The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “A matter of weeks, it seems.”

  “Are we fighting on the same side? Jules, use the radio and inform Algiers what is happening. Now we must make haste.”

  *

  Liane’s group, now reinforced to sixty men, was already assembled. They had only tommy-guns and rifles, which had been taken with an ample supply of ammunition from the munitions dump in Grenoble before it was destroyed. They could thus travel fairly quickly, but it was several kilometres to the head of the path, and the morning was well advanced before they reached a position overlooking their objective.

  They had spoken little on the march, every one being preoccupied with their own thoughts, principally about their betrayal. Now Liane asked, “What is our plan?”

  “We must close that track.”

  Liane levelled the binoculars. “There is steady movement.”

  “And there is a post,” Amalie added.

  James studied the position. The path dipped steeply into a ravine between sheltering walls of rock, so that only the head was visible. It was also very narrow and allowed only two men abreast to come up at a time, which meant that it could be controlled by a handful of men, if adequately armed and sufficiently resolute. Apart from the fact that no one outside of the Vercours was supposed to know of the path’s existence, the fact that the guard seemed to have been overcome so easily again indicated treachery.

  But however difficult and limited of access, the Germans had used it well. From the west, there came the rattle of small-arms fire, with some deeper booms to suggest mortars, while below them, as Liane and Amalie had pointed out, not only was there a steady stream of men emerging, being formed in a company before being marched off, but also a machine-gun post established amidst the rocks.

  James surveyed the assembling company. There were some eighty men, now being marshalled by a couple of officers and NCOs.

  “We must seal it,” Liane said.

  “After that lot have left.”

  “But there are more coming up all the time.”

  “Two at a time. The odds will still be better in ten minutes. Right now we’re up against two to one and they are better armed. We mustn’t sacrifice our people unnecessarily.” Liane made a face but would not question his estimation of the situation. “However,” he said, “take twenty men and work round to the east. Try not to make any noise. And remember, no shots are to be fired until I shoot. Then open up on the path head. And move in. But carefully.” She nodded and crawled off to collect her command. “You’d better go with her,” he told Amalie.

  “I would rather stay with you.”

  He considered; but it was his intention to lead the main assault, with the risk of the highest casualties. “You will go with Lucien.”

  “Where? Why? You’ re trying to protect me.”

  “I am making what I consider the best disposition of my forces, and you will obey orders. Now, Lucien, take twenty men and Amalie and work round to the west. Your orders are the same as Liane’s. Your target is to support my group, but once the machine-guns are silenced you move on to seal the path. Again, remember, there is to be no firing until I give the signal.”

  Lucian nodded and went to his men, followed by Amalie. The remaining twenty clustered behind James, who continued to study the machine-gun post and the ground before it. Like almost everywhere else in the Vercours it was broken, with trees and shrubs offering concealment, but it was a good hundred yards to the post and they would not make it unnoticed in broad daylight; yet it had to be done. And the time was now. The company was marching off and already another dozen soldiers had emerged on to the upper ground. “Start moving,” he told his men. “We advance without shooting until we are noticed. When that happens, we rush it. Use your grenades first.”

  He glanced around at their faces; they all looked determined enough, even if they must know that casualties were going to be high. “Let’s go.”

  He crawled forward, moving from cover to cover. More men slowly emerged from the path, but there were still no more than twenty. The squad had covered half the distance when one of the machine-gunners suddenly shouted and pointed. But he was not looking at him, James realized.

  “Go!” he yelled, rising to his feet and drawing the pin from his first grenade. At fifty yards, there was no point in waiting the required four seconds. He hurled the bomb and followed it immediately with another, then charged forward, his men behind him, still seeking what shelter they could from the trees without allowing them to impede their progress.

  Now the machine-guns opened up, as did the rifles of those men outside the path, and there were several shrieks from either side. But now too both Liane’s and Lucien’s squads went into action, charging forward behind flying grenades and chattering tommy-guns. To James’ alarm, the standing soldiers turned away and rushed at Lucien’s people, who were between them and regaining the hopeful safety of the path. But he could do nothing to help them; the machine-guns continue to fire, but now the Germans realized that they were virtually surrounded and were moving their weapons to and fro.

  James covered the remaining fifty yards in under ten seconds and was up to the hastily erected earthworks surrounding the post when he tripped and landed on his hands and knees. He supposed that saved his life, for he looked up at the barrel of a machine-gun immediately above his head as it swung back towards where he had been. The gunner looked down at him, realized that he could not sufficiently depress his weapon, and released it to draw his pistol. James pulled the pin from his last grenade and threw it. There was no time to count, but it struck the German in the face and he fell backwards, clutching at the bomb; before he could regain his balance it exploded, blowing off both his arms and most of his head.

  James swallowed, scrambled to his feet and leapt over the earthwork wall, tommy-gun levelled. But the defenders were all dead or too badly wounded to continue. His own people were assembling beside him, but there were only twelve out of the original twenty. He looked at the path head and saw fluttering blonde hair to his great relief. Liane’s people were still firing down the ravine, so the Germans had not given up their intention of gaining the plateau. But Lucien’s squad had disintegrated, scattered by the fury of the German charge, and it seemed certain that several of the enemy had reached safety. Hastily, he checked the machine-guns. One had been hit by an exploding grenade and was inoperable but the other, the one he had assaulted, was still in working order. “Carry that to the head of the path,” he said. Lucien arrived. “Casualties?”

  “Three men hit. None dead.”

  “I have had several. Find them all and tend their wounds.”

  Lucian hurried off and James followed the machine-gun to the head of the path, where Liane and her men were still firing into the ravine. “They are keeping their heads down now,” Liane said. “Have we gained a victory?”

  “Here we have, certainly,” he agreed. “Place the gun here,” he told his men. “How many people will you need to hold this?”

  “With that machine-gun?” Liane asked. “Is there ammunition?”

  “Enough for a couple of hours, if they rush you.” Three of the men were bringing the various spare belts, taken from the second gun as well.

  “Leave me my twenty. And you?”

  “The rest of us had better get over to the main battle.” There were still sounds of gunfire from the west.

  She nodded. “Just be careful. And leave Amalie with me.”

  “Amalie!” He looked over his shoulder.

  “Here I am,” Amalie said, emerging from the trees. “We beat the hell out of them, didn’t we?”

  “This time,” Liane said. “But they’ll be back.”

  Lucien arrived. “Four are dead, five are wounded, two seriously.”

  “And the Germans?”

  “Twenty dead.”

  “And wounded?”

  He gave a crooked smile. “There are no wounded. But there is another dead body, over there. Philipe Chartrin.”

  Both Li
ane and James swung to face him and spoke together. “Philipe?”

  Lucien led them to where the body lay, in the wood to the left of the path head. Philipe was on his back, and he had his face blown away. But there was no weapon to be seen. “He was fighting for the Germans?” James asked.

  “No, no, Major. He was with the Germans, but he was not fighting for them.” Lucien dug his toe in the dead ribs and rolled him over. “A single shot in the back of the head. I think he showed them this path, and he must have distracted the guard, to allow the Boche to overcome them. Then, as he was no more use to them, they shot him.”

  “You mean he betrayed us?” Liane asked, speaking very quietly. “He is responsible for this?”

  “I think that is so, mademoiselle.”

  Liane also used her toe to roll Philipe on to his back again. Then she drew her pistol and shot him twice in the groin.

  Eight

  The Battle

  Joanna stood at the window of Gestapo Headquarters beside Roess to watch the soldiers stumble back into the city. It was the first time she had actually seen beaten men returning from battle, and she was surprised at how shattered they looked, in such strong comparison to the smart, efficient and, above all, totally confident men who had marched out a few hours previously. These men shambled and their heads drooped. Even their officers looked shaken. “What in the name of God can have happened?” Roess demanded.

  “Looks like they got a bloody nose,” Joanna said and added mischievously. “I think you should have gone with them, Herr Colonel. Shown them how to fight.”

  He glared at her, then snapped his fingers. “Fetch my car,” he told the waiting orderly. “We must get over to headquarters immediately.” The orderly hurried from the room. “And you,” Roess barked at a woman secretary. “Get me Berlin. Put the call through to General Bittner’s office.”

  “What can Berlin do about it?” Joanna inquired. “Don’t you think they have their hands full with this Normandy business?”

  “Bah. Himmler promised me whatever I needed to finish this job. Well, I know what I need. A division of the Waffen SS and a squadron of heavy bombers. These Wehrmacht people have no stomach for a fight.”

  “You don’t know what actually happened up there,” Joanna pointed out.

  “I have eyes, haven’t I? We sent 5,000 professional soldiers into the Vercours. And they couldn’t do the job. Bittner will have to explain why.”

  “I told you we did not have sufficient men,” General Bittner complained.

  “You outnumbered the terrorists by virtually two to one. You had mortars and heavy machine-guns—”

  “But they controlled the roads. One determined man with a rifle, concealed and protected, can always stop ten in the open, however well armed they are. A hundred well-led men can stop a thousand.”

  “I did not come here for a mathematics lesson, Herr General. You had the means to get behind the defenders. Or did that swine Chartrin betray you?”

  “No, no. He took my people up the path and then distracted the sentries so that they could be overrun. But one at least got away. We had got about two hundred men up the path, then there was a counter-attack and the ravine was sealed.”

  “Just like that?”

  “These people are organized. They were led by a British army officer, and by that blonde-haired devil Liane de Gruchy.”

  “A British army officer?” Roess looked at Joanna.

  James, she thought. It has to be James! Fighting alongside Liane! Oh to be with them. “He must be someone parachuted in to take command,” she suggested.

  “What a fuck-up. Where is Chartrin now?”

  “Dead,” Bittner said.

  “They shot him?”

  “Not the guerillas, although I suppose they would have had they captured him. No, once the field commander realized he was being attacked in force and would have to withdraw, he shot him.”

  “What a fuck-up. Well…”

  “I have Reichsfuehrer Himmler on the line, sir,” the secretary said. “For Colonel Roess.”

  “Now,” Roess said, “we shall get something done.”

  *

  “Well, say, Colonel,” said Major Lewis, “you guys sure have made a swell job of this.”

  There were actually eight Americans disembarking from the Dakota on to the new airstrip. The aircraft was being feverishly unloaded by the guerillas, as it had to be off again before it could be spotted by a roving German machine, but not all the new arrivals were looking as pleased as their commanding officer.

  “It is kind of you to say so,” Huet acknowledged. “May I present my second-in-command, Major Barron of the British SIS.”

  Lewis shook hands. “I heard you guys were involved. Say, that’s easy on the eye.”

  “That is Mademoiselle Liane de Gruchy,” Huet explained and waited expectantly. But the American had obviously never heard of the legend or even of Gruchy wine.

  “She working with you?” Liane was out of earshot, superintending the unloading.

  “You could put it that way, yes.”

  “And there’s another one!”

  “Mademoiselle de Gruchy’s sister, Amalie.”

  “Well, I have to say, Colonel, you guys sure know how to fight a war. Any chance of an intro?”

  Huet looked at James, eyebrows arched. “If you play your cards right, Major,” James said. “But it had better keep. Liane doesn’t like being interrupted.”

  It was Lewis’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “If you gentlemen will come with me,” Huet said, “I’ll show you to your quarters.” The encampment of huts was situated some distance from the airstrip, in a sheltered gully to protect it from air strikes.

  “Come on, guys,” Lewis said, and his men picked up their knapsacks. “And maybe you’ll put us in the picture. There don’t seem too much Kraut activity.”

  “There has not been much activity for three weeks,” Huet told him. “Reconnaissance flyovers, some bombing… nothing big. I expect this is because there is so much going on elsewhere.”

  “But they did try to get at you back in June, right?”

  Huet nodded. “And damn near got in. But we held them. We expected them to come again, but they haven’t.”

  “So you can bring us up to date on what’s happening,” James suggested.

  “Well, you guys have finally taken Caen, so it looks as if we’re at last gonna get out of Normandy. It’s been one hell of a slog. Those guys can fight.”

  “Tell us about it. So what exactly are you chaps here to do?”

  “Well, your situation is that the plans are being drawn up to get you going.”

  “Weren’t those plans made months ago?”

  “Sure, so they say. But you know what it’s like when the brass starts to tinker. It’s change this, cut that, increase that… they’ll get around to it.”

  “Wheren, do you suppose?”

  “Well, heck, it’ll have to be soon, or the shooting will be done before you guys get any action. Right?”

  Huet winked at James and opened the door of the hut. “This will be your quarters. The latrines are just down the road and there is a shower available.”

  “Sounds great. Tell me, those two little chicks got one of these?”

  “They have accommodation, yes.”

  “And are they… well… do they date? When they’re not working?”

  Again Huet looked at James, allowing him to handle it. “There is a question I need to ask you, Major,” James said. “How many men have you killed in this war? I mean personally.”

  “Well, shit, killing people isn’t my business, buster.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To advise you guys on guerilla procedures, defence—” Now Huet laughed. “I say something funny?” Lewis inquired.

  “I’m sure you didn’t intend to be funny, Major,” James said. “But just to put you in the picture, and so you don’t make any mistakes, those two ‘chicks’ you find so attractive have, b
etween them, killed over a thousand German soldiers. That includes something like fifty in what might be termed eyeball-to-eyeball conflict.”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “Well, don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  *

  “Those Americans spent the entire evening staring at me,” Liane said as they undressed after dinner.

  “Well, you’re worth staring at, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I don’t think it was lust.”

  “By no means. I would describe it as sheer fright.”

  She slid beneath the blanket beside him. “What is he doing here, anyway?”

  “You will not believe this, but he has come to teach us how to wage guerilla warfare.”

  “Big joke. Does he know when the reinforcements will arrive?”

  “That’s the bad news. He thinks it may be a few weeks yet.”

  “God,” she said. “What is keeping them? We have been here for eight months doing fuck-all.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t altogether agree with that. Blowing up an ammunition dump, repelling a German attack—”

  “But now they have decided to ignore us and we are doing nothing, while the biggest battle of all is raging. Suppose they just leave us here to rot?”

  James kissed her. “Somehow, my dearest girl, I don’t think they are going to do that.”

  *

  “At last,” Johann Roess said. “What do you think of this, Fraulein?”

  Joanna got up from the breakfast table to join him at the window. They had spent so much time together over the preceding three weeks that they had almost become friends. Almost. He could be quite pleasant company, if she could avoid his eyes, which roamed over her face and body with such desperate longing; and the longing was not for any response from her, but for the possession of her, and not in any normally lustful sense, she knew. His idea of possession was that of the chain and the whip, his idea of pleasure that of a woman screaming in agony.

  And then there was Oradour! She would never forget Oradour. And she intended to see that the world never forgot it, either, whenever this madhouse into which she had voluntarily plunged was finally destroyed. That was coming closer every day now. As long as the invading Allies had been pinned down in Normandy, the Germans could have had some hopes of hurling them back into the sea. But now that Caen had finally fallen, the road to the interior of France, to Paris, had been prised open. And Franz was there, somewhere, trying to keep that door closed. Of course, he was on the staff and would not be exposed to actual fighting, but his mood had to be one of despair as he saw everything he considered of value ripped apart.