The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “I have no idea. Down to this recent outrage I have been content that they should be there, because I knew where they were and they were causing no trouble.”

  “They are there to cause trouble, Herr General. This prisoner you took. Have you still got him?”

  “Of course I still have him.”

  “And is he still capable of answering questions?” Joanna asked.

  Bittner shot her a nervous glance. “He has answered all of my questions.”

  “But you do not seem to have asked him the important ones, Herr General,” Roess said. “We will interrogate this fellow.”

  “Interrogate? You mean…” Bittner swallowed. “He has been entirely co-operative.”

  “And I am sure he will continue to be so. Has he been seen by the Gestapo?”

  “Seen? Ah, no. They wished to have him, but I refused their request.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I regard him as a prisoner-of-war.”

  “With respect, Herr General, how can a guerilla – which means by definition that he is an outlaw and an enemy of the Reich, and who, in addition, has been captured in an act of destruction against the Reich – be considered a prisoner of war? On the authority given to me by Reichsfuehrer Himmler, I wish this man delivered to the local Gestapo Headquarters immediately. My colleague and I will interview him there.”

  Bittner swallowed. “Wheren am I to move against the Vercours?”

  “Wheren we have heard what this man has to say. But you may start making your preparations now. How many men do you command?”

  “I have a brigade here in Grenoble; say three thousand men.”

  “I was told you had a division.”

  “I do. But that is to control the whole area.”

  “Well, the garrison here should be sufficient to deal with a thousand terrorists. But I will confirm this after I have spoken with this man.” Roess stood up. “Heil Hitler!”

  Bittner acknowledged the salute. “May I ask, what is the estimation of the Reichsfuehrer of this large-scale raid by the Allies in Normandy?”

  “That it is a large-scale raid, which will be dealt with.”

  *

  “That man is not fit to command,” Roess remarked as he and Joanna were driven to Gestapo Headquarters.

  “But he has you to stiffen his back,” Joanna pointed out.

  He glanced at her, correctly suspecting sarcasm. “Are you looking forward to interrogating this man?”

  “No.”

  “Because you have not the stomach for that.”

  “That is quite correct, Herr Colonel. I am not ashamed to admit it. Rather I would be ashamed to admit that, like you, I enjoyed it.”

  “But you will be present. That is an order.”

  Joanna sighed. “I will be present, Herr Colonel.”

  It was a short drive to the small building occupied by the local Gestapo, but even so they could see the devastation caused by the exploding munitions dump. “Must have been some bang,” Joanna remarked.

  “It is criminal, placing a munitions dump within a city,” Roess grumbled.

  The car stopped and he stamped into the building, saluted by the usual group of secretaries, all highly nervous at this unexpected visit by their most famous commander.

  “Herr Colonel,” said Captain List. “Welcome to Grenoble.” He looked at Joanna, eyebrows arched.

  “My assistant, Fraulein Jonsson. Has the prisoner arrived yet?”

  “Not as yet, Herr Colonel.”

  “Well, telephone Wehrmacht Headquarters and find out where he is. You have an interrogation room?”

  “Of course, Herr Colonel.”

  “Show it to us. And make that phone call.”

  Philipe arrived a few minutes later. By then, Roess had thoroughly inspected the underground chamber, grunting his disapproval. Joanna sat in a chair. Having been forced to watch his interrogation of Moulin, she knew she was in for a thoroughly unpleasant time. She would have to shut her mind to what she was going to see and hear, and hope that the man would not scream too loudly.

  She remained far more concerned about Liane. There could be no doubt that she was within a few miles of her, having taken refuge in an apparently impenetrable part of the country. Like Roess, she wanted to know why. If, Liane having established herself there, it seemed logical for her to have raided Grenoble, that still did not indicate any reason for her being there in the first place; there was no other possible target in the vicinity. While now she appeared to be cornered, supposing the Germans could bring sufficient forces to bear, and they seemed determined to do that.

  Supposing they could bring sufficient forces to bear. If this landing in Normandy were the invasion at last… She was no strategist, but she did know that while both Franz and his boss, Rommel, had beefed up the defences in Normandy, they had concentrated most of their efforts in the Pas de Calais, where only twenty miles separated France from England.

  Franz had told her that Rommel’s calculations were that any invasion could not possibly gain a toe-hold, much less create a bridgehead, with less than two hundred thousand men, who would first of all have to be ferried across the water and then maintained, and not only with food and munitions, but with all the requirements of modem warfare, principally fuel for their tanks and vehicles. They had considered that might just be possible over a twenty-mile stretch of water; if the Allies felt that it could be done over three times that distance, the implications for their overwhelming strength were startling.

  And frightening? Only to the supporters of Nazidom. What was frightening was that those who did not support the regime, but were obliged to fight for it, would have to suffer and die in a vain attempt to prevent the Allied victory. If ever there were a time for the conspirators to act, it had to be now. And she could do nothing either to encourage them or to help them; she was stuck down here having to supervise the destruction of her dearest friend!

  Feet clattered in the corridor, and the prisoner was marched in by two uniformed agents. To Joanna’s relief, she did not recognize him – there was always the risk of some old acquaintance showing up – but he was unfortunately attractive as a man, tall and thin, with a not unhandsome hatchet face, lank black hair and lively dark eyes. He was dressed in shirt and trousers and moved without any visible handicap, as might have resulted from a severe beating.

  Nor was he at this moment particularly afraid, even when confronted by Roess; he obviously had no idea who the little man was.

  “Your name?” Roess asked.

  “Philipe Chartrin.”

  “You are a member of the terrorist band that recently attacked this city?”

  “Yes.” He continued to speak boldly.

  “You understand that you have committed a capital offence?”

  “I was fighting for France.”

  “You were committing an act of terror, for which you are going to be hanged.”

  Philipe’s cheeks paled. “I must be tried.”

  “You must be nothing that I do not decree. You will be hanged, slowly. There will be no trapdoor, no drop. You will be hoisted from the floor by your neck, while your bowels open and your prick stands up straight.” Philipe licked his lips and glanced at Joanna. “But you may even enjoy it,” Roess said. “Because before that happens, we are going to make you hate the day you were born. The Fraulein will make you do that. She is good at making men hate the day they were born. It is her hobby.”

  Philipe opened his mouth as if he would have spoken, and then closed it again. Roess went behind the desk and sat down.

  “However,” he said, “it may be possible for you to avoid all of that. If you tell us everything that we wish to know, it could come down to a single shot in the back of the head, and you would know nothing more. No pain, no fear. I would think carefully about this.”

  Philipe drew a deep breath. “I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

  “That is very sensible of you. Now, Philipe Chartrin, where do you
come from?”

  “I…” The question had taken him by surprise. “I come from the south-west.”

  “You will need to be more accurate than that. Would it be from the Massif Central?” Philipe stared at him, clearly trying to decide whether to lie or not. “You know,” Roess said, “for a man who has just promised to tell me anything I wish to know, you are not being very co-operative. Put him on the frame.”

  The guards grasped Philipe’s arms and he gasped. “I am sorry. For a moment I could not think. Yes, I come from the Massif.”

  Roess jerked his head and the guards pulled Philipe to the wooden X frame set against the wall and extended his arms outwards and upwards, securing his wrists to the shackles that hung there. “I am telling the truth,” he shouted.

  “I know that you are telling the truth,” Roess agreed. “But you need to be a little more prompt.” Another nod, and Philipe’s legs were pulled apart to allow his ankles also to be shackled, to the lower arms of the X frame. “What do you do there?” Roess asked.

  “I am a farmer.”

  “Are you, now? How old are you?”

  “I am twenty-three.”

  “That is too young to own a farm.”

  “Well, my—” he bit his lip.

  “I see. Your father owns the farm. His name?”

  “Charles Chartrin.”

  “Make a note of that, Joanna.” Joanna wrote the name in her notebook. “And of course you have a mother. What is her name?”

  “Odile.” Joanna wrote it down.

  “And the names of your brothers and sisters?”

  “I have no brothers.”

  “But you have a sister. What is her name?”

  “Gabrielle.” Joanna wrote it down.

  “Gabrielle,” Roess said. “What a pretty name. Is she a pretty girl?”

  “I think so.”

  “How nice. Well, Philipe, I am going to hang her as well, together with your mother and father.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said nothing, except that it might be possible to mitigate your execution. But the same thing might be possible for your parents and your pretty sister. So you came all the way from the Massif to join the terrorists in the Vercours. You were recruited. Was this by Liane de Gruchy?” Philipe stared at him. “Very well,” Roess said. “Remove his trousers.”

  “Yes,” Philipe gasped. “I was recruited by Liane.”

  One of the guards removed his belt, tore open his flies and then ripped the trousers to drag them down to his knees, then did the same to his pants. “How many of you were there?”

  Philipe panted, afraid to look at Joanna as he reacted to his situation. “There were forty of us.”

  “All to go to the Vercours. Where you linked up with… how many others?”

  “I do not know. There are a lot of us.”

  “More than a 1,000?”

  “I think so.”

  “More than 2,000? 3,000?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “And these are all commanded by Liane de Gruchy?”

  “No, no. She only commands her own action group.”

  “Then who is in command?”

  “Colonel Huet.”

  Roess looked at Joanna, who considered for a moment, then shook her head. She had genuinely never heard the name before. “It sounds like a military rank,” she suggested.

  “Yes, it does. So, we have what could be a regular officer commanding a force of as much as three thousand men, only a few miles away. This could turn out to be a serious business. But the question is why? These men have voluntarily bottled themselves up in this remote area. The only way they can move in any numbers, or receive adequate supplies, is via the roads leading out to the north. That is on our doorstep. They may be able to block those roads to prevent us getting through in any strength, but we can surely block them to prevent them from getting out in any strength. So what are they doing there? You are going to have to tell us that, my friend, or I am going to burn your prick right off.” He lit a cigarette.

  “I will tell you,” Philipe gabbled. “It is to attack you, in great strength, the moment the invasion starts.”

  Roess and Joanna exchanged glances. “The guerillas are going to attack us, in great strength,” Roess said. “3000 men?”

  “No, no,” Philipe said. “Once the airstrip is completed—”

  “What did you say? They have an airstrip?”

  “They are building one. That is why they are there in such numbers. To build the strip and then defend it, while men and munitions are flown in from Corsica.”

  “My God!” Roess said. Joanna felt like putting down her notebook to clap her hands. “You are lying,” Roess said. “Our planes have overflown that area regularly and have seen no sign of an airstrip.”

  “They work all night and then camouflage what they have done.”

  Roess stared at him for several seconds. Then he said, “And when will this airstrip be completed?”

  “Any day now. They are just about finished. They are only waiting for the Allies to invade.”

  “And you know where it is situated?”

  “Oh, yes. I have worked on it.”

  Roess took a map of the area from his briefcase. “Show me.”

  The guards released Philipe, who hastily dragged up his pants as he was thrust at the desk. He leant over the map. “It is here.”

  Roess gave him a pencil. “Mark it.” Philipe did so. “Thank you,” Roess said. “Well, I think you have given us all the information we need. He has been very co-operative. Take him outside and shoot him.” He picked up the telephone on the desk. “Give me General Bittner.”

  “Wait!” Philipe screamed as he was dragged to the door. “Listen. There is a secret way in. It is the way we used to get out and attack Grenoble. It is a path not marked on the map.”

  Again, Roess stared at him. “It can be used by tanks?”

  “I do not think so. But a body of men could traverse it.”

  “Is it not guarded?”

  “Yes. But only by one, or at most two, men at a time. I will lead you and get you past them.”

  Another long stare. Then Roess said, “Put him in a cell until we need him.” He turned back to the phone. “Herr General? Roess. It appears that this situation may be more serious than we first supposed. I would like you to make arrangements for an immediate assault on the Vercours with all available men.”

  “My dear Roess, that is quite impossible. These things take time to organize. I have to call in replacements for the garrison and make up a tactical plan, and—”

  “How long will you need?”

  “I would say a week.”

  “A week? My God! Very well, Herr General. The very moment you can move.” He thumbed the phone. “Put me through to Berlin. A person-to-person call to Reichsfuehrer Himmler.”

  *

  The guerilla captains crowded round the radio. “Can it be true?” Amalie asked. “Can it really be true?”

  “The code is correct,” Huet said, “it has to be true.”

  “Then where are the reinforcements from Algiers?” Gaston asked. Everyone looked at James.

  “They know the strip is complete,” Liane said.

  “I’ll get on the radio again,” James said. “Perhaps they are also waiting to be sure the news from Normandy is correct.”

  “Oh, to be there!” Amalie said. “Killing the Boche!”

  “You’ll have your chance,” Huet assured her. The colonel had grown quite fond of the over-emotional young woman during the past months.

  James got on the radio to Algiers. “Yes, the news is correct,” he was told. “The Allies have landed in force in the Bay of the Seine and have established a large bridgehead. There is heavy fighting going on and the situation is still unclear, but it is not expected that there will be any withdrawal.”

  “Then surely now is the time for us to strike, here in the heart of France?”

  “That would be desirable
,” the impersonal voice said. “Unfortunately, there has been a problem with the planning, and the matter has had to be put back. Only briefly, it is hoped. We are sending you a large drop of munitions and some technicians to prepare the airstrip for the arrival of heavy forces. It should not be long now. Over and out.”

  James regarded the set with frustration.

  “What does that gobbledegook mean?” Liane asked.

  “It means that some other general has got a bee in his bonnet and has persuaded Giraud and de Gaulle that his plan is more viable than this one.”

  “Then we are wasting our time.”

  “Not if I can help it. I’m going to get on to the brigadier and see what strings he can pull. But it does mean that we are on our own for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Well,” she said, “we have been on our own for the past six months. And if they really are sending us a big drop—”

  They both sprang up as there was the blast of a bugle. “What the shit—”

  “That is the alarm call,” James snapped.

  A man burst into the hut. “Quick, quick!” he shouted. “The Boche! They are in the Vercours!”

  Liane and James looked at each other. “That cannot be possible,” she said.

  They picked up their tommy-guns and went outside to find men assembling from every part of the encampment. “They seem to have got up the secret path,” Huet said.

  “But how? No one knows of that path, save—” Liane bit her lip.

  “Yes,” he agreed grimly. “We have been betrayed. But we are not done yet. It would seem that only a company or so came up that path, overpowering the sentries. Now they have turned back to attack the villages and open the roads for their main body. But the garrison there are still holding out, and we must relieve them and retake the path. Liane, you and James take your people and do that. I will relieve the village. Captain Didrich, just in case they break through, you must hold the airstrip. James, did you get though to Algiers?”

  “I did. There has been a delay. But they are sending us a drop and some technicians.”

  “I am sure they will be most helpful,” Huet remarked sarcastically. “What sort of a delay?”