The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “All hell is going to break loose.”

  The artillery bombardment recommenced a few minutes later; the advance party was obviously in radio contact with their support. Shells burst amongst the trees and penetrated the rocks, and men shrieked in pain as they were hit. “We must withdraw,” Lucien said.

  “That is just what they want us to do. We have to stick it out.” Lucien gulped and nestled deeper into his rocks.

  The artillery bombardment was again maintained for five minutes, then it ceased and the Germans probed again. Once more they were halted by the sustained fire of the defenders but by now, there had been casualties amongst the guerillas, caused mainly by the shells exploding amidst them. James had to be concerned for Liane and Amalie, but the main part of the shooting was directed straight up the hill and, as his casualties were light, he had to presume they were similarly light on the far side of the valley.

  As the evening closed in, so did the mist. “This is the time they will come at us in force,” James told his men.

  But surprisingly they didn’t, and as darkness fell even the guns were silent, although shots were fired up the hill at regular intervals. “What do you think they are doing?” Lucian asked.

  “Waiting for tomorrow,” James suggested. “They’ll have something planned. What they don’t know is that tomorrow our reinforcements arrive. So sleep easy.”

  He saw that the men had their dinner, prepared by the villagers behind them, organized a watch system, told the sentries not to waste their ammunition in replying to the German sniping, then settled down for the night. It was a great temptation to leave Lucien in command and make his way round the defensive perimeter to find out if Liane was all right, but it had to be resisted. Were the Germans to launch a surprise attack in the darkness, and he not be here, it would be disastrous. Besides, as she had proved over and over again, Liane had a gift for survival.

  He was equally concerned about the weather, for as the night progressed the mist developed into fog. This was common enough. The question was, how soon would it burn off in the morning, to allow the American planes to get down? He slept and was awakened by Lucien’s fingers on his arm. He sat up, instinctively looking down the hill, but being unable to see more than fifty yards because of the fog.

  “Listen,” Lucien said.

  There was certainly a great deal of noise. “Aircraft!” Were the bombers back?

  “They are flying very low,” Lucien said. “It has to be the Americans. Do you think they will be able to land in this?”

  Hallelujah, James thought. “Major Lewis will have lit flares,” he said. “They’ll get down.”

  “Then we have won,” Lucien said.

  “Well, at least we know we aren’t going to lose.”

  There was not a sound from the valley beneath, as the sky slowly lightened, revealing the yellow mist wall only a few yards away. Obviously, the Germans had heard the drone of the planes as well and were waiting to see what would be the result. Was it possible to hope that they might withdraw altogether?

  The noise of the aircraft dwindled and then swelled again. “They are putting their people down and taking off,” James said.

  “What do we do, Major?” someone asked.

  “We wait, and hold, until they join us,” James said.

  The morning drifted on in almost uncanny calm. The sun rose higher, and the mist began to fade. It was ten o’clock when they suddenly heard a burst of firing from behind them. “What the shit?” Lucien asked.

  James was trying to think. The only possibility was that a small party of Germans had got through the perimeter somewhere but, if they had, they had done so without a shot being fired against them, at least until now. And he realized that this could not be a small party, for the firing was now general and widespread. A man stumbled through the trees. “Orders from Colonel Huet, Major. You must withdraw.”

  “Withdraw? We are to hold this opposition until relieved by the Americans.”

  “That is no longer possible, Major. The Boche are behind us in great strength.”

  “But those planes—” Lucien protested.

  “They were German transports, monsieur. They have landed on the airstrip and put down several thousand men.”

  “Aided by our flares,” James said bitterly and turned back to the valley. Because suddenly it was astir, as through the now-thinning mist he could make out the ranks of black-clad infantrymen advancing up the road. The temptation to disobey orders and engage was enormous; they could undoubtedly inflict tremendous casualties, but they would be committing suicide themselves, if there were substantial enemy forces behind them. On the other hand…

  “Where are we to retreat to?” he asked.

  “We must recapture the airstrip,” the messenger said. “If we do not do that immediately, we are destroyed. Colonel Huet requires all our forces to concentrate on that objective.” James nodded. “Tell the colonel we are on our way.”

  The messenger saluted and hurried off. “Are we not destroyed anyway?” Lucien asked.

  “Let’s get on with it,” James said. “Move out the machine-guns. We will need a rearguard. Fifty men. I will command it personally, but you hold it for the time being.”

  “I will do so. What about our wounded?”

  The greatest problem in any lost battle. “Those who can walk will come with us. Those who are too seriously hurt to walk we must leave in the village. I will arrange this now.” He went to see the priest. “We have been ordered to retreat, Monsieur l’Abbe. But we must leave our seriously wounded.” The priest nodded. “We will care for them.”

  “You understand that these are SS troops who will be coming up here.”

  “They are men, Major. And they will obey the laws of war.”

  “Ah… well, we must believe that.” He shook hands. “I will see you when we return. When we have secured the airstrip and our allies have joined us.” He had a quick word with the men he was leaving behind, encouraging them also to believe that theirs was a temporary separation from their comrades, and then joined Lucien and the fifty men of the rearguard. The Germans were still advancing very cautiously, taking cover whenever the guerillas returned fire. But from behind them the noise of battle was becoming ever louder.

  “Let’s go,” he told his men.

  The heavy weapons had been taken away, and they were down to their tommy-guns. Thus they were able to move at the double, passing through the village, watched by the sombre eyes of the women and the still-excited claps of the children. Beyond were woods through which the trail led, over uneven country but ground they knew well. James kept looking for signs of the other guerilla units but saw none, although he quickly enough caught up with his own people. They paused for a rest and a consideration of the situation, while he checked his map. They seemed to be surrounded by firing on every side, although not in combat themselves.

  “The airstrip is south-east of us,” he said. “But the heaviest gunfire is due east.”

  “Then that is where we are most needed,” Lucien said.

  “We will obey our orders,” James said. “The strip is only half a dozen kilometres away now. If it is only lightly held at this minute, we may be able to retake it on our own.”

  “Look there,” someone said. They looked back to the north, at the plumes of smoke rising into the still morning air.

  “The village,” Lucien said. “They have fired the village.”

  The guerillas looked at each other, remembering their comrades, the cheering children. “We must go back,” someone said.

  “We have our orders, and will obey them,” James told them. “Move out.”

  They followed him obediently enough, but he sensed that he was losing them. They were not professional soldiers, simply a mixture of fugitives and desperate men, with a considerable criminal element in their midst. Most of them were certainly patriotic, but equally a large number of them found the life they had lived for the past few years, essentially outside the law but wit
h the blessing of their countrymen, however tacit, at once stimulating and exciting. But none of them had ever fought a pitched battle before, and they were all intelligent enough to know that this battle was lost; they had never been taught the discipline that would keep them standing shoulder-to-shoulder to the bitter end. They needed to fight, and they needed to win, rapidly.

  And suddenly the moment was upon them. “Enemy,” someone shouted.

  “Take cover,” James replied. “Hold your fire.” They were only two kilometres from the airstrip, and there was a chance these might be Lewis’ people. But then he saw the black uniforms. “Open fire!” he bawled.

  The guerillas responded but their shooting was wild, their nerves, already in shreds, destroyed by this sudden confrontation. The Germans were not halted but ran forward behind a wall of fire that had men tumbling to and fro whether they were hurt or not. The majority dashed for the hoped security of the trees and ravines, pursued by the victorious enemy. For a moment, James almost rose to his feet, to at least die with honour, then he remembered that he did not yet know if Liane were alive or dead, and as long as there were a chance that she might have survived… He saw and heard booted feet smashing the undergrowth in front of him, behind a burst of automatic fire. Desperately, he rolled to his left, clutching his tommy-gun to his chest, and the ground disappeared For some seconds he had no idea where he was, stunned and winded by the fall. Then he realized that he had gone down some twelve feet into one of the narrow ravines that cut across the surface of the plateau. And the sound of firing had moved away. His command was destroyed. Now his only business was survival, until he could link up with some as yet undefeated guerillas… or Liane. He sat up and felt himself. He did not appear to have broken anything and, if he had lost his tommy-gun, he still had his revolver in its button-down holster. Painfully, he got to his feet and made his way along the ravine to where it was practical to climb out.

  Still the firing was all around him, but he did not feel that there was much point in trying either to rally any of his men or to continue towards the airstrip, so he set off to the east, where he could hope to encounter some of the other retreating guerillas. He had to dodge several groups of marauding Germans, who seemed to be all over the plateau, but continued on his way until he encountered a group of men hiding in a hollow, looking thoroughly scared and, distressingly, having discarded most of their weapons.

  “Who is your commander?” he asked.

  “We have no commander.”

  He could not afford to be irritated. “Then who was your commander.”

  “Mademoiselle de Gruchy.”

  James heartbeat quickened. “Where is she?”

  “I do not know, monsieur. We were retreating, and we encountered Germans and broke up.”

  Exactly what had happened to him, James thought. “But Mademoiselle de Gruchy, did she survive?”

  “We did not know, monsieur. It was all so confusing.”

  The thought of Liane captured, after so many years, was unbearable. “Where did this encounter take place?” They pointed to the north-east. “How far?”

  “About two kilometres.”

  James left them and made his way through the bushes, until he came upon several dead bodies. They were all guerillas, and there was no sign of any Germans. Indeed even the firing had died down, except for the occasional shot. The victory had been complete. But at least there was no dead woman to be seen. On the other hand, they would certainly have wanted to claim Liane alive if it were possible.

  His brain was spinning under a combination of so many emotions he could easily have supposed himself mad. Certainly, it was just about impossible to make a decision on what to do next. He was wearing uniform, and therefore technically he could surrender, although he doubted it would do him much good, as he had clearly been fighting with the guerillas. But he had no intention of surrendering, unless that was the only way of regaining contact with Liane. To watch her tortured and then hanged? He took a step to the north, as if he would go after her, then heard a sound and swung round, revolver thrust forward. And there she was.

  A moment later, she was in his arms. “James!” she said. “Oh, James!”

  She was weeping. He kissed her lips and then her eyes. “They massacred us,” she said. “All my people. Amalie…”

  “Amalie is dead?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, James, I don’t know. We were separated when we tried to retreat, and then we were overrun. I think I heard her voice, shouting, and them… James, we must find her.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  She gestured to the north. “Soon after we began to withdraw. I wanted to go back, but Gaston made me stay with my men. As he said, they were my men. I brought them here. I could not abandon them.”

  “Where is Gaston?”

  “Dead. I saw him go down. But Amalie…”

  “Is almost certainly dead also.”

  “I must know.”

  “And die yourself?”

  “What have I got to live for, James? All these brave men, who followed me so willingly… they were betrayed. I was betrayed. You were betrayed. Algiers said they would arm us and reinforce us. That we would be an army. So they sent us a few machine-guns. Now my sister is dead. As is my brother. I am done. The Resistance is done.”

  He held her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “You cannot be done. And as long as you are not done, the Resistance cannot be done. You are Liane de Gruchy. The Germans will certainly claim you are dead and the world will mourn. But when you appear again, alive and well and killing Germans, think what a blow that will be to the Reich, what a triumph that will be for the Resistance.”

  “I have no followers.”

  “You have me.”

  “Oh, James.” She hugged him.

  “What is more, we cannot possibly be the only survivors. We will find them or they will find us.”

  “And then what will we do?”

  “We will leave this place and strike at the Germans.”

  “Oh, James, you are a romantic. How can we leave this place?”

  “We will, somehow. Because you are Liane de Gruchy.”

  *

  The command car had climbed the steep, rutted road in low gear and now the radiator was boiling. “Well, stop the thing,” General Kirschner said. “And find some water. There must be some in that village.”

  The houses were still burning, as was the church. Dead bodies littered the street. Joanna, seated beside the general, swallowed; she felt sick. “Those are children.”

  “Some of them, yes,” Kirschner agreed. “Children are always a nuisance when one is trying to fight a battle.”

  Joanna opened her mouth and then closed it again, watching another command car bouncing towards them. It stopped and a colonel got out.

  “Ah, Mintner,” Kirschner said. “Report.”

  “The victory has been complete, Herr General. The enemy has suffered very heavy casualties and the survivors have been scattered.”

  “How many survivors?”

  “There cannot be more than fifty.”

  “But,” Joanna said, “it was estimated there were more than 3,000 guerillas.”

  “I believe that was so, Fraulein. As I said, they have suffered very heavy casualties. They are not all dead, of course. We have some prisoners…” He paused to look at the general. “Oh, give them to Bittner,” Kirschner said. “It is time he did something to earn his pay. He can also take over the eliminating of the rest of these rats. Our business is to be out of here as soon as possible. We are required in Normandy. See to it, Mintner. I wish us to be on our way by dawn tomorrow.”

  Mintner saluted. “I will attend to it, Herr General. Heil Hitler.”

  “Is there anything else you wish to see, Fraulein?”

  Joanna looked at the dead children a last time. “No, Herr General. I have seen enough.”

  “Then we will return to Grenoble. I trust you will report the success of my operation to Reichsfu
ehrer Himmler?”

  “I will do that, Herr General. Down to the last murdered child.”

  He glared at her and she smiled at him. But she knew her words would be empty as far as Himmler was concerned.

  *

  “She has not been found,” Roess said, walking up and down the Gestapo office. He had just returned from a brief tour of the Vercours, taking care to keep well away from any potentially dangerous places. “But she must be there somewhere.”

  “She is almost certainly dead,” Captain List asserted. “Lying in a ditch or a ravine, somewhere.”

  “Then she must be found.”

  “There are still pockets of resistance. As soon as they are all reduced—”

  “For God’s sake, List, it is three days since General Kirschner smashed these vermin and took away his men. He estimated that there were not more than fifty left alive. And we have been unable to complete the job?” He glared at General Bittner.

  “My men are doing the best they can,” Bittner protested. “It is very difficult country. Small groups of men hiding in those caves and ravines are very difficult to locate, much less winkle out. General Kirschner had the easy part, meeting them on open ground.”

  “He also had the Waffen SS, which you do not.”

  “Isn’t it possible that General Kirschner underestimated the number of survivors?” Joanna asked, quietly. There had been no report of a British officer’s body being found either. Could it possibly be that Liane and James might both have survived?

  “What a fuck-up.”

  “On the other hand,” Bittner said, “the SS took several prisoners, who they turned over to my people. They might be able to shed some light on the situation, tell us where the survivors are most likely to be hiding.”

  Roess snapped his fingers. “Excellent. Kirschner promised to give them to me. Have them brought—”

  “I have Reichsfuehrer Himmler on the line, Herr General.” The secretary hovered in the doorway. “He wishes to speak with Colonel Roess.”