The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “Did he have time to make a call?” she asked.

  The man lay on the floor, the telephone still held in his left hand, the receiver in his right. “I think he tried,” Philipe said. “But I do not think he had the time to speak to anyone.”

  Liane knelt beside the corpse, took the receiver from its hand and listened. There was no sound. “If he got through, even for a second,” she said, “and was then cut off, it will have alerted the other end that something is wrong.”

  “They could be miles away.”

  “Or they could be in the next village. We must hurry.”

  “I am sorry. That other guard came upon us by surprise.”

  “There is nothing to be sorry about. No operation ever went entirely as planned. Now go and fetch Amalie. There is no time to lose.” She summoned Gaston. “What are our casualties?”

  “Only one. Dufour.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “His thigh is shattered. He cannot move and he is in severe pain. I have given him morphine.”

  “But he cannot move, and we cannot carry him. I do not know enough about this man. Where does he come from?”

  “He is from my village.”

  “I am so sorry. Tell me of him.”

  “He is twenty-four years old. Unmarried.”

  “That is something. Is he an only son?”

  “No. There are two other brothers.”

  “Will you tell them?” Gaston nodded.

  “Well, then.” She knelt beside the stricken man, illuminated by the flames from the burning barracks. He was conscious and able to focus, but was obviously in great pain; from the waist down his trousers were soaked with blood. “You understand that we cannot carry you with us.”

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  “And that if the Germans capture you alive, they will torture you to death?”

  Another muttered, “Yes.”

  Liane felt in her haversack and took out one of her cyanide capsules. “This will end your pain in ten seconds. Remember that you are dying for France.”

  He caught her hand. “Will we win, mademoiselle?”

  “We will win, and your name will be remembered.” She stood straight and saluted him and looked at Gaston.

  “I will stay by him,” Gaston said.

  She nodded and joined Louis. “Do I shoot these bastards?” he asked.

  “No. I think they are more useful to our cause alive than dead.” She went up to the frightened people. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. They gaped at her. “My name is Liane de Gruchy.” They gasped. “I see you have heard of me. Well, now you have met me. When the Germans come, tell them who did this.”

  Amalie had arrived, carrying her knapsack. “I will come with you,” Philipe offered.

  Liane shook her head. “You will all stay here and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “We need a plan of the mine,” Amalie said.

  “In the office.”

  They found the plan easily enough, and Amalie studied it for several minutes. Then she said, “It is very simple. We will place the explosives here, here, here and here. These are the principal supporting timbers. When they blow, the entire mine will collapse.”

  “How long will it take to dig it out again?” Liane asked.

  “A few months, at least. Then,” Amalie said with a giggle, “we will come back and blow it up again.”

  *

  It took them several days to regain the Massif, although it appeared that the clerk in the office had not been able to make any connection, and thus the assault was only discovered when one of the overseers walked to the next village, which was ten miles away. By then the guerilla band had split up and was some twenty miles away, each member making their separate ways home. Within twenty-four hours, a massive hunt had been launched, with planes flying low overhead and groups of soldiers accompanied by dogs scouring the countryside.

  Liane had no means of knowing how the other groups were faring, but she kept her own, which consisted of Amalie, Philipe and Gaston, under tight control, moving only at night and only after a careful reconnaissance of the country in front of them. Fortunately, as they had looted the mine’s kitchens and larders before leaving, there was no necessity for them to approach any village or farm to secure sustenance, and so they needed to take no risks, and indeed spent thirty-six hours on one occasion hidden in a culvert while the Germans moved overhead and to either side.

  They were naturally in a state of high exhilaration, certainly the men. Liane was indeed very glad that both Philipe and Gaston had accompanied her, because she knew of their desire for her, and they offset each other. She also remembered that she had virtually promised a sexual reward to Philipe and was happy to be able to postpone the implementation of that promise until they had regained the farm, and the calming company of his parents and Jean. After all the excesses of her youth, and even more of her recent career, she actually had no desire to have sex with any man, save James. Perhaps, she thought, I am growing old. Certainly there could be no doubt that she was on occasion very tired. As now. It was not a physical tiredness; the life she lived had made her as highly tuned as any professional athlete. It was a mental exhaustion, not caused by the planning she needed to make, the dangers in which she existed, but by the sheer horror of what she was required to do, so against her innate nature, and the ruthlessness with which she carried out those requirements. It was as if she had a split personality; one half that of a woman, the other that of an avenging angel, neither of which she could entirely control. So, she had personally destroyed upwards of twenty men, left their bodies bloody mangled messes, just as she had arrogantly displayed herself to the overseers and their wives, making sure the Germans knew who was tormenting them yet again, daring them to do their worst. And now regretted it? That was not true in real terms. She regretted the situation that was forcing her to do things like that, just as she regretted what had happened to Dufour. And always there was the threat of afterwards.

  But the immediate afterwards came first. “What happens now?” Amalie asked as they sat in a gully, having eaten the last of their food, waiting for darkness.

  “We will get home tonight,” Philipe told her. “The farm is only five kilometres away.”

  “But what then?”

  They all looked at Liane. “We report the success of our mission to James and wait until he has another job for us.”

  “James, always James,” Philipe sneered. “He sends us to our deaths while he sits behind a desk in London.”

  “He has fought with us,” Amalie said angrily.

  “And will do so again,” Liane said quietly.

  “It is time,” Gaston said. “Will I see you again, mademoiselle?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wheren the English wish you to risk you neck again,” Philipe said.

  Gaston ignored him. “I will look forward to that, mademoiselle.” He embraced her and then Amalie, shook hands with Philipe and strode off into the darkness.

  “There is a brave man,” Amalie said. Philipe snorted.

  “We should move as well.” Liane got up, and they followed her into the gloom. It took them two hours to see the lights of the farmhouse. Then the others would have broken into a run but Liane restrained them, and they made their approach as cautiously as they had done everything else. They had almost reached the wall before Rufus barked.

  “Whist,” Philipe called, and the dog, recognizing his master’s voice, rubbed against the gate and then jumped up to put his paws on the young man’s chest as he pushed the gate in.

  “Who is there?” Charles Chartrin called from the kitchen doorway.

  “It is Philipe.”

  “Philipe? Oh, thank God! Who is that with you?”

  “Mademoiselle Liane and Madame Burstein.”

  “May God be praised.” The farmer came into the yard to embrace them. “I had not thought to see you again, any of you.”

  “You worry too much,” Liane told him.
/>   “But it has been terrible. So terrible.”

  “Terrible?” Liane suddenly felt as if she had a lump of lead in her stomach. “What has happened? Monsieur Moulin is ill?

  “Monsieur Moulin is gone,” Charles blurted out. “He has been taken by the Gestapo.”

  PART TWO

  The Longest Wait

  Warder – warder! Open quickly! Man – is this a time to wait?

  William Edmundstoune Aytoun

  Four

  The Plot

  For a moment, Liane could only stare at Charles in horror; Amalie and Philipe seemed equally struck dumb. Then she recovered sufficiently to ask, “Wheren did this happen?”

  “Three days after you left. He went into Aumont as usual. And the Gestapo were waiting for him.”

  “The Gestapo from Lyons?”

  “Gabrielle thinks they were from Paris. Or even Berlin itself.”

  “Gabrielle was there? But she was not arrested?”

  “She was not actually with him when he was taken. There was no connection between them. She saw what happened and came home to tell us.”

  They went inside, where Odile embraced them with stricken silence. Gabrielle was in more control of herself but even more than a week after the event was still clearly frightened. Liane took her into the parlour and sat beside her. Amalie and Philipe stood around them. “I want to know exactly what happened. You and Monsieur Moulin went into town and…?”

  “I had some shopping to do for Mama. Monsieur Moulin went straight to the bar; he wished to speak with Monsieur Vlabon. When I had finished my shopping, I went to the bar. There was a crowd outside and a lot of shouting, and a lot of men in uniform. I think they were Milice Fran?ais. Then I saw Monsieur Moulin brought out—”

  “Who brought him out? Plainclothes men?”

  “No, no. They wore black uniforms.” Liane and Amalie gazed at each other in consternation. Gabrielle went on. “One of them was a high-ranking officer… I heard one of his people address him. He called him something like Weiss.”

  “You mean Roess?”

  “That is it. Roess.”

  “Roess,” Amalie muttered. “He arrested me in Dieppe in 1940.”

  “He was only a captain then,” Liane reminded her. “Now he is a colonel. And to think I once had him at my mercy and did not kill him. What a fool I am.” Rufus rested his head on her lap. “If someone like Roess came here to arrest Jean, then he knew where to find him.”

  “They also asked after you. Well, not after you by name. Bu they knew that Monsieur Moulin was sometimes accompanied by a woman, and they asked Monsieur Vlabon if he knew who this woman was.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he did not know.”

  Charles poured wine and passed the glasses round. “Who has betrayed us?” Amalie asked.

  “You say this happened three days after we left?” Liane asked. “That is nine days ago. If we had been betrayed they would have been here by now.”

  “And when they torture Monsieur Moulin?” Philipe asked.

  “Oh, that poor man,” Amalie said. “After all he has been through.”

  “Yes,” Liane said. “But he will never betray us, no matter what they do to him. The question is, who betrayed him! Have you been into Aumont recently, Charles?”

  “I was there four days ago. After Gabrielle told us what had happened, I felt I had to find out what I could.”

  “Were the Gestapo still there? Or the Milice?”

  “No, but there are a great many German soldiers there now, checking passes, making themselves a nuisance. But I saw no men in black uniforms.”

  “And so you spoke with Vlabon. He must have had some idea of how it happened? Why it happened?”

  “He does not know. But here is a strange thing. That woman he had serving behind the bar, Juliette Dugard, she has disappeared. Do you remember her, mademoiselle?”

  “Yes, vaguely. You mean she was arrested too?”

  “They believe so. Two men went to her lodging in the middle of the night and took her away. She has not been heard of since. But this was two days before Monsieur Moulin’s arrest.”

  “Then she must have known who he was. But how? And how did the Germans know she knew?”

  “Vlabon does not think it was she who betrayed Monsieur Moulin. He thinks it was the other woman.”

  “What other woman?”

  “There was a woman with the Gestapo colonel. Vlabon describes her as very tall and well built, with blonde hair and handsome features.”

  Line stared at him, and then looked at Amalie again. Amalie opened her mouth, but Liane gave a quick shake of the head. “You say this woman was with Roess? And she identified Monsieur Moulin?”

  “Vlabon did not say she identified him. She was just there. But he says he is certain, from the way they looked at each other, that they knew each other.”

  For a moment, Liane sat still. Joanna certainly knew Jean, and he knew her, from before the War. And given Joanna’s peculiar and uncertain position in Germany it was entirely possible that she might have been required to accompany Roess on this mission, but that she would ever betray the prefect was inconceivable. In fact, her presence suggested a ray of hope, that she might be able to save his life as she had once saved the life of James’ sidekick, Rachel Cartwright. But that could be only a dream. The reality was that the head of the Resistance was gone. They might have achieved a triumph at the mine, but that ranked as nothing compared with the catastrophe that had overtaken the movement.

  “We must call London,” she said.

  *

  “Are you saying he told you nothing? Nothing at all?” Himmler was incredulous. “What did you do to him?”

  “Everything we could think of, Herr Reichsfuehrer,” Roess said.

  Himmler looked at Joanna, also seated before his desk. “Were you present?”

  “Some of the time. He made me be present.”

  Himmler looked at Roess. “Fraulein Jonsson was sent as my assistant. I thought it best that she should be present.”

  “It was quite sickening,” Joanna said. “I knew this man. We had been acquaintances before the War.”

  “It is a beastly business,” Himmler said sympathetically. “But sometimes we have to do beastly things. And you did your duty. I am proud of you. Were you present when he died?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “How did it happen, Roess?”

  “I do not know, Herr Reichsfuehrer. I believe his heart was not as strong as the doctor who examined him said. He had been screaming in agony while we—”

  Himmler held up a finger. “I do not wish the details.”

  “Very good, sir. But as I was saying, he was screaming, and then suddenly he made a choking sound and was quiet. I immediately called the doctor to examine him. But he pronounced him dead.”

  “So this whole thing has turned out to be a fiasco.”

  “Sir? There can be no doubt that Moulin is, was, a most important member of the Resistance. We have some evidence that he was its commander on the ground. Without him the Resistance may well crumble.”

  “If you believe that, Roess, you are a fool.” Roess flushed. “The Resistance is a self-perpetuating myth,” Himmler declared. “It feeds on its own achievements, its own legends. The legend we wanted, the legend we must have, is Liane de Gruchy. And what was she doing while you were arresting Moulin? She was blowing up a vitally important mine. What is more, at virtually the same time six more wolfram mines were attacked throughout France. These simultaneous strikes could not have been orchestrated by Moulin, tucked away in the Massif Central. The Resistance is, and always was, controlled from London. That is an obvious fact. I can tell you that the Fuehrer is very angry. So tell me where Liane de Gruchy is now? Tell me that.”

  “If I knew that, sir…”

  “But you do not know that. You are a policeman, Roess. It is your business to know things, or to find things out. What about this woman who claimed to have
seen de Gruchy with Moulin in her bar? What has she got to say for herself?”

  “Madame Dugard is dead, Herr Reichsfuehrer.”

  “Not another unexpected heart attack?”

  Roess looked at Joanna. “I killed her,” Joanna said quietly.

  Himmler stared at her. “You… killed her?”

  “I was interrogating her and she suddenly attacked me. I had not considered her dangerous. But before I knew what was happening she had got hold of my pistol and was clearly about to shoot me, so I used my knife.”

  “Good heavens! You actually stabbed her?”

  “Well, what was I to do?”

  “Absolutely. There was nothing else you could do. But it must have been a terrible experience for you.”

  “The situation should not have arisen in the first place,” Roess remarked. “Fraulein Jonsson insisted upon interviewing the woman alone—”

  “I felt I would get more out of her as one woman to another than a lot of men brandishing whips. And I did get one very important piece of information.”

  “Concerning de Gruchy?” Himmler was eager.

  “Yes, sir. I got her to describe Liane for me. As a result I have no doubt that she was utterly mistaken. She described a woman who was blonde and handsome, certainly, but these facts are well known. She also said she was as tall as I and strongly built. Liane de Gruchy is five feet four inches tall and slight.”

  “Good heavens! Well, it seems that we have been hoodwinked yet again. This damned woman is like a will o’ the wisp. You will have to start all over again. Keep me informed.”

  Roess opened his mouth and then closed it again. He glanced at Joanna, realized that she had not been dismissed, and stood up. “Heil Hitler!”

  *

  “But that is brilliant, James,” the brigadier said. “Great work. My best congratulations.”

  “I would say that the congratulations should be directed at the guerillas.”

  “Well, of course. But you set it up. There’s no question that their claim is genuine?”

  “If Mademoiselle de Gruchy says they destroyed the mine, then they destroyed the mine.”