by Robert Rigby
The Frenchman, short and stocky, with a bright red face and a bulging beer gut, watched in silence as the soldiers swiftly and efficiently lifted the steel container into the back of the lorry and climbed in.
Then the Frenchman and the German officer got into the cab, the engine rumbled into life and the lorry moved off across the flat expanse of the Plateau de Sault in the direction of the small town of Bélesta.
In the back, the Brandenburgers were working quickly. First they removed their jumpsuits. Beneath them, two wore the uniforms of French gendarmes; the others were dressed like farm workers.
In the cab, the officer was also removing his jumpsuit, to reveal another gendarme uniform.
The driver smiled, nodding his approval. “Very convincing.”
“Of course it’s convincing,” the officer said quickly. “It’s genuine. You have our car ready?”
“It’s in a barn, back at the wood yard. Along with my own vehicle.”
“And this lorry?”
“It belongs to my two friends at the yard.”
“You’re certain they can be trusted?”
“Oh, yes. They’re simple lads, but trustworthy; they’ll do exactly as they’re told and keep their mouths shut. Times are hard, so for them it’s a chance to make a little extra. It’s different for me, of course, a matter of principle, and I’m honoured to meet you.”
The officer ignored the ingratiating comment. “Tell me about the car.”
The Frenchman grinned. “It was easy enough to arrange, through a friend in Toulouse. You’d think the police would look after their vehicles more carefully, wouldn’t you? The fuel to run it is another matter; not so easy to come by since rationing.”
“But you’re being paid to make sure we have fuel, and anything else we need, come to that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining,” the Frenchman said quickly. He smiled again and wiped the back of one hand across his stubby, bent nose. “I’m very happy with the financial arrangements, and I have a contact who gets me fuel. He can get almost anything.”
“Then you are fortunate.”
“But for me it’s not just the money. I’m doing it for the cause. For us.”
The officer slowly turned his head to stare at the driver. “Us?”
“Yes, us,” the driver said, nodding his head vigorously. “I may be French, but I’m a Nazi like you, and I believe in the same things as you do.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes, most certainly. Heil Hitler!”
As he spoke, the Frenchman lifted his right hand from the steering wheel and attempted a German salute, but the flat glass windscreen prevented him from fully extending his arm, making the gesture look ridiculous.
The officer made no attempt to disguise his contempt. “To many of your countrymen you’d be considered a traitor. In the north they are already sending tiny wooden coffins marked with a cross to suspected collaborators.”
If the Frenchman was perturbed by the German’s comment he didn’t let it show. “I’ve heard of that. Wooden coffins or little drawings; like kids’. They’re misguided fools. They’ll learn in time.”
“You think so? Well, let me make this clear: I’m German, but I am not a Nazi. I’m a soldier doing my duty for my country, and that’s all.”
“I understand, of course, but—”
“Then understand this,” the officer interrupted, giving the Frenchman no option but to hold his tongue. “I’ll work with you because, unfortunately, we need people like you.” He paused, then his voice hardened. “But don’t ever describe you and me as us.”
The Frenchman said nothing more.
The vehicle had moved off the plateau and was on the stretch of road dropping down through the forest of Bélesta. After ten minutes the driver turned off onto a mud track, which meandered for more than a kilometre through rows of giant silver fir trees. The dim headlights picked out stacks of cut logs dotted along the fringes of the track and then illuminated a large wood-built house.
There was a sudden, quick movement in the darkness, and the headlights briefly lit up the black eyes of a snarling dog, tethered on a long chain.
“The barn’s at the back,” the Frenchman said, ignoring the dog and driving past the house into a wide yard with a barn at the far side.
Two men stood waiting by the back door of the house.
“Pull up here,” the officer ordered. “We’ll unload our equipment and then I’ll take a look at the car.”
The driver brought the lorry to a standstill, got out and went to the waiting men, who were in their mid-twenties. They stood watching while the German soldiers swiftly carried clothes, light weapons, a radio transmitter and other equipment into the farmhouse – and even cartons of cigarettes and slabs of wrapped chocolate.
The dog was still barking angrily.
“Can’t you shut that thing up?” the German officer said to one of the younger men.
“No need; there’s no one to hear. And he’ll stop barking when he gets fed up.”
The officer nodded and was about to go into the house when he stopped and studied the two young Frenchmen standing side by side. It was like seeing double. They were twins, big and strong-looking, and even in the dull yellow light spilling from one window and the open door it was obvious that they were identical. The officer made no comment; he simply looked from one face to the other before nodding again and going inside.
“He’s a miserable sod,” the lorry driver said quietly to the twins. “And ungrateful. No appreciation of what we’re doing for him, or of the risks we’re taking.”
The twins exchanged a look, apparently sharing the same thought. “Doesn’t worry Eddie and me, we’re only in it for the money,” one of them said. “And so as long as they keep paying, they can be as miserable as they like. When do we get the final payment?”
“The big payment,” his brother added with a grin.
“When it’s all over,” the older man said. “Before they leave.” He glanced through the window into the house. “They’re a tough lot, though, these Brandenburgers. They say every one of them carries a suicide pill in case he’s captured behind enemy lines.”
“They’re not behind enemy lines,” the twin called Eddie said. “We’re not at war with anyone in the Free Zone.”
“But they can’t just drop in on us,” the older man insisted, “not according to the new laws. This must be important, and I’d like to know why.”
“So ask them.”
“Maybe I will.”
Eddie smiled. “Come on inside, we’ll make coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three Frenchman and six Germans sat on a variety of unmatched chairs and benches around a huge, scrubbed wooden table, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Old oil lamps, belching as much smoke as flame, made the air dense and fuggy.
Outside, the dog continued to bark.
The German officer looked at one of the twins. “You said that animal would stop barking.”
The twin smiled. “It was my brother, Gilbert, who told you that. I’m Eddie, the good-looking one, and the younger one.”
“By ten minutes,” Gilbert chipped in.
“And the fact is,” Eddie continued, “the dog always barks when there are strangers around. That’s what he’s here for. But don’t worry, he’s on a chain.”
“A long chain,” Gilbert said.
The German officer ignored the attempt to lighten the mood as he looked from one twin to the other. They really were identical. Above average height, broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark, curly hair and square faces.
“You live alone here?” the officer asked.
“Just us and our barking dog,” Eddie said, still smiling.
“And the horse,” his brother added.
“Oh, yes,” Eddie said. “And the horse. He helps us shift the logs.”
“And he’s a lot more use to me than you are,” the older twin laughed, thumping his younger brother on th
e arm.
“Look, can we get on?” the man who had driven the lorry said impatiently. “I must get back to Lavelanet. I have to work in the morning and I start early.”
“We’ll go over the details and you can leave,” the officer told him. “Is the target still at the address you’ve given us?”
The Frenchman nodded. “He’s been living there for six months or more.”
“And there’s no indication that he suspects he’s being watched?”
“None. I’ve been careful.”
“I’ll take a look tomorrow.”
“You want me to show you the way?”
The officer shook his head. “We have maps of the town and the area.” He turned to the twins. “But I’d like one of you to go back to the plateau with two of my men. They need to fix the best place for our plane to land for the pick-up.”
“Don’t bother with that,” the older Frenchman said. “The best place is exactly where you landed. That’s why I chose it.”
“We’ll make sure of that for ourselves,” the officer said. “In daylight. And we’ll take the target the day after tomorrow, early morning.” He stood up. “So unless you are unclear on anything, my men and I would like to get some rest.”
The Frenchman took a long drag at his cigarette and then stubbed it out. “There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Why all this urgency? Why not let the real gendarmes arrest him? He’d be in your hands soon enough, anyway. They’d hold him here for a while and then shift him up to the Occupied Zone, or even to Germany. Not that the twins and I are complaining, of course; we’re happy to do our bit.”
“Yes, I can see that,” the German replied. “And as far as your question is concerned, all you need to know is that he’s important to us – extremely important. And we want him. Now. Does that satisfy you?”
“Oh, perfectly, sir,” the Frenchman said, his smile of earlier returning. “Perfectly.”
THREE
Day Two
Josette Mazet did not look happy. Her dark eyes were narrowed and her lips were clamped tight. She was fighting to stop herself from flying into one of her famous rages and was just about managing to keep her mouth shut. Just about.
Her father, Henri, sat behind his desk, one finger rhythmically stroking his bushy moustache as he considered what Paul had just told him.
Paul looked at Henri, waiting for his response, while Didier leaned against the closed door. It was important that no one outside the office heard what was being discussed, even though the thunderous noise from the looms down on the factory floor would make any words spoken in the room inaudible to anyone in the corridor. But it was best and safest to be certain.
Henri sighed and then nodded to Paul. “Of course, I’ll start making enquiries. It may take a little while, but I’m sure we can get you across the mountains before too long. And we’ll be sure to make a better job of it this time.”
“Thank you, Henri,” Paul said. “You know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Josette could no longer stay silent. “Oh, that’s kind of you,” she said angrily. “Why didn’t you say something before? Or even last night when you got back from Didier’s?”
Paul had lived with Henri Mazet and his family since arriving in Lavelanet the previous year. “It was late,” he said. “And … and I didn’t want to upset your mother.”
“My mother! What about Papa? What about me?”
“Well, all of you. I knew it would come as a bit of a shock.”
“Oh, you’re right about that, it is a shock! So is that why you were too cowardly to come out and tell us before now? Is that it?”
“Josette!” Henri said.
“No, Papa,” Josette continued furiously. “It is cowardly of him to say nothing until the very last minute.”
Paul took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm and not be drawn into an argument with Josette. He was far from a coward. Twice in the previous year he had fought bravely, for his own life and for the lives of his friends. But when Josette was in one of her rages his bravery somehow seemed to disappear. “I’m sorry, Josette,” he said quietly, “but I wasn’t sure myself until a couple of days ago. And you’re right; I should have told you then. But I’ve told you now, and I’ll say it once more so there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind: I do want to leave Lavelanet and try to get to England. And I’m…”
“Oh, well, thank you for letting us know! At last!” Josette snarled, unwilling to listen to any further words of explanation. “And you will be sure to let us know when you change your mind again, won’t you!”
She sprang up from her chair, sending it crashing to the floor as she marched quickly towards the door.
Didier was in her way. He considered saying something, but when he saw her furious glare, swiftly changed his mind and stepped aside. Josette wrenched open the door and stormed out, slamming it so hard that the glass in the office windows shuddered.
Paul looked at Henri, who shrugged and gave him a slight smile. “She’ll be all right when she calms down.”
“I’ll go after her,” Didier said, picking up the chair and setting it by Josette’s desk. “You don’t need me here.”
He winked reassuringly at Paul and left the room, closing the door much more quietly than Josette had.
Henri stared at the young man facing him. He had changed in the past few months, grown up – perhaps too quickly, but that was hardly surprising after what he’d been through. He’d become more confident, assertive and, it now appeared, decisive. “Now, Paul, are you quite certain about your decision?”
“Yes, Henri,” Paul replied without hesitation. “I’m absolutely certain.” He felt himself relaxing; the tension that had been building suddenly eased now that he had finally admitted to himself and everyone else that he wanted and needed to leave Lavelanet. The long, hard winter and the surrounding mountains had somehow combined to make him feel trapped, hemmed in. Now that would change, but so would the relationships he had built with all those he had grown so close to over the past months – particularly Josette.
Paul was getting used to change, and yet before the war and despite his complicated family background – he was part English, part French and part Belgian – his life had been so simple. His father had been an important civil engineer, specializing in the modernization and rebuilding of all the largest harbours and docks in Europe, including those in Germany.
And while Edward Hansen and his wife, Clarisse, criss-crossed Europe, Paul attended an English boarding school until the age of fourteen. Then, when his parents eventually settled in Antwerp, Belgium, Paul joined them.
Even when war came, with the Germans occupying the whole of northern Europe, Paul had still somehow felt that it wasn’t really affecting him too seriously: his life carried on largely as it had before.
But his comfortable existence was shattered in a single brutal moment when he saw his father shot and killed by German soldiers. That same day his mother was arrested and taken away by the Nazis. No word had been heard of her since.
The following day, Paul had begun his journey across Belgium and down through France for the attempt to escape to freedom across the Pyrenees. Only then did he learn that his father had not only been leading the Resistance movement in Antwerp, he had also operated as a spy for the Allies, making detailed plans of the German harbours and their defences.
And although Edward Hansen had been dead for more than six months, the plans he had made were still in existence. Somewhere.
Paul was deep in thought, reliving his escape from Belgium, thinking about his mother and father and the times they had shared. Suddenly a new thought flashed into his mind as he remembered a conversation with his father about a hiding place, a perfect hiding place.
“Oh!” Paul gasped. “Of course!”
He looked across at Henri, who was staring at him. “What is it, Paul? Is there something else you want to tell me?”
Paul n
odded. “Yes, there is, Henri. And I think it’s important, very important. It’s about my father.”
FOUR
It was a bright, warm spring morning; the sun blazed proudly in a sky of deep, almost unnatural blue.
Josette sat on the café terrace staring at an untouched cup of coffee. Didier sat opposite her, waiting for the outburst, which he suspected would arrive at any moment.
He had followed Josette to the café after being informed by the factory foreman, Marcel Castelnaud, that she had thundered down the stairs and swept out of the building without a word to anyone.
“Looked to be in one of her tempers, so I didn’t say anything,” Marcel had told him.
Didier took a guess at where Josette might have gone to collect her thoughts, and he was right. It was a café they went to quite often, usually with Paul.
He took a seat, ordered a coffee for himself and waited. The coffee arrived; Didier took a sip, replaced the cup on the saucer and then waited some more.
“I brought him here,” Josette said at last, without looking at Didier, “when he first came to Lavelanet. I hadn’t been very friendly until then, so I brought him here to talk. And that was the first time I … I realized that I did like him … a bit. I shouldn’t have bothered being so nice.”
Didier expected Josette to continue, but she fell into a brooding silence.
“Your coffee’s getting cold.”
“I don’t care about the coffee,” Josette snapped. “I don’t want it.”
Didier smiled sympathetically. “It’s always been a bit stormy between you two, hasn’t it? And anyway, I’ve been telling you for months that I’m the one for you. You should have accepted that long ago.” He laughed. “Look, I know you like Paul too, but face up to it, Josette, you and I were made for each other.”
Despite her anger, Josette couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She’d known Didier for most of her life and she liked him a lot. But when he’d spoken of his feelings for her the previous year, she’d told him she wasn’t interested in a boyfriend – any boyfriend.
Her brother, Venant, had been killed fighting for his country just a few months earlier, and then all Josette had wanted was to be part of the Resistance movement, to fight back against the Germans.
