by Terry Deary
‘So long as I don’t have to go back to my old school at Castle Bromwich,’ she said grimly. ‘Maybe a bomb will land on Mr Cutter and Miss Dennison.’
‘Don’t joke about it,’ Aimee said sharply.
‘Sorry, Maman.’
They walked on in silence. Foxes barked and little creatures squealed as they ran from swooping owls.
At last, Brigit and Aimee came to a string of poles stretched alongside a road. Brigit’s lantern showed the nearest post was numbered 281n. ‘Another eight poles to the west,’ Aimee said.
Brigit’s sharp ears heard a car in the distance. ‘I think it’s coming this way,’ she said.
‘In which direction?’
‘From the town.’
Aimee dragged her daughter into a dry ditch and lay without breathing till it had driven past. It seemed to stop a half kilometre away then roared off on the road to Amiens.
‘Let’s go,’ Aimee said softly.
They kept to the road till they reached a patch of woodland and a large pole at the edge of it. Young trees in the wood struggled towards the sky through the broken trunks of dead trees that had been shattered by the last war. The main power lines seemed to come out of the wood and divided at this point. The line they’d followed was behind them. Another line crossed the road and turned south.
‘This must be 273j,’ Aimee said. ‘Blow this pole down and we cut the lines to both the north and the south.’ She turned to her daughter, who was standing with her face raised, pale in the light of the almost full moon. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brigit murmured.
Her mother shrugged. ‘Stand a couple of metres into the woods, Brigit. In the dark where you can’t be seen. And use those sharp ears. If you hear any cars or lorries coming, then whistle.’
‘Yes, Maman,’ the girl said and walked quickly past the first few trees and settled on the leaf mould on the ground. She strained her ears but all she could hear was the whirr of the hand drill that Aimee had borrowed from Blacksmith Legrande.
Brigit shivered, even though the night was warm and still. She breathed in the smell of pine and earth. And slowly it came to her. Post 273j stood where the road entered the woods. When they arrived at the post, Brigit had smelled petrol.
Petrol from the car that had passed them.
But she hadn’t smelled it on the last hundred metres of the walk to pole 273j. She had only smelled it when they arrived. Why? Because the car had stopped there for a few seconds and the exhaust fumes had gathered in that spot.
She remembered hearing the car pause. Now she knew exactly where it had halted. Here. Why would a car stop at that spot on a quiet road with no houses for at least a kilometre?
‘Think, Brigit, think.’
The Germans in the car hadn’t stayed long enough to examine the pole, so why stop at all?
The drilling stopped as Aimee packed the explosives into the hole she’d made and there was a click as she bent the end of the pencil bomb to set the timer.
Brigit’s mouth went dry with fear. The car had stopped long enough to let someone step out.
Who? A German guard? Why? Because they were expecting an attack on that very post at this exact time.
Brigit gave an urgent whistle. She heard another click, sharp and with the ring of iron. The crunch of army boots as a soldier stepped out of the trees just a few metres from where Brigit was hidden. Then a voice, speaking in French but with a strong German accent. ‘Put your hands in the air and don’t move, or I will shoot.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘I’m not stupid, you know’
Aimee Furst looked towards the trees and saw the old corporal with a rifle pointed at her. She looked a little to his left and, with a nod, gave a signal for her daughter to save herself and hide. Brigit slipped back into the shadows and watched. Her mother said cheerfully, ‘If I put my hands in the air then I will be moving, and if I move you will shoot me.’
‘Eh?’ the soldier said.
Aimee spoke as if she were talking to a child. ‘You said don’t move. I can put my hands in the air or I can stay still. I can’t do both now, can I? Which do you want me to do?’
‘Er. Turn around,’ the man said. ‘Right around to face me.’
Aimee turned slowly and found herself looking at a grey-haired man with faded-blue eyes in a wrinkled face. She gave him a wide smile. ‘Good evening, Corporal, what can I do for you?’
The old soldier squinted at his captive. ‘You can follow me to Gestapo headquarters and the major will have you shot. That’s sabotage that is.’ He nodded his head towards the telegraph pole.
‘Not really. I was cold, and I was just taking a slice out of the pole to make a fire. I wasn’t cutting it down.’
‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ the soldier said.
‘Who told you that?’ Aimee asked.
‘I could shoot you right now,’ he hissed.
‘No, you couldn’t.’ Aimee sighed.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the safety catch is still on your gun.’
In the bat-black shadow of a tree Brigit gasped. She knew that when the soldier looked down at his rifle, her mother would jump forward and try to snatch it. But the old man was not that stupid. He snapped off the safety catch with his thumb. ‘I used this in the last war, you know? I killed five hundred men in the Great War.’
‘Ah, you were a cook?’ Aimee asked. ‘A very bad cook?’
The soldier jabbed his rifle at her. ‘You won’t be laughing when the major lets me shoot you,’ he said. ‘Now, move.’
He set off, boots clacking on the stony road. Brigit followed, treading on the grass at the side, silent as a hunting owl. Aimee walked in front of the soldier and he seemed glad of some company. ‘Major Strauss is in the Gestapo, you know. They’re the Fuhrer’s secret state police. Ruthless they are. Ruthless. And the major will be so pleased to see you.’
‘Why? Is he lonely?’ Aimee asked.
‘No, but there’s been a lot of trouble in his district this past week. People like you wrecking trains and buildings, sending secret messages back to the British pigs. And it’s his job to stop them.’
‘He’s not doing a very good job then, is he?’
‘Exactly,’ the old man cackled. ‘His bosses in Berlin were going to sack him. Send him to join the army in Russia. Very cold is Russia. Major Strauss doesn’t want to go, see? So if he has a French spy to shoot, it might just save his job.’
‘I’m British,’ Aimee said quickly. ‘There is no French Resistance group in the area. That’s why they sent me. The people of Bray are too afraid of you and Major Strauss. They’re terrified of you. They refused to help me.’
‘They have a good reason to be frightened of us. Just wait till the Gestapo hard men get here tomorrow.’
‘Well, I can’t wait,’ Aimee pointed out. ‘Not if you’re going to shoot me tonight. So long as you tell them my corpse is British.’
‘British? Even better,’ Corporal Rudolf said. ‘The major will be overjoyed to see you.’
‘I’m so pleased to be making your major happy,’ Aimee muttered.
‘And you’ve made me happy too. Oh yes. He’ll probably make me a sergeant for this. More pay. Better food. And I’ll get to order a few men around. I can send them out on patrol while I stay warm in the barracks. Oh yes, we are both very pleased to see you.’
They marched down the road with just enough starlight to show the town of Bray ahead. When they arrived twenty minutes later, the street lights had been turned off and all the windows were shuttered and dark. A warden nodded to the soldier as he passed, checking for lights showing. ‘Good evening, Rudolf,’ he said.
Brigit was following a short distance behind and straining to hear her mother and the soldier talking. She hadn’t seen the warden and threw herself behind a garden wall just in time. ‘Careless girl,’ she whispered to herself.
‘Evening, Walter,’ the soldier replied.
‘French spy,’ the old man said proudly. ‘Says she’s British, mind.’
‘Really? Must be the major’s first one. He’ll be pleased.’
‘Just what I was saying.’
‘The major might let you shoot her… after she’s told you all she knows,’ the warden said. ‘Have you ever shot anyone before?’
‘Five hundred in the last war, he told me,’ Aimee answered.
The warden laughed and leaned towards Aimee. ‘Rudolf was a truck driver back in 1914. He delivered cabbages and turnips. He was too old even then to fight in the trenches.’
The soldier spoke angrily. ‘I trained with the rest of the troops. I know how to fire a rifle, Walter. If the major wants me to shoot her I will. Now,’ he said, waving his rifle at Brigit’s mother, ‘into the school. It’s on the right.’
‘I think I know where it is,’ Aimee said quietly.
The soldier let her lead the way. ‘Goodnight, Walter,’ he called.
‘Night, Rudolf,’ came the reply. ‘Good shooting.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘We still have work to do’
Aimee and the old soldier reached the door of the school. ‘It’s an odd place to bring me,’ Aimee said. She spoke loudly so her daughter could hear.
‘It seems the school was the German army headquarters in the last war, so the Gestapo decided to use it again,’ the corporal told her.
‘I know that. But it’s an odd place because it’s not a prison. You can’t lock me in,’ Aimee went on.
The soldier lowered his rifle and waved a finger. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, madame. There is an old book cupboard in one of the classrooms. The door can be locked and the only window is too small to climb out of. You’ll be safe there.’
‘Yes,’ Aimee cried. ‘The old cupboard on the north wall of the school. The little window is three windows along from the east corner. I should be snug in that book cupboard.’
‘Plenty to read,’ Rudolf chuckled. He didn’t stop to wonder how Aimee knew the school so well.
The woman sighed as she took one look back into the starlit schoolyard. A small white hand waved from the school gate to show her that her daughter had heard and understood.
‘In you go. Major Strauss will be dozing in his office chair, but he won’t mind being woken up to meet a spy,’ the old man said.
‘I look forward to meeting him,’ Aimee said quietly as she entered the cupboard and the smell of the dust was the same as it had been over twenty years before when she had been the spy-catcher. The old Latin books they had used were gone. The new ones were to teach the French children English. She wondered when they would be forced to learn German.
The books had been tumbled to the floor to make room for Gestapo notepaper and envelopes, files and pencils, pens, ink and blotting paper.
The door closed and the key clicked in the lock. A dim, yellowed bulb glowed from a frayed cord in the ceiling.
Aimee set to work lifting the books from the floor and stacking them to make a small stairway to the starlit window. The window frame had stuck from years of swelling in the winter rains. She took out a knife from her sock and began to cut through the old paint.
Sweat dripped from her brow and fell on to the dusty floor. Her hand was bruised with pushing at the handle but at last she felt the blade give way as it reached the outside. She used the knife as a lever and slowly the window began to creak open. She put the knife back in her sock… a good Gestapo officer would probably find it soon enough. She pushed at the window till it opened enough to let the fresh spring air into the musty space. ‘Brigit?’
‘Here, Maman,’ the girl whispered from the narrow alley that ran down the side of the school. ‘How will you escape?’ she asked.
‘I won’t. Not yet,’ she replied. ‘We still have work to do.’
‘Inside a book cupboard?’ Brigit said, frowning.
‘You will have to be my eyes, ears and feet for now,’ her mother said.
‘I can throw a pencil bomb through the front door. When they’re picking the splinters out of their ugly faces, I’ll rescue you,’ Brigit promised.
‘No, listen. That old guard didn’t find us by accident. There are a thousand telegraph poles along the River Somme. How did he know which one we were planning to bring down?’
‘Luck.’
‘A thousand-to-one chance? Thousands-to-one if you think he didn’t just pick the right place, he picked the exact time too. Luck? I don’t think so. We were betrayed.’
‘But only six people knew where you’d be at eight o’clock,’ Brigit argued.
‘Yes, and one of them is a traitor, working for the Gestapo.’
‘So we need to get you out, Maman. And in time to catch tomorrow’s Lysander flight back to Britain.’
‘If we do that the traitor will carry on and betray everyone. The others – our brave friends – will be shot. So will your grand-maman, Colette. We can’t allow that to happen.’
‘Then we have to find out who the traitor is before we make our escape,’ Brigit said slowly. ‘How can you do that from inside a cupboard?’
‘I can’t,’ her mother said simply. ‘But you can. Take this notepaper and these envelopes,’ she said, passing them out of the window. ‘If you want to know where a rat is hiding, you put out a piece of cheese. This Gestapo paper is the cheese and you are going to set the trap. Listen carefully and I’ll tell you how.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘We can’t just leave her there to die’
Berlin
Colonel Roth fastened the buttons on his uniform and pulled on his long boots before he marched to the hotel where General Fischer was staying. The guards on the door saluted as he walked past them, and he hurried up the stairs to room 157. He tapped on the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Roth, sir,’ the colonel said.
It was a minute before the door opened. Red-faced General Fischer was brushing his thin hair over his bald head and peered up at his visitor.
‘Roth, do you know what time it is?’
The colonel looked at his watch. ‘Eight forty-two, sir.’
The general’s face turned an unhealthy shade of purple. ‘I wasn’t asking you the time, I was asking you why you thought you could disturb me at this time of night.’
Roth feared the general’s bulging eyes would pop from his skull. ‘Sorry, sir, but it is very important.’
‘It had better be.’
‘It’s Bray, sir.’
‘Not another sabotage. If it is then I shall have your uncle shot…’
‘But, sir.’
‘No. I won’t have your uncle shot, I will go to Bray and shoot him myself. Just let me get my uniform on and find my pistol. Call a car. I’ll go there at once,’ he said and stamped back into his bedroom.
‘No. It’s not another sabotage. I wanted to tell you that my uncle – I mean, Major Strauss – has arrested a saboteur in the act. A British SOE agent. He has her imprisoned at his headquarters.’
‘He has? That buffoon Strauss has actually captured one of Mr Churchill’s agents?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But that is wonderful news. Why didn’t you telephone me at once?’
‘But, sir…’
‘Tomorrow I shall drive to Bray and question her myself… you said it was a woman, did you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I always said that Major Strauss was a good man. There’ll be a medal for him. Maybe one for me too, eh, Roth? What a hero old Strauss is. Always said it. Always.’
Bray
Brigit hurried down the main road as fast as she dared, afraid she might trip in the darkness. The case she was carrying mustn’t drop or the plan would be ruined. Tuneless singing came from the church. She turned up a small lane and headed up the hill towards a farmhouse. A light glowed behind the shutters. Brigit knocked on the door.
Cattle snuffled in
the field and owls hooted in a distant wood. At last a voice spoke from behind the door. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Brigit, Grand-maman. Can I come in?’
The door opened quickly and Brigit stepped through the blackout curtain into the warm room. Colette Fletcher wrapped her strong arms round her granddaughter and kissed her head.
The girl was hurried inside and her precious suitcase laid gently on the old oak table. When her grand-maman had placed a bowl of chicken stew in front of Brigit, she asked, ‘Where is your maman?’
‘She was arrested and taken to Gestapo headquarters.’
‘The school? Then we must contact the others and find a way to set her free.’
Brigit did her best to explain quickly. ‘We can’t. At the moment the Germans think Maman is the only Resistance worker in the area. If we raid the school they’ll know she is not working alone. When the new Gestapo troop arrives, they’ll seek you out and shoot you all.’
‘We can’t just leave her there to die,’ Colette cried. ‘Let’s see what the others have to say.’
‘We can’t do that either,’ Brigit said. ‘One of them is a traitor. Maman and I knew about tonight’s plan. So did you. None of us told the Gestapo. That just leaves Blacksmith Legrande, Marie Marcel or Henri Caron. One of them is working for the enemy. We need to find out which one and then set Maman free.’
‘I don’t see how we can do that.’
‘Don’t worry. Maman has a plan. She said I’d be safe here while we put it in action.’
‘Of course you will,’ Colette said warmly. ‘Now, let’s get on with it.’
*
Just after nine o’clock, when she knew the saboteurs would have returned home from church, Brigit got ready to leave. She slipped three Gestapo envelopes into the pocket of her smock dress. Each one had a name written neatly on the front.
Brigit headed for the door. Colette had given her a small torch and made a rough sketch of Bray town. The girl was careful to look for Warden Walter in the grey streets under a grey moon. The warden was wearing army boots that clacked on the cobbles so as she made her way through the maze of streets she had plenty of warning.
