Legacy of Hate

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Halt there! Throw down your arms.’

  ‘Shit!’ Liane snapped.

  ‘He spoke English,’ James pointed out. ‘Raise your hands, but keep your weapons.’ He set the example, calling out, ‘I am Major James Barron. SIS.’

  The Commandos approached, cautiously. But they could identify James’s uniform. Now an officer came forward, also wearing the crown of a major on his shoulder straps. ‘You’re Pound! Whalley, Third Commandos. Bit of a snafu, isn’t it? They were waiting for us.’

  ‘So it would appear. What’s happening down there?’

  ‘Most of the Canucks are pinned on the beaches, taking whopping casualties. We got pretty shot up as well, but we got through.’

  ‘Orders?’

  ‘To come in behind the port. I was actually told to look out for you, or your people.’ He beckoned the corporal carrying the radio. ‘Get on to Jubilee HQ and tell them we have contacted Pound.’

  The corporal set his gear on the ground and started sending. ‘I beg your pardon,’ James said. ‘Jubilee? Don’t you mean Rutter?’

  ‘The name has been changed. After the delay, you know. The big boys felt there might be a leak.’

  ‘Well, changing the name doesn’t seem to have helped.’ ‘Jubilee says well done, and that we are to co-operate with Pound in any way he wishes, sir,’ the corporal said.

  ‘So tell us what you wish us to do,’ Whalley invited. ‘There’s one big job we can do. Major Whalley, Liane de Gruchy.’

  ‘I say.’ Whalley saluted, and then squeezed her hand. ‘Are you with us, madame?’

  ‘I am with him. And it is mademoiselle.’

  ‘Enchante.’

  Liane raised her eyebrows.

  ‘And her brother, Pierre de Gruchy.’

  ‘My pleasure, monsieur. You said you had a target, Major.’ ‘The arsenal. If we can get rid of that, Jerry won’t have much to fight with in the town.’

  ‘What about reinforcements?’

  ‘We’re doing what we can. Let’s get in there.’

  There were some hundred Commandos, and they moved through the suburbs with confident speed. Most of the houses were shuttered, and their inhabitants were clearly keeping their heads down, hoping that the battle would continue to miss them. The high rate of fire continued to rise from the town and on the beaches, where the Canadians were desperately trying to break through. From out at sea there came the heavier reverberations of naval guns. Now that it was broad daylight, the sky had suddenly filled with planes, both RAF and Luftwaffe, snarling and spitting, criss-crossing the clear morning sky with their vapour trails. More ominously, from behind them they could hear bursts of gunfire.

  ‘Will your people hold?’ Whalley asked.

  ‘For as long as they can,’ James promised.

  Dieppe itself was as shuttered as its suburbs, but there were people about. Several houses had been hit and there had been casualties; they could hear the bells of a fire engine and also an ambulance. Those civilians who encountered the Commandos stared at them in consternation, and one or two shouted curses.

  ‘Whose side are they on?’ someone asked.

  ‘Their own,’ Liane told him. ‘You are destroying them just as much as the Germans have ever done.’ The soldier took off his helmet to scratch his head.

  ‘But you don’t feel that way,’ Whalley suggested.

  ‘No, because I — and my family — are amongst those the Nazis attempted to destroy. There is your target.’

  Hitherto they had seen no German soldiers as the entire defence was concentrated, as had been intended, on the seaward side. But, rounding the corner and facing the arsenal building, they heard a burst of fire, and two of the Commandos went down.

  ‘Take cover!’ Whalley bellowed, and his men scattered to left and right. Whalley himself knelt beside James and the de Gruchys. ‘How many men would be in there?’ he asked.

  ‘There were twenty when I was there,’ Liane said.

  ‘You were in there, mademoiselle?’

  ‘Yes, but that was a couple of months ago.’

  ‘We have to go in,’ James said. ‘You have grenades?’

  ‘Of course. But if that building is packed with explosives … ’

  ‘There’ll be a hell of a bang.’

  Whalley hesitated, then nodded. ‘Sergeant,’ he called.

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Prepare to assault on my whistle.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Whalley looked at Liane. ‘Well, mademoiselle, wish us luck.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ Liane asked. ‘We are coming with you.’

  Whalley looked at James, who winked. Then the major blew his whistle. The Commandos left their shelter and raced forward, tommy guns chattering. The garrison returned fire, and several men fell. But the majority made the steps. James was to the fore, with Liane on one side of him and Pierre on the other. At the foot of the steps they hurled their grenades, as did Whalley and those of the Commandos who were close enough. The doors exploded and several men standing just within came staggering out, only to be cut down by the automatic fire. Then they were into the hallway.

  Men appeared on the gallery above them, and again the tommy guns blazed. But the Germans knew by now that they were outnumbered, and several surrendered, including the lieutenant in command.

  ‘You understand that this building is filled with explosive,’ he said in French. ‘We commenced emptying it yesterday, but only a small part has been removed. One careless move … and hurling grenades … ’

  ‘My dear lieutenant,’ James said. ‘That’s why we’re here. Outside.’

  The prisoners, most of them wounded, were led outside. ‘See to our people, Sergeant,’ Whalley commanded. ‘Get the wounded back a hundred yards. Where is the main magazine?’

  ‘In the cellar,’ Liane said.

  ‘Right. We’ll handle this. Off you go, mademoiselle. And you, Major.’

  Liane looked reluctant, and James grasped her arm. ‘It is their business. Come on.’

  They left the building and ran across the street. ‘What about those houses?’ Liane asked. ‘They are not a hundred yards away.’

  ‘They’ve probably been evacuated,’ Pierre said.

  ‘We don't know that.’

  ‘I’ll check them out,’ James said.

  ‘We’ll check them out.’ They ran forward, Pierre reluctantly following.

  ‘Hey!’ the sergeant bellowed. ‘Major! Mademoiselle!’

  To their left Whalley was just emerging from the arsenal. He had no wire, so James realized he must have set a timed fuse. But it would only be for a short time.

  There were four houses making up the part of the street that faced the arsenal. ‘You take that one,’ James told Liane. ‘Check it out, and then get out the back. Full speed. Pierre, take that one. I’ll do the other two.’

  This time they didn’t argue. James dashed up the front path of the third house. The door was predictably locked; he did not waste time in knocking, but blew the lock out with his revolver, and ran into a neat front hall. ‘Is there anyone here?’ he shouted.

  There was no one on the ground floor. He was about to go upstairs when a man’s voice asked, ‘You are English?’

  The man stood in the doorway to the cellar steps. ‘How many of you are there?’ James snapped.

  ‘My family. There are six of us.’

  ‘And that cellar is underground?’

  ‘Yes. You wish to come down and be with us?’

  ‘You get down there and stay there. There is going to be a hell of bang in the next five minutes. This house may well come down. You stay put until after it’s over.’

  He ran out of the back door and into a yard, cast a hasty glance to his right, and saw Pierre emerging from the rear of the next house. He gave him a wave, and vaulted the fence into the fourth house, beyond which there was an open space. The back door of this house was unlocked. He threw it open, dashed into the kitchen. ‘Is anyone here?’ he shouted There
was no reply. He looked into the cellar, but could discern no movement, so he ran through the two front rooms, came back to the foot of the stairs, and heard a woman’s voice. ‘Help! Help me, monsieur!’

  James raced up the stairs and burst into a bedroom. There was an elderly woman, under the covers, wearing a mob cap and looking extremely agitated. She recognized his uniform.

  ‘Ah, monsieur,’ she said. ‘You are English! I knew you were not a Boche.’

  ‘Can you get out of bed?’

  ‘I have not left this bed for two years, monsieur. I am old. Old!’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to let me take you out. This place is about to blow up.’

  ‘They would not take me,’ she grumbled. ‘They all left when the shooting started. But they would not take grand-mere. It is that Daniel, you know. He said I would be too much trouble. Who would have a son-in-law, monsieur?’

  ‘Who, indeed? Come along now.’

  He threw back the covers, discovered to his relief that she was wearing a nightdress, dressing gown and stockings, scooped her into his arms … and then the arsenal exploded.

  James found himself in the garden, lying in a rhododendron bush, which had broken his fall. His ears were dead, but he looked up at blue sky where there should have been the upper story of the house. Burning bits of this were still falling about him. He felt no pain, but some discomfort from the weight on top of him. He looked down, and discovered to his amazement that the old lady was still in his arms. Even more to his amazement, she was still alive, and saying something, but he could not hear what it was. He tried to get up with her, and fell back again. She got herself off him, still talking. For someone who had spent two years in bed, she moved with remarkable freedom. Now she stood above him, swaying slightly, but still speaking, or rather, he felt, shouting.

  Then he saw Liane coming towards him. She had lost her beret and her hair was floating. But she did not appear to be hurt. She also was speaking. He touched his ears, and she nodded, then helped him to his feet. The old lady was still talking, and Liane nodded, and pointed to the back of the garden, where Pierre waited. Behind them the houses were gaunt wrecks, their walls shattered and in places collapsed, their upper floors fallen through, bits of broken furniture scattered about. But James decided that the people in the cellar would have survived, and would be able to get out.

  They crawled through the rubble and encountered Whalley and his men. ‘You all right?’ the Commando asked, peering at them. James had lost his cap and his uniform was in tatters, while he was bleeding in several places.

  ‘Just about. But we have this lady … ’

  ‘You go and fight the Boches,’ the old lady said. ‘I will be all right. That Daniel! I will hit him with a stick.’ She hobbled off.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Whalley asked.

  ‘It would take too long to explain. What are your plans?’ ‘We seem to have done all the damage we can.’ Whalley gestured at the vast hole in the ground that had been the arsenal. ‘Now I reckon we must try to hit these people in the rear. You with us?’

  ‘I think we must get back to our own people. How long can you hold the port?’ James asked.

  ‘We haven’t got it yet. But when we do … ’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ the corporal said. ‘There’s a radio message.’

  ‘Well?’

  The telegrapher was clearly shaken. ‘They’re aborting, sir. Casualties have been too severe, and the RAF have reported considerable troop movements towards the town, far sooner than was expected. The Navy is also taking heavy losses, and cannot maintain its position much longer. All troops must return to the beaches for immediate re-embarkation.’

  Whalley looked at James. ‘What a fuck up!’

  ‘You’d better get out while you can,’ James said.

  ‘If we can. Mademoiselle, I am most terribly sorry.’

  ‘We will meet again. When you come back. For good.'

  ‘I will look forward to that. Major … ’

  ‘There is a separate message for Major Barron, sir.’

  ‘Give it,’ James said with a sinking heart.

  ‘Major Barron is required to evacuate with us, sir.’

  ‘Fuck that. My place is with my people.’

  ‘The order was repeated, sir.’

  ‘You must go,’ Liane said.

  ‘And abandon you? You’ll come with me.’

  ‘You know I cannot do that, James. I brought my people here. I must take them back. But you … they cannot risk your being captured.’

  James looked at Whalley. ‘I think the lady is right. You must obey orders. And, with respect, we must move now, or we won’t make it.’

  James hesitated a last moment. Then he took Liane in his arms. ‘You call the moment you get back to Limoges.’

  ‘The moment.’

  He kissed her, shook hands with Pierre, and followed the Commandos through the rubble.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aftermath

  ‘Lucky for some,’ Pierre commented.

  ‘We have work to do.’ Liane led the way back through the rubble, ignoring the people all around them. The sun was now high, the day bright, but clouds of smoke were billowing above the port, the guns were still booming and chattering, and the sky above was still filled with planes.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Pierre asked.

  ‘What James said to do: disengage and take our people home.’

  ‘You mean you will still take his advice? Still trust him? Or any Englishman? This is the second time they have sacrificed our people — sacrificed us — to no purpose.’

  ‘I think,’ Liane said quietly, ‘that they have sacrificed far more of their own. And the purpose is to defeat the Nazis. What is happening?’ she asked a man who ran by them.

  ‘The Boches!’ he gasped. ‘They are shooting everyone.’ She realized that the sound of shooting was suddenly very close. ‘Down here.’ She turned along a side street, Pierre at her shoulder, and checked at a shout.

  ‘Halt there! Throw down your weapons.’

  They both turned to see six men emerging from another side street. Black uniforms.

  ‘We are done,’ Pierre said.

  ‘We are townspeople, who found these guns.’ Liane laid down her tommy gun, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Pierre did the same.

  The men came closer, and Liane caught her breath. Roess recognized her in the same moment. ‘Well, well,’ he remarked. ‘Does not everything come to he who waits? Jeanne! Or should I call you Liane? This is the best day of my life.’

  Liane felt sick. After so much, to face what had to come … But Pierre had also recognized the situation. He had laid down his tommy gun, but there was still a grenade hanging from his belt. He wrenched it off, drew the pin.

  ‘Grenade!’ one of the Germans shouted. They all opened fire at once. Liane hurled herself to the ground, fingers scrabbling for her gun. Pierre, struck several times, had fallen to his knees. But he had thrown the grenade. It burst immediately in front of the six men, scattering them into blood-stained ruin.

  Liane rose to her knees, gun levelled, and as she saw movement she sprayed the men with bullets. She wanted to kill Roess, to make sure he was dead. But Pierre was more important. She slung the gun and crawled across to him. There was blood everywhere, but he was still alive.

  ‘Good shooting,’ he muttered. ‘Now your legend will grow.’

  ‘We must get you to help.’

  ‘I am done.’

  ‘No one is ever done,’ she said fiercely, putting her arm round him to help him to his feet. But his knees would not support him, and he was too heavy for her. Together they sank back to the ground.

  ‘You must leave me,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  ‘I shall never leave you.’

  ‘You must. You have a duty to the others. You must take them home.’

  Liane chewed her lip, for almost the first time in her life incapable of making an inst
ant decision. Then she heard shouts, and more shots. The noise was coming closer.

  ‘You cannot fight the whole German army,’ Pierre said. ‘Listen! You are a legend. You must live, and make the legend grow. If you die, if you allow the Germans to expose your body, publish photographs of it, the entire Resistance will collapse. Do you not realize that every man dreams of meeting you, every woman dreams of being you? Now go and do your duty.’ He smiled. ‘I have my pistol. They will not take me alive.’

  Liane kissed him and stood up, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at where the dead Germans lay. Roess was amongst them. But was he dead? The temptation to go to them and make sure was enormous, but now she saw movement at the end of the street. To wait a moment longer would be to die. She wanted to die, to go out in a blaze of glory behind her chattering tommy gun. But Pierre’s words were still filling her brain. Liane turned and ran down the street.

  ‘James! Oh, James!’ Rachel embraced him while Jennifer gazed at them with enormous eyes. ‘You made it!’

  7 made it, yes.’ James sank into the chair behind his desk. Rachel stood beside him, took in the various pieces of plaster on his face, and knew there had to be many more beneath his uniform. ‘Was it terrible?’

  He gazed at her for several moments. ‘I was at Dunkirk. But at Dunkirk there was hope. There was no hope at Dieppe.’ ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘If I were to start drinking, I don’t think I would stop.’ ‘But what happened?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘They were waiting for us. They were pouring men and tanks into the area before our people even got ashore.’

  ‘You mean we were betrayed,’ Rachel said.

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Did Liane survive?’

  ‘She was alive when I left her. She had Pierre with her. They were going to get their people out.’ He raised his head. ‘Do you know what I feel like?’

  ‘You obeyed orders,’ Rachel pointed out. ‘And Liane will survive. She always does. Ah … About Joanna … ’

  The door opened, and the two women stood to attention. James responded more slowly, rising to his feet. ‘Glad you got back,’ the brigadier said. ‘Bit of a bloody nose, eh?’ James vacated the desk, as he knew that was where the brigadier liked to sit. ‘Have we a figure on casualties, sir?’ The brigadier sat down. ‘It’s not very pretty reading. As far as we can ascertain, we have one thousand, one hundred and seventy-nine known dead. The Germans are claiming two thousand, one hundred and ninety prisoners of war, but of the six thousand one hundred men involved, only one thousand, seven hundred and sixty got home, which leaves nine hundred and seventy-one unaccounted for. We have to presume that most of those are also dead. We also lost twenty-eight tanks, a hundred aircraft, and several ships, including a destroyer.’