‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
He took her into that half of the barracks held by his own men. Rifle shots pinged wickedly down at them all the time.
‘Snipers,’ he said, ‘in that room up there, we haven’t been able to get near them.’ As he spoke he lined up the bazooka. He fired; there was a deafening roar and a cloud of dust and shattered stone. Tardivat looked up and grinned. ‘No more room,’ he said simply. ‘No more snipers.’
‘Anything else I can do for you?’ Nancy asked.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Then I’ll leave you.’
They held Montluçon for several days and then the Germans, stung by the insolence of the Maquis’ onslaught, sent across a heavy counter-attacking force from Moulins. Cheerfully the Maquis withdrew again into the depths of the forest of Tronçais – where, to greet them, it rained.
Nancy then sent Schley and Alsop to another area where, rumour had it, a whole army of Americans had appeared. They were to ask that this army should come and capture Montluçon, complete with its now swollen body of defenders. Instead of the ‘army’, Schley and Alsop found only a small, four-man OSS mission whose sole claim to fame was that it was headed by a prince. Since not even a mission led by a prince could capture a large German garrison, the two Americans returned empty-handed to the forest.
Here the Maquis were now in so commanding a position that they could at last move out of the wet cover of the woods and into the open. Nancy gave orders that her headquarters were to be transferred at once into surroundings that were both more congenial and more civilised.
She and her men spent almost all of one rainy night trying to drag her bus out of the mud into which it had sunk so securely in the past hectic three weeks. The bus and the mud resisted them with all the stubborn strength of the inanimate and when, at dawn, they eventually had it clear, they were utterly exhausted.
They then drove to within six miles of Montluçon and installed themselves in the huge Château de Fragne that had been empty (except for caretakers in a cottage at the main gate) since 1914. There Nancy allocated rooms for herself and most of her men.
‘Aren’t we a bit close to the Germans, Ducks?’ Denis inquired tentatively.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ she retorted. ‘They’ve got too many worries of their own just now to give a hoot about us!’
Nancy, the guerrilla chieftain, the second they entered their new abode, suddenly became Nancy, the house-proud hostess of the château. She set everyone, officers and all, to polishing the brass, sweeping out the dust of thirty years, scrubbing the floors and preparing the rooms. The château emerged, out of a cloud of cobwebs and bad language, as a place transformed.
The entire Allied mission, plus their bodyguards, plus a large number of Maquisards, were then installed in the château in greater comfort than they had known for years. Compared to the eternal damp of the forest of Tronçais, they lived in paradise – for all that there was no water or electricity laid on.
The Germans obliged them next by evacuating Montluçon and Moulins. Rather unfeelingly they did not advise anyone of their intention to do this, so that the first thing the group knew about it was when Alsop suddenly rushed inside and shouted, ‘Gertie, quick. The entire German army’s coming up our drive!’
‘Shut all the windows and keep inside,’ she ordered crisply. She was confident that the Germans would not have guessed that anyone had occupied the château in the past few days. As far as they knew, it was deserted and she saw no need to disillusion them. So, with every window and shutter closed and the whole group waiting tensely inside, the huge German convoy approached them.
The road wound up one side of the château and down the other. His ear glued to the shutters, Alsop therefore heard the whole convoy grind slowly past them in two directions – and then vanish into silence. He heaved a sigh of relief and turned to congratulate Nancy on the calm accuracy of her judgement, but she had grown bored with the rumbling of so many German trucks tiresomely heading back towards the Reich and had gone down to the cellar to look for a bottle of something suitable with which to celebrate the liberation of Montluçon.
The cellar, in spite of the fact that the château had been empty for thirty years, held quite a large stock of wines. Unfortunately, the thirty years had done them no good at all and, though they were quite palatable, they had lost all their alcoholic content. Having sampled various bottles, Nancy decided that she was wasting her time and returned upstairs.
‘Have they all gone?’ she asked, referring to the Germans.
‘All gone,’ Alsop told her.
‘Good. Now I can get on with organising my new field for parachutages.’
The last few parachutages she had supervised had been irritating affairs. The containers had landed all over the countryside, the planes had arrived late and kept her waiting hours in the wet grass, and a great deal of energy had been expended getting the arms and supplies dropped to them back into the château.
Nancy therefore decided to shortcut all this wasted effort. She ordered Roger to send a message to London advising them that her new field for the future would be the main front grounds of the château itself!
Also she installed numerous labour- and time-saving devices. ‘I want floodlights I can switch on. Much better than bonfires. Den – you’re good with electricity! How about fixing it up for me?’
They all laughed at the recollection of the unfortunate Rake clamped to his bicycle by the full force of the current that ran through the overhead forest wires at the time of the German ambush.
‘I’m an actor, Gertie,’ he demurred, ‘not electrics. The union’d go mad if I touched a floodlight. What’re you trying to do – start a strike?’
Nevertheless, the idea appealed to everyone. By the time a rather startled London sent out its next airlift the château was equipped with a series of buttons and switches which enabled everyone to stay comfortably in bed until the sound of plane engines was actually heard. Then the alarm rattled throughout the whole building, floodlights switched on and bathed the field in a bright glow (power being supplied by a phalanx of batteries) and all they had to do was watch the containers thud down on to their own front lawn.
‘If only you Americans would mechanise your war effort like our Gert has,’ announced Rake, ‘we’d all be home a lot quicker.’
Across the Channel in London, a group of Canadians about to be dropped behind the lines in France were being briefed.
‘You’ll drop here,’ they were told and given a map reference. One of them looked it up on his Michelin map and then uttered a howl of disbelief.
‘But that bearing is clearly marked on the map as a château.’ A brief nod was his answer. ‘Well, who fixed that crazy field?’ demanded the irate Canadian. They told him.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘Nancy! Well that explains everything!’ He had trained with Nancy and nothing she could do would surprise him any longer. On the other hand, knowing her, he accepted her judgement and prepared himself cheerfully for his flight and the drop into France.
The Maquis held a small group of German prisoners in the forest of Tronçais. Now that the enemy had withdrawn from the area and the Allied armies were about to replace them, there was no longer any need to shoot such captives – in fact, Nancy went to considerable pains to ensure that they were handed over safely into American custody.
Also in the forest was a notorious collaborationist – an old woman whose record was a shameful one of betrayals and vicious hostility towards her own countrymen. The Maquis tracked her down and were a little disconcerted when she finally took refuge, of all places, up a tree. Nothing they could do would persuade her to come down. They were frightened to climb up after her because she had reached the highest branch already and she was too old, much as they hated her, to hound to her death.
Eventually, with the old dame still roosting up in her lofty nest, the Maquisards asked Nancy’s advice. Shrieking with laughter she gave it.
The Maquisards did what she said. They returned to the tree and, very deliberately, began to saw through the trunk. Spitting with rage the old lady came scurrying down to captivity.
A large group of the Milice had defected to the Maquis in the last days of their stay in the forest of Tronçais. These, with the addition of some other specially selected Maquisards who had volunteered for the job, were now being trained by Schley and Alsop as a crack force of demolition and small-arms experts. With their police backbone, this group turned out to be extremely smart in their formal military drilling, which is not a charge that could ever justifiably be levelled at the Maquis as a whole.
Whilst the Americans were thus occupied, Hubert and Denis were kept happily busy dealing with the purely military aspects of the cracking German occupation, which left Nancy more free to relax than she had ever been since 1939.
Relaxation was no longer an art which she possessed, however. Instead she seized the time available to her to visit Gaspard and Fournier and Laurent and was soon involved in one of their escapades.
There was a factory producing machine parts vital to the Germans in Gaspard’s area. Rather than allow it to contribute even one more ball-bearing to Hitler’s war effort, the Maquis decided to destroy it.
Contacts on the factory staff gave them all the details of vital installations and working shifts; reconnaissance revealed the enemy system of guarding the plant.
There were four gates into the factory – gates in a high wall. Each gate was guarded continuously by two German sentries who patrolled up a short stretch of the wall, each in an opposite direction, and then marched back again to the entrance.
The surrounding country was flat, with low scrub that reached to within ten yards of the wall. That ten yards had been completely cleared.
It was decided that the attack should be made in two waves against each entrance. The first wave was to silence all eight of the German sentries, the second was to immediately enter the factory through the unguarded gates, set the charges and then withdraw. Nancy was put in command of one of the groups in the first wave.
In the darkest part of the night they left their transport and crawled into the scrub. On their bellies they wormed their way forward. In half an hour, undetected, they had reached the cleared strip round the wall. Silently they edged their way down until they lay opposite their gate.
At this stage they must wait till the sentries met, about-turned and had taken their first few steps apart. Then they must run between them, overpower and silence both Germans simultaneously and then wave on the second team.
Quite still, Nancy and her three men lay and watched. Twice the Germans walked past on their beat, met, turned and walked it again. On the third occasion, four or five paces after they had parted, Nancy gave the signal. Four dark figures sprang across the cleared strip towards the backs of the unsuspecting sentries. They must do their job swiftly, surely and silently. There must be no shots and no shouts to disturb the other gates.
Nancy and her companions were within six feet of their victim and still he seemed unaware of their presence. She was glad of this because it meant that they need only knock him unconscious and he would suffer no more than a headache for his misfortune. But then he turned and saw her.
There was no time to think or to hesitate. Like a tiger she sprang and, as his mouth opened to shout, her forearm clamped under his jaw and snapped backwards. The dirty work she had always loathed in her training days had at last become not training but fact. There was a sharp click and the German slumped limply against her. Utterly revolted, she allowed the dead man to slide to the ground. At the same time she heard his colleague thud down. She waved on the demolition team and watched them sprint through the gateway, herself standing sickly against the wall.
She and her men guarded the gate against a surprise attack by the Germans whilst the others laid their bombs and explosives inside. Time after time she found herself wiping her hands on the side of her trousers, trying to remove the taint of violence. Her teeth were clenched so hard that they ached and her throat was dry. Then the demolition squad emerged and the whole party faded off into the night. They were halfway home to their camp when the factory blew up. Gaspard’s men were triumphant, but Nancy could still feel only the suddenly lifeless weight of the sentry’s body against hers, so that she was glad when she could leave them and return to her room at the château.
On 30 August 1944 it was Nancy’s twenty-seventh birthday, and for weeks the entire Maquis had been preparing to make it a historic event. Also, on 25 August, Paris had been liberated and this added passionate zeal to their plans for a celebration.
Food was brought in from all sides, and so was wine. A guest list was drawn up, added to, argued over and amended. Finally, invitations were issued for a midday banquet to be held on the thirtieth in the great hall of the château itself.
On the day, Nancy was escorted by all her officers to the steps of the château and there, in the courtyard, the Schley-Alsop crack force, augmented by hundreds of other Maquis enthusiasts, marched past her in the most exemplary manner.
She stood on the steps, bouquets in her arms, flanked by her officer colleagues, and took the salute from her Maquis. As soon as they emerged from the courtyard, they doubled around the other side and rejoined the rear of the column they had previously led. Apparently tens of thousands of men marched proudly past their Madame Andrée. Theirs was a most impressive display of military might. Bareheaded, clutching her flowers, smiling broadly, she accepted the tribute that was being paid her.
There were presents too. The Maquisards gave her a dozen silver ice-cream spoons. Schley and Alsop gave her six etchings. Denis gave her a large bottle of perfume.
‘Too strong to drink, Ducks.’ He grinned. ‘Many happies.’
From Tardivat there was linen, from Hubert a ring, from the Spaniards (who had no money at all) flowers, and from Mme Renard of Montluçon (the agent who had sheltered Bazooka) there were babas à rhum and Pavé de Venise – a deliciously rich pastry with cream – and eclairs.
She was very happy on that day – happy for France, for the victory that was now inevitable, for the tribute Frenchmen were paying a Briton, for the warm and generous camaraderie that, in the past months, had made life seem so wholesome and worthwhile to her. All the irritations and agonies of the past four years were expunged in the glowing companionship of that moment.
But better things were to come. Their display of martial might concluded, the entire group, plus their many guests, adjourned to the great hall. Tables had been set up, filling the entire chamber and so, with everyone seated, the banquet began.
After the meal there were toasts and, after the toasts, speeches. Everyone made speeches. It was Vive la France , Vive les Allies and Vive Madame Andrée – who, as far as the guests were concerned, was the epitome of all three. Then a little man who sat, almost ignored, at the end of the furthest table stood up and announced that he was glad everyone was having such a good time because he, in fact, was the owner of the château! After that everyone was very polite indeed to the little man.
Such was the happiest and most satisfying day of Nancy’s entire war.
News reached them that the Germans were about to evacuate Vichy.
Vichy was doubly significant to the Maquis. It represented both German Occupation and French collaboration by traitors like Laval, Petain and Darlan. At once Nancy led her group southwards to link up with Gaspard at Clermont-Ferrand and then to formally liberate the symbolic town.
At Clermont-Ferrand they discovered that Gaspard had already marched on Vichy. Post-haste they pursued him. And so they made their triumphant entry into the traitor capital.
Their reception was rapturous. ‘Not surprised,’ was Nancy’s sardonic comment. ‘Nine out of ten of them, to have lived here all this time, must be collaborateurs . They’re just delighted to see Allied officers in uniform ’cos they hope we’ll protect them from their own French boys.’
Whatev
er their motive, the inhabitants of Vichy certainly went mad. The roadway was flanked with cheering Frenchmen, flowers filled the Maquis cars, everyone was presented with garlands and bouquets and, when Nancy finally stopped, a thousand locals swarmed around her.
‘In here, Duckie,’ said Denis, with great presence of mind, and led her into a café. Five hundred shrieking Vichyites followed the party inside. Drinks were ordered, toasts were drunk.
They were just unloading their cars when a man, very tall and distinguished, approached them and introduced himself as the Swiss Ambassador.
‘I am giving a cocktail party tonight, Mme Andrée,’ he said. ‘I want you to come, you and your friends.’
Nancy looked uncomfortably down at her crumpled khaki slacks and her army boots. ‘Your Excellency,’ she stammered, ‘thank you very much but I can’t possibly. I’ve got no clothes. Look’ – she pointed at her boots – ‘these are all I’ve got.’
‘My dear, you must come,’ the Ambassador insisted, ‘the party is being given especially in your honour.’
‘But I couldn’t possibly. Well . . . just look at me, Excellency . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ he urged. ‘Come as you are. What you wear will become chic in Vichy. Please, Mme Andrée. This party is for you. Tomorrow I leave for Switzerland. I have been recalled.’
All her colleagues joined the Ambassador in his urgings so that eventually, reluctantly, she agreed. No sooner had the Ambassador departed than two elegantly dressed women walked by. They looked at Nancy, from her boots to her dishevelled hair, and then spoke loudly. ‘If that’s what women look like in uniform . . . Well, really!’
Hubert was furious. With difficulty Nancy persuaded him not to knock them down. ‘Hubert,’ she said, ‘I can’t go tonight. They’re quite right.’
‘You bloody well will go,’ he raged. ‘They’re quite wrong.’
She went to a hotel and sent her slacks to be cleaned and pressed. Then she wrapped herself in a blanket and went to the hairdressers where she had a shampoo and a facial. There was no power in Vichy so the Maquis rigged up batteries to work the electric dryer for her hair. She bought a new shirt and a pair of tan walking shoes. Finally, clean, smart, carefully made-up and wearing flowers bought for her by Denis, she marched with her brother officers to the Ambassador’s cocktail party in honour of herself. And at the reception one of the first people to whom his Excellency introduced her was the elegant woman who had been so outraged by her uniform earlier in the afternoon.
Nancy Wake: World War Two’s Most Rebellious Spy Page 22
