“Bicycle,” my uncle responded.
Each new person to arrive was greeted with the code word green and answered with bicycle.
Mack was told to stand behind us until the plane was on the ground. My uncle asked me to translate, and I repeated his words exactly so that Maman would not get suspicious.
“Wait until they’ve unloaded the cargo and then you climb on,” I said. “You must be fast. You’ll only have a few seconds.”
Mack winked at me. “Gotcha.”
I leaned forward and whispered to Maman. “Stay close to Mack,” I said.
She didn’t question me but only nodded. Did she suspect?
We waited and waited. I began to think the plane wasn’t coming after all. I heard a dog bark, and then other dogs joined in. Were they part of a German patrol? Had we been betrayed? No one else seemed to be concerned, and eventually the dogs quieted down. The next thing I heard was the distant drone of a plane. It was coming!
It got closer and closer. The roar of the engine was so loud I was afraid it would draw the entire German army to us. My uncle gave the signal and we rushed out onto the field with our flashlights. I stumbled and nearly dropped mine, but I made it to the edge of the landing strip. We stood in two straight lines.
When the plane was just above us, Uncle Henri flashed a Morse code signal with his light. The plane blinked a response.
“Lights,” Uncle Henri said.
We shined our flashlights up into the sky, creating an L-shaped path for the plane.
The plane tilted sharply and came back toward us. It was just below the tree line when the pilot turned on his landing lights. The plane—a Lysander—touched down and bounced along our path. It took every ounce of courage I had not to drop my flashlight and run. I was sure the plane was coming right toward me. Instead it came to a stop next to Uncle Henri.
“Lights,” Uncle Henri said again, and we turned off our flashlights.
The pilot turned off his landing lights and we were plunged into darkness again. In the light of the moon I saw people climb out of the plane. Then the two spies who were returning to England scrambled up the ladder. Uncle Henri stepped aside and motioned for Mack to follow them. This was when our secret plan kicked into place. Mack picked up Charlotte and walked to the plane. Maman ran after him, as I knew she would.
I saw the look of surprise on the pilot’s face when Mack set Charlotte down on the edge of the plane and shoved Maman up the ladder. Then I saw the stricken look on Maman’s face when I stepped back into the darkness, making it clear that I was not joining her.
“No!” she screamed, reaching out for me. She moved as if to jump off the edge of the plane but there wasn’t time. The engine roared to life and the plane began to rumble across the field. In the darkness I saw someone grab her arm and pull her back.
I had thought about it and thought about it, but there was no way I could have gotten on that plane with them. Together, Maman and Charlotte would take up the space of one man. There wouldn’t be room on the plane for me. Besides, I was the reason that Mack was going to have to take his chances crossing the Pyrenees instead of flying back to England. I had to make sure he got to Spain—and into British hands—safely.
I stood there listening until I couldn’t hear it anymore. An owl hooted in the stillness, and then Uncle Henri and Mack pulled me toward the trees.
The other résistants had already disappeared into the night. I had waited too long. It was dangerous.
The trees blocked the moonlight, and I was glad that Uncle Henri and Mack couldn’t see my tears. I was already lonely for Maman and Charlotte. Soon they would be with Papa in England. Georges—if he was still alive—was in Germany. And I was alone in France. Would I ever see my family again?
I wanted to run, to put as much distance between us and the landing strip as possible, but Uncle Henri put a hand on my arm. “Slow and steady. Nothing suspicious.” He glared at Mack and then at me. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Étienne Michaud
Uncle Henri led Mack and me down the road. In the distance we heard a motor cough to life. Uncle Henri held his hand up for us to stop while he listened. One car on the road after curfew could be the doctor. Two or more meant Germans. My stomach filled with dread when another engine started, and then another.
“Quickly,” Uncle Henri whispered. “Quickly.”
The engines grew louder. We ran by the side of the road, ready to drop to the ground and hide when they got close. Uncle Henri led us underneath a small bridge. We crouched in the stream below while three German trucks crossed overhead. They stopped not too far away.
The patrol jumped from the trucks and called to each other in German while they searched the field. Our feet were soaked. Mack shivered in the cold water, and I worried he would get sick again. Suddenly we heard a shot. I tried to stand, ready to run, and hit my head on the low bridge. Uncle Henri winced at the noise and motioned me to crouch again.
Someone shouted and then we heard laughter and what sounded like teasing. Uncle Henri put his hand over his head and wiggled his fingers. A soldier must have shot at a rabbit and missed. A few minutes later, they got back into their trucks and drove off. We waited for a good five minutes, all three of us shivering now, and then jogged the rest of the way to the farm where I was supposed to hide with Maman and Charlotte.
Uncle Henri’s friends, a man of about sixty and his wife, opened their door to an American man and a French boy instead of a mother and two children. Their clothes were old and patched, and the woman kept wrapping her hands in her apron, but they didn’t let on how frightened they must have been to have an enemy pilot in their home. They greeted us warmly.
Uncle Henri was less pleased. “What were you thinking?” he asked.
“Maman and Charlotte will be safe,” I said. “They’ll be with Papa in England. Mack understands. He’s willing to take the risk.”
“I couldn’t get on a plane knowing that Madame Durand and her daughter were in danger,” Mack said.
I translated for him.
Uncle Henri shook his head. “And what is your plan now? A boy wanted by the Gestapo and an American pilot. You’ll be shot on sight if you’re caught. And anyone who helps you.”
“I know the danger,” I said. “I’m going to find a way to get Mack to the Pyrenees. I’ll go with him to England. We’ll set off in the morning. I’ll take my chances with my identity card.”
“Bah!” Uncle Henri said. “You won’t leave until I can get you the false papers I promised.” Then he put his hands on my face and pulled me to him, staring into my eyes. “When did you get to be such a man?” he asked.
I shrugged, secretly pleased at his words.
Mack looked from my uncle to me and waited for an explanation. “How much trouble are you in?” he asked.
“Some, but Uncle Henri knows deep down that we did the right thing. As soon as he can get those false papers for me, we’ll leave for Spain. Tonight we’ll stay here. Tomorrow, I don’t know.”
The farmer and his wife led us to the table and we had a simple meal. Then Uncle Henri slipped out into the night. “I’ll be back when I have some news,” he said.
• • •
Mack and I spent the next week or more in an underground cellar. I lost track of days in the dark. Mack and I told each other the plots of our favorite movies to pass the time. The farmer’s wife brought us food when she could.
Finally, Uncle Henri arrived with a new student identity card. I had a ration card too. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the daylight, but I saw that the forgeries were perfect. My new name was Étienne Michaud. I memorized it, along with my new birthday. I was pleased to see that Étienne was fourteen, instead of thirteen. He was born in Bordeaux, the first stop on our
journey to the Pyrenees.
Uncle Henri waggled his finger. “The Nazis paid me a visit,” he said with a chuckle. “They were full of questions about your cousins in Orléans.”
The concierge must have handed over the postcard. “Was there trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t know anything about your cousins in Orléans. I believe they are distant relations of your maman,” Uncle Henri said with a wink. “How could I help them find you?”
“My plan worked,” I said.
Uncle Henri nodded. “But they’ll keep looking. The longer you stay here, the more likely you are to get caught. I’ve found some people who can do what you need,” he said.
We looked at Mack’s silk map while he explained our route.
“You’ll take the train to Paris tomorrow—Sunday—and then transfer to a night train to Bordeaux. Take the local train, not the express. The boches are watching closely, but most of their checks take place on the express trains.”
I translated for Mack.
“You and your friend have the same new last name,” Uncle Henri pointed out. “You are father and son. Traveling to Bordeaux to visit family.”
“Okay,” I said. “What next?”
“You will arrive at Bordeaux at daybreak. Go directly to the hotel across the street from the train station’s main entrance. Tell the night clerk that you are there to visit your aunt Simone Blanc. Remember that name. The clerk will answer, ‘I went to school with her in Bayonne. I know her well.’”
I translated for Mack again. “What if there’s more than one clerk?” he asked.
“That’s why you must get to the hotel before eight o’clock when the day clerk takes over,” Uncle Henri said. “If you arrive later, find something to do until nighttime. Nothing that will draw attention to you.”
I nodded and tried to appear as calm as Mack did, but inside, my heart was hammering against my chest. The idea of going back to Paris was frightening all by itself, but once we reached Bordeaux, we had to trust strangers. What if one of them turned out to be a German spy, like Bob Jackson? Still, I was relieved to have to spend only one more night in that dark cellar.
I watched Uncle Henri make his way across the field, back to his own farm, and wondered if I would ever see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A Reward of Ten Thousand Francs
November 1943
The next morning, the farmer and his wife kissed our cheeks, filled our rucksacks with bread and cheese, and wished us good luck. I would have liked to go to Uncle Henri’s and Aunt Jeanne’s to say good-bye, but I had already put them in too much danger.
I was reminded of how much danger when we arrived at the small train station. A Nazi command was nailed to a post: “All men who aid the crews of enemy aircraft will be shot in the field. All women who do the same will be sent to concentration camps in Germany.”
But that wasn’t all. The Germans offered a reward to anyone who turned in aviators and their helpers. “People who capture airmen or who contribute to their capture will receive up to ten thousand francs.”
Mack saw me reading the poster and raised his eyebrows in a question. I shook my head. We couldn’t speak in public, and the danger wasn’t something he needed to be reminded of. I was frightened enough for both of us.
I bought our tickets to Paris and a farming magazine for Mack. The train was crowded, as it always was on Sunday, but we managed to find seats across from each other. Mack buried his head in his magazine and pretended to read. Soon the car was packed with passengers going back to Paris after the weekend, their bags full. Even if the boches wanted to come through to check papers, there was no room for them.
We arrived in Paris, and I planned to use my old trick of walking through the café. The Germans must have caught on. There was a checkpoint directly outside the street exit. I motioned Mack to a table, ordered two coffees, and waited. Fifteen minutes later, when most of the crowd had passed through, they packed up and left.
Mack pulled a pencil out of his pocket and wrote on the corner of a page in his magazine. “Follow behind?”
Mack would follow me at a short distance the way he had on that first day, when I had picked him up at the train station. That made sense—if one of us got arrested, the other could still go free. I ripped off the corner of the page with the English writing and rolled it into a little ball. “Oui,” I said. “Oui.”
I paid our bill. “Au revoir,” I said to him, and walked to the door.
Mack followed a minute later. I crossed the street and headed for the métro the way I had so many times before. Suddenly I felt a pang of such sadness for Jacques that I had to stop and catch my breath. There was no time for tears now, but I was filled with despair. Had he been shot, or was he in a concentration camp? I made a promise to him in my head. I’ll keep the flame alive. I won’t stop fighting until the Nazis have been defeated, or I’m dead.
I wanted to take the subway to our apartment and ask the concierge what she knew, but I couldn’t. I was Étienne now, I told myself. Michael was wanted by the Gestapo.
I tried to shake off my sadness while I waited for the subway. Mack was a few feet away from me on the platform and we entered the same car through separate doors. There were two boches. I stood with my back to them and kept an eye on Mack. When we neared our stop, I moved in front of the doors. Mack did the same.
We made our way into the Gare d’Austerlitz without any run-ins with the Nazis. Mack stayed at a distance, but followed me toward the ticket window, where I bought two third-class tickets for Bordeaux. The night train was hours away, and I wasn’t sure what to do. The movies were too dangerous after my last experience, and the train station was full of German soldiers. I finally decided to walk around the neighborhood until I came up with a better plan.
We were on our way out of the train station when I saw my old friend Pierre. He was on the sidewalk in front of the station. He wore his Young Guard uniform, as did the boy with him. I stopped so suddenly that Mack banged into me.
My eyes were locked on Pierre’s and his on me. Mack hovered behind me, and I saw Pierre note his presence. He had to know that Jacques had been arrested and that I was on the run. I waited for him to blow a whistle or yell for a Nazi so he could collect his ten thousand francs. He stared at me for a long minute and then he nodded.
Stunned, I nodded back. Then Pierre took the other boy by the arm and led him away. Just before he turned the corner, Pierre turned back and waved.
My eyes filled with tears. I thought my good friend was lost to me forever, but he had just saved my life. I immediately thought of Jacques and wished I could tell him.
“Ça va?” Mack whispered.
“Oui. Ça va,” I answered.
Seeing my old friend reminded me that the streets of Paris were dangerous for me. What if Stefan was nearby too? He would turn me in in a second, even without the promise of a reward. I led Mack around the corner and back into the train station through another entrance. I also gave up the idea of the two of us pretending to be strangers. According to our papers, at least, we were father and son.
“Papa,” I said. “Let’s find a bench to wait. It’s cold outside and I’m tired.”
Mack didn’t understand anything other than the simplest French words, but he understood “Papa.” I took his arm and drew him to an empty bench. Every hour or so there was a rush of passengers, arriving in Paris from points south. Mack and I would mix in with them, careful to avoid checkpoints, and make our way to another bench. My eyes were constantly darting around the station, searching for danger. By the time our train arrived, I was exhausted.
We found seats in a crowded carriage. Mack kept his face buried in the French farm magazine. I looked out the window and watched Paris disappear behind us. I’ll be back if England and America win the war, I told mys
elf. No, not if—when—they win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aunt Simone
Uncle Henri warned me that the main rail lines were swarming with Nazi soldiers, Gestapo agents, and suspicious train conductors—all of them on the lookout for downed aviators. The slow local trains weren’t as closely watched.
Our car was stuffy. Mack opened a window, but soot and cold air rushed in, making us even more uncomfortable, and he closed it again. The stale air, the motion of the car, and the worries of the day all combined to send me into a deep sleep. I barely woke when the train stopped and started again. Passengers got off and on, but Mack and I stayed put.
At one stop, I heard German voices. Soldiers stomped onto the train, slamming their way from car to car. “Papers,” they demanded. “Papers.”
Some of them used the word please, but there was no politeness in their tone.
I whispered to Mack as quietly as I could. “Pretend to be asleep.”
He threw his arm over his eyes and let out a loud snore while I handed the Nazi our papers, blinking as if I was barely awake myself. He glanced at them and moved on.
We arrived in Bordeaux at daybreak, showed our papers at the checkpoint, and found the hotel directly across the street. We walked up to the desk and I asked for a room. The clerk opened the registration book and I lifted the pen to sign Étienne Michaud’s name.
“We’re here to visit my aunt Simone Blanc,” I said.
The clerk barely blinked. “I went to school with her in Bayonne. I know her well,” he answered. Then he closed the book without registering our names, and took a key from a cubbyhole on the wall behind him. “Room 419. I’ll let your aunt know that you’ve arrived safely,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. In the meantime, I will bring you breakfast from the café.”
My stomach rumbled at the mention of the word breakfast. Mack and I had finished our bread and cheese sometime over night. I didn’t know how much money we would need along the way, and was afraid to spend any of the little bit we had. “Thank you,” I said.
Michael at the Invasion of France, 1943 Page 10
