggest that we all make our way from this place on foot as quickly as possible. But first, let us pause for a moment in silent prayer for our fallen airman.” At this the four removed their caps and stood silent for several moments.

  At length Trant put his flight cap back on, exclaiming, “Thank you. Now, I’m not going to stand around and argue it with you, gentlemen. I hereby order all of you to follow me. Right, grab the weapons and ammunition from those Germans and let’s get out of here immediately.” The other three airmen followed Trant’s command, and within minutes they had made their way into the fields, heading away from the roadway as quickly as possible. After an hour Trant called a halt, ordering the airmen to conceal themselves in a copse of trees just ahead.

  “Why are we stopping?” Sanders queried.

  “We have put sufficient distance between ourselves and the troops that we killed, Sanders. Our objective for the immediate future is to avoid being recaptured. Given that, I think that we shall hold up here until dark. There could be German troops anywhere, and we shall be much safer if we move exclusively by night. Once it is dark, we shall see if we can locate some French partisans who can help us to remain concealed from the German Army.”

  “Sounds good,” Wimble responded.

  An hour later it had grown dark and, deciding to wait a bit before moving from their present location, Trant ordered everyone to get some sleep. While his fellow airmen slept, he contemplated their situation. Water was going to become an issue very soon, and food would be a problem soon thereafter. He determined that, in the current situation, he needed to proceed as an Army officer would, but the problem was that he’d had no Army training whatsoever. Although he felt that he was flying quite blind, what concerned him most was that he was now responsible for three other persons, something that he was not accustomed to.

  Near midnight Trant nudged his three charges awake and, ordering them to their feet, he immediately pushed the group toward the south. He reasoned that since the German Army would eventually be retreating from the west if the Allies gained a foothold, that direction was far too dangerous. Since progressing east would take them further into enemy territory, and the Seine River was to their north, south was their only option. It was a long way to Chartres but, aware that there was a Resistance cell stationed there, he considered that to be their best hope.

  They made about fifteen miles that night, locating some food along the way in a vehicle that had been strafed by the Allies the previous day. They crossed a stream towards morning and, since they were all in dire need of water by then, they chanced drinking the water. Seeing that no one became sick from the stream water, he concluded that all was proceeding quite well, at least for the moment.

  At daybreak Trant spotted another stand of woods and, the group melting into the forest, they prepared to remain well hidden during the daylight hours. Trant ordered everyone to get some rest and, while the others slept, he scouted a bit to the south. On returning to camp, he too slept as best he could. Toward late afternoon he awoke everyone and announced that it was time to break camp and head south yet again.

  Sanders asked, “Why? I thought that we were going to travel only at night.”

  Trant responded, “There’s a river over there, and we need to cross it. It isn’t too terribly large, but for reasons of safety we need to cross it before dark. So let’s get going.”
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br />   The others followed him, and within minutes they had come to a river. Standing on the bank, Trant announced, “I think this is the Eure. It isn’t deep. So we’re going to walk across it and see if it is over our heads. Is anyone unable to swim?”

  Hearing no one speak up, Trant advanced into the tepid water, saying, “Hold your weapons over your heads. Let’s go!”

  The others followed as before and, although there was a span where they had to swim, they made the crossing without incident. Once they had climbed onto the opposite bank Trant called a halt and, the four flopping down, every one of them was totally exhausted from swimming in uniform with rifles over their heads.

  “Wow, that was tough,” Wimble said between puffs, “Just exactly where are we, sir?”

  “I’m not quite certain, Wimble. My family vacationed in this area when I was sixteen, so tis not completely foreign to me. Plus, since I placed an agent in this area a few months back, I have a bit of an idea. I’m making for Chartres, which I think is about sixty miles south of here. There’s another city not too far from here. Tis over that way, to the southwest. Tis named Evreux.”

  “Since it is closer, why don’t we go there instead of Chartres, sir?” Wimble queried.

  “The German’s penetrated the French Resistance there around a month ago,” Trant replied. “They rounded up everyone, and they shot quite a few of them. I’m guessing it isn’t a safe bet for us. I know some of the resistance fighters in Chartres, and they’re still holding on, so that seems like the best place for us to go. At the rate we’re progressing, we should get there in three or four days.”

  “Right, sounds like a good plan to me,” Wimble replied. “Let’s hope we don’t encounter any Germans on the way, sir.”

  “We’ll keep traveling at night, but I expect that the German Army will be concentrating well north of here for the moment. At any rate, this direction seems as good as any to me.”

  Trant ordered a short rest break and, when darkness fell an hour later, they moved out, continuing to head directly south. They managed to make another fifteen miles that night, and by dawn they could see a city off to the south.

  “Tis Dreux,” Trant announced laconically. “I believe it isn’t safe. We’re going to have to go around it. We shall bed down here during the day, and tonight we shall bear east round the city and forage for food and water. There should be plenty of farmhouses on the edge of the town.”

  Each airman found a spot and fell asleep within minutes. When darkness settled, Trant ordered them forward, the group in frantic search of sustenance. Within an hour they came to a lighted farmhouse. Trant ordered everyone to wait while he approached the house, adding as he surged forward, “If I’m not back in a half hour, just keep heading south.”

  Moments Later

  Wimble watched Trant crouch and trot towards the farmhouse, which was no more than a hundred yards distant. He could just make out Trant in the moonlight as he approached the house and, observing as Trant peered through the window, he saw him knock gingerly on the door.

  A man came to the door, light spreading over Trant, at which point Wimble could see Trant hastily motioned inside. He came back outside in a few minutes, and shortly thereafter he returned to the group.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Trant said as he came to a halt.

  “What happened?” Sanders responded.

  “Here, everyone, I brought food,” at which he opened a knapsack, all sorts of delicacies tumbling out. There was cheese, cooked chicken, and boiled eggs. There was even a bottle of wine to round out the meal. The four immediately pounced on the unexpected repast as if they had never seen food in their lives.

  Eventually, their appetites sated, Wimble inquired, “So what happened over there in that farmhouse, sir?”

  “It was a family of French farmers. They were surprised to see a British officer at their front door. Actually, that’s an understatement. They were overjoyed to see me. They’ve heard that the invasion has begun, but I am the first member of the invasion forces that they have come in contact with. They told me that they’ve heard that the Allies are stalled along the Normandy coast. They’re concerned. I told them not to worry - we’ll push the German’s out of France very soon.”

  “How do you know that, sir?” Sanders asked.

  “I don’t, Sanders, but you happen to be eating their dinner because they believed me, so I shouldn’t complain if I were you.”

  At this Sanders examined the leg of chicken that he was eating and, glancing warily back toward Trant, he apparently had enough sense to refrain from speaking further.

  “So were you right, sir? Wimble asked. “Is that Dreux over there?”

  “Yes, it is, and we’re only about twenty miles north of Chartres. So we should be able to make it there by tomorrow evening if we don’t run into trouble.”

  “Why don’t we just stay with those folks and wait it out, sir?” Wimble queried.

  “Tis much too dangerous - dangerous for them, and dangerous for us. If the Germans come through here and capture us, they might kill us all, including those farmers, and we don’t want that. Instead, I should think that we need to find some resistance fighters to help us keep out of sight. They did offer us some clothes, but I turned them down.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “We’re at risk either way, Sanders. If we change out of our uniforms we won’t be so obvious if we’re spotted, but you will pass for a French citizen for about thirty seconds, for when they ask you a question in French, you will be summarily shot as a spy. On the other hand, if we are spotted in our uniforms, we shall at least be treated as prisoners of war. For the time being, I think that uniforms are the preferable alternative, don’t you?”

  Sanders glared sullenly at Trant and replied, “Well, when you explain it that way, it makes good sense, sir.”

  “Why, thank you, Sanders,” Trant replied facetiously, “Somehow I received the impression that you thought I was not very bright.” At this the other two airmen chuckled, it being clear by their mirth that they accepted his authority on grounds well beyond his seniority in rank.

  The following day they halted about five miles north of Chartres, once again locating a stand of trees to conceal their position during the daylight hours. That night they set out once again, arriving on the outskirts of Chartres well before daybreak.

  Drancy – June 7, 1944

  Felicité was led to the courtyard, where a truck stood motionless in the darkness, apparently for the purpose of transporting detainees. Shortly thereafter, she was ordered to stand close behind the truck and raise her arms over her head, whereupon two soldiers within the truck grasped her by her arms and yanked her up into the truck. Her feet still causing her enormous pain, she hobbled to a corner within, doing her best to find a small spot within the crowded bed of the vehicle where she could collapse. Within minutes the truck lurched into motion, and a collective groan came from its cargo, each and every one of them infinitely aware of the dismal future that awaited them. By now it was perhaps midnight, reminding Felicité just how much inhumanity could be concealed under cover of darkness.

  Two hours later they were offloaded at a rail head. It was a truly macabre scene. Floodlights illuminated numerous SS guards, several of whom sported German shepherd guard dogs on leashes. Most of the dogs were barking frantically, apparently relishing their sadistic roles. The train was already filled with detainees, many of whom were hanging their arms through gaps in the side boards, here and there a forlorn wail of anticipation emanating from within.

  Felicité and her fellow detainees were hustled from the truck and surreptitiously shoved into the already cramped space within one of the cars. She had the distinct impression that the simple act of surviving the sedentary journey to the East would in itself be a major challenge.

  She quickly found a miniscule spot to sit. There was not enough room to stretch out, but she was nonetheless thankful that she
was at least off of her bruised and painful feet. The train suddenly lurched into motion, the trip to oblivion having now begun.

  Once the train had reached full speed Felicité was freezing from the cold, having been allocated as clothing only a dress and a tattered sweater. As there were no stops, the prisoners were forced to relieve themselves in a corner of the train car, the remaining passengers politely turning their heads away when one of the detainees found it impossible to avoid the embarrassing trek to the corner. Had the train not continued to move, the resulting stench would have been overpowering.

  Felicité eventually fell into a fitful sleep made possible only by her extreme state of exhaustion. She awoke to sunlight coming through one of the slits. She peeked between the slats and, observing gorgeous countryside rolling by, she caught glimpses of clear morning light glistening over dew-filled and fog-laden green pastures. Given the ghastly state within the train, the incongruous pastoral image without was somehow totally incomprehensible to her.

  The procession pushed onwards, the state of misery increasing with each passing hour. The train eventually stopped at a siding around noon, at which point each of the prisoners was given a drink of water. That was all. There was no food, no facilities, nothing else whatsoever. No one was allowed off the train. Felicité noticed a sign on the siding. Noticing it was clearly written in German, she realized that they had crossed the border from France into Germany.

  After a half hour the train started up again on its eastward trek. They continued throughout the day and night, and by the following morning more and more prisoners were beginning to become sick from the long trip and the lack of food, water, and relief from the unsanitary conditions onboard.

  Eventually the train halted again for water and, every prisoner by now in dire need of rehydration, the stop endured for nearly an hour. Felicité could tell from the wording on a local sign that they were no longer in Germany. She wasn’t certain where it was, but she suspected that they were by now in Czechoslovakia.

  The train finally began to move again, Felicité once again falling into an exhausted sleep. She dreamed that it was springtime, and she was somehow back home in England. The war was over, and Trant came to see her in London.

  She was just getting to the best part of her dream when she was jolted awake by a prisoner rolling on top of her. Attempting to slide out from under the person, she had difficulty due to the fact that the person was not responding at all. Because it was dark, she couldn’t tell who it was, but she suspected that it was the old woman who had been sitting adjacent to her. Eventually managing to free herself, she nevertheless couldn’t manage to push the body any further from her. She realized with horror that the person was by now quite likely dead.

  The tormenting night continued interminably, but eventually the dawn came, the train halting yet again. This time they appeared to be at a temporary station. Once again there were guards everywhere, their assignment apparently to unlock and inspect each of the train cars.

  The prisoners were summarily ordered to disembark, and as they watched in horror, bodies of those who had expired in transit were dumped from nearly every car in the long train. Just as she had surmised, the body lying next to her had been that of the old woman. She wondered with surprising detachment just how long it would be before she herself began to pray for a similar fate.

  The train now sat on the siding for several hours, during which time the prisoners were allowed to sit outside adjacent to the tracks. Felicité noticed during their respite that, due to the fact that she had been forced to lie prone for three days, her feet were by now beginning to heal.

  They were eventually served water, but they still received no food of any kind. Though it had only been three days since they had left Drancy, it seemed like nearly a month had passed. Unfortunately, rain began falling and, despite the fact that it was nearly summertime, it became cold and windy. The prisoners were thus forced back onboard the train to escape the elements, but for some reason the train continued to remain stationary.

  They remained motionless through the night but, around mid-morning of the following day the train set off again, traveling northeast. Towards sunset the train stopped yet again, this time remaining motionless through most of yet another night. Sometime before sunrise the train set off again, and around mid-morning of their sixth day in transit they passed through a large archway bridging a long narrow brick building. Apparently the train had reached its final destination.

  The train came to a laborious stop, the terrified prisoners awaiting the next development. Suddenly the doors to the cars were opened and soldiers ordered everyone to jump from the train. Felicité followed the others in her car, hopping onto the siding as carefully as possible. She fell when she struck the ground, but she was thankfully uninjured, and in the process she noticed that her feet were by now surprisingly sturdy. She arose and, peering about, she took in the dismal scene arrayed before her. Now that she was outside and had escaped the stench of human waste within the train car, she immediately began to smell an entirely different odor, and she discerned immediately what it was. It was the smell of death.

  They were burning human bodies somewhere nearby, of that she was certain. So the rumors were true. The Third Reich was killing Jews, perhaps in large numbers, and she had been transported for that purpose, of that she could now have little doubt. She prepared herself for whatever may come, but she resolved to keep her wits about her in case there was even the slightest possibility of survival.

  The guards now ordered everyone to form into a single line. Felicité leaned to one side to see if she could make out what was going on up the line. She could see one story buildings on either side of the tracks, and here and there she saw skeletal prisoners in grey stripped uniforms moving about. Accordingly, she reasoned that not all of the transported prisoners were being exterminated.

  Peering in the direction of the line ahead of her, she could make out on the siding a line of new arrivals that must have been several hundred yards long. She estimated that she was halfway down the line, the line obviously moving in the opposite direction from the building with the arch that they had passed through. Off in the distance in the direction that the line was moving there was a complex of buildings that had smoke belching out of smokestacks. She had little doubt as to its purpose.

  Towards the head of the line, she observed an SS officer who appeared to be carefully examining each and every one of the people in the line. She watched carefully for several minutes, determining that he was sorting them into two groups. The vast majority were sorted into a group that continued towards the building with the smokestacks. The smaller group was being led away to another area. Every one of the people in this smaller group appeared to be healthy and strong.

  Felicité realized that this was most likely her only chance of survival - to be selected to accompany the smaller group. She therefore determined that when the time came for her examination by the SS officer she would do her best to appear to be healthy despite her still somewhat tender feet. A full hour passed during which the line moved forward at a lethargic pace. Eventually her time came when, standing before the SS officer, he grabbed her roughly by the face and forced her mouth open, thereby checking her teeth as if she were a zoo animal. She took this opportunity to glance upwards at him as he released her face and smile ever so slightly. Something must have worked, for she was miraculously pulled from the long line and shoved in the direction of the much smaller group.

  Eventually the smaller group was instructed to follow the guards and, marching hurriedly towards the archway, they passed beneath it and continued into the fields beyond. Although Felicité’s feet were still killing her, she managed to keep up, realizing that the nearly six days on the train had most likely healed her feet enough that the horrendous ride had incongruously saved her life, at least for the moment.

  They walked for perhaps two miles, whence they came to a second
camp. They were marched into a compound that had a large metal sign over the gateway that read ‘Arbeit macht frei’. She knew enough German to know that it meant ‘Work makes free’.

  The prisoners were led into a building where they were instructed to remove their clothing. By this point in time, Felicité was completely unfazed by such callous treatment.

  The prisoners were then deloused with some putrid chemical and both men and women were forced to shower together. Thereafter they were lined up, still naked, and each prisoner was examined by a doctor. A few of the prisoners were removed from the line apparently for reasons of poor health, and the remaining fortunate few, Felicité among them, were given drab grey uniforms with vertical stripes and taken thereafter to a holding area in a small courtyard between two buildings. They were detained for more than an hour for no apparent reason, until a detail of soldiers suddenly and without warning marched into the courtyard.

  Each soldier bore a rifle, and there were three prisoners plodding along between them. Now that Felicité could see the detainees up close, she could see that all three looked positively emaciated. The three were lined up against a wall, and before she had the slightest notion what was transpiring, an SS officer issued an order and the soldiers with the rifles fired from close range, killing all three prisoners instantly. The SS officer then sauntered nonchalantly over to the horrified group of new recruits and announced condescendingly, “If you break so much as a single rule here at Auschwitz, their fate will be yours as well,” and although it was in German, there could be no doubt to anyone as to his meaning.

  He then proceeded to separate the group into three smaller groups. For some reason, Felicité was sorted into the smallest group – herself alone. The other two groups were marched away, and Felicité was ordered to wait. She sat for perhaps a half hour, whereupon a woman in a prisoner uniform came forward to her and commanded, “Suivez-moi.” Felicité rose and followed her as best she could. They walked through the maze of buildings, eventually arriving at the door to a two story building. The woman entered and motioned for Felicité to follow her.

  The woman now led her to a small room where there were six other women, all inmates. She then turned to Felicité and muttered, “What is your name?”

  “Felicité,” she replied.

  “Well, Felicité,” the woman responded, “You are alive. You may believe that is good news for the moment, but after the commandant is through with you, you will most certainly think otherwise. Say hello to the commandant’s concubines. We are all here strictly for the pleasure of the commandant and his henchmen. And some of them are sadistic subhuman creatures, if you ask me.”

  Felicité gazed about the room, sensing immediately that the women in this room were survivors. Not a single one of them smiled toward her, each one clearly hardened by the inhuman conditions. She had the distinct impression that her fellow captives were to be feared nearly as much as her captors.

  That night, as the newest member of this elite detachment, Felicité was ceremoniously dressed in the finest clothing that could be had in such a horrid place. With a mounting sense of dread, she was subsequently summoned to the commandant’s dinner party. She was then ushered into a dining room, where there were perhaps twenty soldiers dining, thereby affording her a considerable feeling of déjà vu. Understanding perfectly well where it was all leading to, she reasoned that she had done it before in order to survive, and she would do the same yet again if necessary.

  Upon her entry into the room the commandant stood and said, “Gentlemen, our newest guest has arrived for our party. I am told that her name is Felicité. Welcome, Miss Felicité.”

  “Merci,” she replied submissively.

  “My name is Commandant Höss. And now, Miss Felicité, I assume that you know why you are here, and that your survival here at Auschwitz is highly dependent on the successful performance of your duties in this camp. Thus, I expect your entertainment tonight to be impressive at the very least.” And with a wave of his hand, he added surreptitiously, “Please begin, Miss Felicité.”

  “Monsieur Commandant, may I have some music?” she queried respectfully.

  “But of course,” he replied, and within seconds an unseen record player had begun to play.

  Having had just enough experience to know exactly how to proceed, Felicité asked an officer for his hand and, stepping up onto the dining room table, she strutted seductively about for a few moments and then ceremoniously removed her blouse and skirt. Pausing submissively before each officer, she bowed gracefully and presented him with her most provocative smile.

  At this the commandant applauded, saying, “Excellent, Miss Felicité. You seem to be somewhat skilled at your new trade. Excellent! And now, gentlemen, what am I bid for Miss Felicité?”

  An SS officer immediately cried, “Fifty marks!”

  “Excellent!” the commandant replied. “It seems that our newest inmate has made her own mark.”

  “Anyone else? No one? Alright then, sold for the exorbitant sum of fifty marks. I hope she is worth it!”

  He now grasped her hand, instructing, “Miss Felicité, please step down from the table.” At this Felicité stepped down.

  “You are now the property of Captain Schell for the evening. Please accompany him. Captain Schell, try not to kill her tonight! We all deserve a turn at her.”

  The captain grabbed her by the hand and dragged her brutally from the room, grinning voraciously towards his fellow officers as he departed. The remaining soldiers guffawed and applauded raucously as the pair disappeared.

  The Following Morning

  Having returned to the concubine room only two hours earlier, Felicité was awakened an hour before sunrise.

  The woman who awakened her inquired disinterestedly, “How was it?”

  “Bad,” she responded listlessly, “But I’m alive.”

  “That’s the spirit. You’ll be alright in a couple of days. You’d better be, because every one of them will have you within a month. So you’d better recover fast. And from the looks of you, you’re only going to last a few months around here before you’ll be so skinny that they’ll send you to the gas chamber. So take my advice - from now on, steal food whenever you spend the night with one of the officers.”

  That was the all-important lesson that kept Felicité alive, as for the next year of her life, avoiding starvation would become her singular obsession.

  Chartres – June 10, 1944

  Trant noticed that the day dawned clear, a thick coat of ground fog stretching across the fields. Off in the distance, he could make out the spire of Chartres Cathedral rising winsomely above the fog.

  Noticing the direction that Trant was gazing, Wimble expounded, “That is one massive cathedral! I’d say tis just about the size of the one in York, where I grew up.”

  “Yes, I’ve actually been inside it once. I visited Chartres the summer my parents brought me here. It is quite impressive, perhaps the most harmonious of all the gothic cathedrals in France. That, of course, is why the medieval pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela commenced here. But I digress. Today we need to get into the city.”

  “How do you propose that we do that, sir?” Wimble queried.

  “I’ve been contemplating that,” Trant responded. “I’ve decided that you airmen should all remain here under cover. I shall nose around and find some civilian clothes so that I can make my way into town. From there I shall find my resistance contacts and we shall retrieve the three of you tonight under cover of darkness.”

  “Why not take us with you, sir?”

  “For the simple reason that if we are intercepted, we shall all be questioned. I am the only person who speaks French well enough to pass for a local. So we are better off having a bit more patience. Accordingly, I am placing you in charge, Wimble. Keep everyone positive and focused. I shall be back to get you tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wimble replied.

&nb
sp; Trant set off across the field, using the sheet of fog to cover his progress. Within minutes he came upon a farmhouse and, noticing a single aged farmer feeding his goats in an enclosure adjacent to a barn, he scrutinized the situation for several minutes. Discerning no other movement, he decided to hazard advancing. “Bonjour,” he called out pleasantly as he approached the barn.

  The farmer turned and, it being obvious from the look on his face that he thought that he was seeing before him an apparition, Trant determined it best to continue to approach undaunted. As he came near, the farmer blurted in French, “But who are you, monsieur? Where have you come from?”

  “I am a British pilot, monsieur. My plane was shot down several days ago to the north of here.”

  “Ah, yes, the invasion has begun,” the farmer responded with barely perceptible concern. Holding out his hand to Trant, he added, “We are all hoping for more of your countrymen to arrive very soon.”

  Trant took his hand and shook it, responding, “I expect them quite soon, monsieur. I am Wing Commander Trant Sutherland. Might I prevail upon you for a bit of help?”

  The farmer now examined him curiously and responded, “Certainly, are you hungry?”

  “Yes, very much so,” Trant replied.

  “Please, Wing Commander, come inside. My wife and I would be pleased to serve you breakfast.”

  “Thank you, it would be an honor,” Trant replied graciously. An hour later he was on his way into the city of Chartres, having been loaned a complete farmer’s outfit on the promise that he would return it that evening when he came back to fetch his uniform.

  Attempting the appearance of nonchalance, Trant strolled into the city, making every effort to avoid the possibility of interacting with any Germans along the way. He did eventually observe a couple of officers passing by in a vehicle, but other than that the city appeared to be deserted at this hour of the morning. He eventually reached the city center, from whence he walked directly to the cathedral. Once he had arrived there he was able to locate the safe house just off the Place du Chatelet, and by mid-morning he had been ushered safely within. Although his contact was not there, he was summoned and within an hour he too had arrived within.

  Upon his contact’s arrival, Trant offered, “Bonjour, Alain!”

  “Welcome, Wing Commander Sutherland,” Alain Lesieutre responded. “We heard that you had gone missing. It is good to see you alive and well.”

  “And you, too, Alain. I was told before my departure from Portsmouth on June 6 that the attack on German Headquarters in Paris on June 3rd went off perfectly, and that you had made your way here immediately thereafter. That is why I came here when my plane was shot down.”

  “Yes, the plot was executed perfectly. Felicité is quite the genius. She accomplished everything expected of her and more. And she escaped north towards Rouen that very night.”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid that she was captured, Alain,” Trant responded dejectedly.

  “What! How do you know that?”

  “I saw her. I was captured as well, and I was standing on the side of the road on the morning of June 6 when a German truck with refugees passed by heading east. She was on that truck, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes, I am quite certain. You see, she called out to me by name. It was her, I assure you. Can you do anything? Can you get her back?”

  “No, no, I’m afraid not. Had I known immediately upon her capture it might have been possible, but it is by now far too late. She will have been either shot or transported to the east by this point in time.” Alain paused for a moment and stared morosely at the floor. He subsequently glanced up toward Trant and, eyes glistening, he murmured, “I am sorry, monsieur. She was quite a soldier. She did a wonderful thing for France.”

  “Yes, she did,” Trant replied and, reaching forward, he embraced his friend disconsolately.

  Moving on to more palatable subjects, Alain inquired, “So, what can we do for you here in Chartres, Wing Commander?”

  Trant chuckled and mumbled facetiously, “Well, I’d like to go home. Can you arrange that?”

  Sensing Trant’s lighthearted joke, Alain joined in, expounding, “Mais certainement, monsieur! Just wait around a few months and the Allies will liberate France. You may not even want to go home at that point, as France will by then have once again become the gayest place on earth!”

  “Excellent! I shall look forward to it, Alain. In the meantime, there is the small problem that three of my fellow airmen are hidden in the woods north of Chartres. We shall need to bring them in under cover of darkness, as unfortunately none of them speaks any French at all.”

  “Hmmm,” Alain responded in sudden contemplation, “I assume that you know exactly where they are, monsieur.”

  “Yes, they are camped near the farmhouse owned by a family by the name of Rabelais.”

  “Ah, yes, I know that farmhouse. They are famous around Chartres, claiming to have descended from the famous author François Rabelais.”

  “Ah, yes, Gargantua et Pantagruel…great book,” Trant responded. “I had no idea those farmers were famous! At any rate, as they helped me this morning, I owe them. Besides, I need to go fetch my uniform.”

  “We’ll take care of it after dark. I assume that you know we will have to walk.”

  “Yes, of course,” Trant replied, “I have walked nearly a hundred miles in the past week. For some perverse reason I am beginning to rather enjoy it. In the meantime, could I perhaps have something to eat?”

  Wharton Manor – June 12, 1944

  Lady Sutherland was lounging in the afternoon sun in the sitting room when her telephone rang. “Wharton Manor,” she replied graciously, “Who may I say is calling?”

  A voice on the other end said, “Dear, tis I, I have some good news for a change. The French Resistance has radioed in to London. Trant was in fact not captured by the Germans. He apparently landed safely behind enemy lines on D-Day, eventually making his way to Chartres, where he is currently under the protection of the resistance fighters.”

  “Oh, that is quite splendid news, dear! I never doubted that he was alive, but to hear that he has not been captured is ever so reassuring. Surely the British Army will rescue him before long.”

  “Perhaps, my dear, but at the sluggish pace the Allies are breaking out from the Normandy Beaches, don’t expect them to make it all the way to Chartres any time soon.”

  “Well, perhaps it is just as well. I assume that he is out of harm’s way for the moment, and that is quite the most important thing in these uncertain times,” Lady Sutherland responded optimistically.

  “My dear, I’m afraid I have some bad news as well,” Lord Sutherland continued.

  “What is it darling? Please tell me it isn’t something to do with Trant! He is not wounded, is he?”

  “Oh, no, tis nothing to do with Trant. I’m afraid that Lieutenant Delacroix has gone missing. Actually, I rather doubt that she is missing at all. The resistance has radioed that the Nazi’s have captured her.”

  “Oh, no! I say, dear, that is terrible news! What happened? Was she turned in by some spy in the underground?”

  “Actually, we doubt that. It appears that her mother was Jewish. Unfortunately, Felicité seems to have been unaware of that fact. As long as she was traveling with forged documents she was safe, but when she escaped Paris it was necessary to revert to her true identity. The ever-efficient Gestapo seems to have located her mother’s birth records. This is all third-hand information, of course, but if it is true, then she has likely been transported.”

  “Transported? What does that mean?”

  “She will most likely have been tortured and beaten, and then shipped by railway to a labor camp in the East.”

  “To a labor camp? What sort of labor camp?”

  “We’re really not sure what is going on at these labor camps, my dear, but if the accounts that are
beginning to come out of the East are true, then I’m afraid that we should be prepared for the worst.”

  “Does that mean that they might kill her?”

  “My dear, while there is much that appears to be impossible in this war, there appears to be nothing that Hitler and his henchmen are incapable of actually doing. With each passing day we are apprised of more and more absolutely inhuman behavior within The Third Reich.”

  “Oh, my Goodness! She may actually perish,” Lady Sutherland sobbed, “She may in fact already have perished!”

  “Yes, my dear, and from this point forward, there is likely no way that we shall ever know exactly what has happened to her.”

  Chartres – Late June, 1944

  Trant and the British airmen met with Alain at the safe house in Chartres. After two weeks cooped up in a local farmhouse, it was time to discuss options. “So, what did London recommend that we do, Alain?” Trant queried.

  “They’ve suggested that you make your way to Argentan. They expect that the British Army will connect up with you there and evacuate you to England.”

  “Argentan,” Trant responded, “Where exactly is that?”

  “Tis perhaps sixty miles west of here. They think that the German Army will be pushed eastward by the Allies. My thinking is that if we go west to Le Mans, we should remain south of the battle that is raging, and as the front pushes eastward we can perhaps meet up with the British Army without incident.”