The Steel Fist

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  “Fine. But how long will all this take?”

  “Several hours. You will have time to scout around. There is more to see also. Three kilometres west of here there is, as you must know from the map, a hamlet where all the families live by fishing and by catering for tourists in the summer. The harbour there is very small but we believe that it is full of dummy barges. You and I are to go there this morning, to deliver a letter from my father to the Harbour Master — a naval petty officer only, as it is so small — asking permission for the fishermen to haul their boats out of the water. That should give us a chance to take a look at the harbour.”

  “It will be a thoroughly enjoyable excursion in your company, even if we cannot.”

  She glared at him and blushed. After a momentary hesitation she spoke crisply.

  “The only legitimate enjoyment, Lieutenant, comes from outwitting the dirty-Boches in such a way that it leads to the deaths of several of the swine.”

  With a mock-serious look, he nodded.

  “Naturally. But there is blood in my veins, Mademoiselle, not water.”

  She flushed again and compressed her lips, evidently preparing some sharp retort. Then she looked away and stood up.

  “Come on... can’t hang about... work to be done.”

  “I’ll go and tell my men what we’re going to do.” He found them sitting around the kitchen table, perfectly at home and teasing the maid, who was giggling at the sink.

  They stood up, at attention.

  “Sit down.”

  He also took a chair. He had been to visit them in their cellar as soon as he was dressed. Despite the air duct the atmosphere down there was stuffy. He was glad that they were not permanently confined below ground.

  “Don’t torment that poor girl.” He said it lightly. “Take on the old lady and her husband: they’ll give you as good as they get.”

  “We’ve discovered that already, sir,” the sergeant said. “The old fellow was an artillery sergeant in ’fourteen-’eighteen; and the old lady’s as sharp as a tack.”

  “I’m going out on a recce this morning.” He enlarged on this. No one looked envious. Soldiers were only too pleased to leave all the work to their officer while they idled; in comfort, here.

  When Taggart left the house with Odile she carried a shopping basket and they both rode bicycles. In the shops she introduced him to tradesmen and acquaintances as her cousin. Nobody showed signs of doubt, suspicion or special interest. The rich Legranges were outside most people’s sphere. The rich lived in a world of their own, anyway, even in a small community; however cordial they were with the commonality.

  On the way to the next place along the coast there was little traffic. Not even military vehicles used this lane much. The Battle of Britain was well under way and they looked up when formations of bombers passed high overhead, the throb of their engines full of menace; and when fighters roared over, climbing to join the Heinkels, Dorniers and Ju 87s to escort them to England.

  “Damnation to them,” Odile said the first time the Luftwaffe appeared. Thereafter they shared the curse but left it unspoken.

  She was wearing a skirt this morning. Her bare legs were sun tanned. She had very shapely calves and neat feet. Taggart had been celibate since his escapade with Molly, the land girl. He began to wish that he were to stay here much longer.

  He talked to her about her competitive driving and her flying. She spoke with casual matter-of-factness and modesty. He could tell that she was proud of her achievements — she confessed to having won some prizes —but she talked more readily and with enthusiasm about her brothers. He was impressed by the way that she had overcome her obvious grief over their deaths. He wondered that so attractive a girl appeared not to be engaged or married. Probably hadn’t found time for love. But romance? Surely even a well-brought-up, upper-middle-class girl of twenty-five must have met at least one man she found interesting enough to take as a lover. It was a thought that kept distracting him from the purpose of this excursion.

  They were stopped by a sentry at a barrier at the entrance to the village. He was middle-aged and wore 1914-18 ribbons. Taggart judged that all the first-class troops in this area were engaged in invasion exercises. All the sentries — four of them, under a corporal — at the barrier or resting in a tent beside it, looked uninterested in their duty. A few cursory questions and they were allowed to enter and told to report at the pension on the right, fifty metres down the road, which was the local command post.

  At the command post a weary-looking and middle-aged lieutenant with a limp kept them talking. Taggart guessed that he was bored and glad of their company; and keen to exercise his poor French.

  “You can’t go down to the harbour in daylight. I’ll see that the Harbour Master gets your note. Come back tomorrow for the answer.”

  A ruse to ensure their return and some more conversation?

  “Would it be possible, sir, to send the note by a messenger while we wait here?”

  The German brightened.

  “I’ll do better. It’s not right for an officer to send a message to a petty officer. I’ll send for him. Sit down and rest, Mademoiselle, after your long ride.”

  How she’d love to get at your major joints with a dismembering tool, if you did but know. The thought almost made Taggart burst into a laugh.

  The landlord of the pension and his wife scowled at the two visitors.

  They think we’re toadying to the enemy, thought Taggart.

  But they brought coffee for them and their host and presently the German began to reminisce with Taggart about the events of May and June. He admitted that he had been a mere administrator in an ordnance battalion, and said, touching the ribbon of his Iron Cross, “But in the last one I was rather more active.” He shewed no ill-will for Taggart, the supposed Frenchman, and Taggart could not whip up any hatred for him.

  It was only a ten-minute walk to the Harbour Master’s office, the German said, but it was forty minutes before the petty officer appeared; fifteen minutes after the messenger’s return.

  The naval man looked sourly at Taggart. He had a face disconcertingly similar to Winston Churchill’s and for a moment Taggart was tongue-tied with astonishment. Again, he nearly gave a shout of laughter at the thought of Churchill’s indignation had he known that a “Naahzee” resembled him.

  “They can leave their boats in the water for several more months without detriment,” the Harbour Master said. “And you lawyers can keep your sharp noses out of it.” He communicated in broken French and with the lieutenant’s help.

  “No doubt the Harbour Master in our town, to whom I believe you report, will take a different view.” Taggart said it politely but with a hint of condescension.

  The petty officer looked annoyed.

  “I am in charge here.”

  “It seems a reasonable request,” the lieutenant said. Taggart knew that this would not help his plea.

  The petty officer put the note into a pocket and buttoned the flap defiantly.

  “I shall consider it and let you have my answer.” He turned to go.

  Taggart said “By telephone, please? Tomorrow?”

  “You are in no position to make demands, young man. How would you like to be forcibly taken to Germany to serve in the labour corps?”

  “My wounds would preclude that.” Taggart turned to the lieutenant, then back to the other German. “And I hardly think your demeanour towards an ex-officer, me, that is, could be called seemly.”

  The lieutenant puffed out his chest.

  “I want a word with you outside, Petty Officer.” When he came back he was grinning.

  “You’ll have the permit by tomorrow.”

  “I’m most grateful,” Taggart said. And then, quickly, “He need not bother to send it. I’ll come for it.”

  “Good.” The lieutenant smiled. “And bring your charming cousin.”

  As they cycled away Taggart grinned at Odile. “You could unlock any Boche doors.”
/>   She was frozen faced and made no reply.

  I’d give anything to thaw you out, thought Taggart. And I bet you’d thaw wondrously. Something tells me you’d be as hot as the engine of one of your fast cars. And as smooth.

  * * *

  Immediately after darkness fell, with a German soldier to escort them after the curfew that would last until dawn, Taggart and the three Frenchmen set out from Jacques’s house. Taggart had spent the previous hour there. Jacques, as he had seen the night before, was squat and strong-looking. Now, in good light, he saw that he had a round, weathered face and a permanently worried look. As he said, it was going to be very hard to earn a living until the enemy allowed them to fish; and even then they would be limited to within a short distance of the coast and under armed German escort.

  Their papers were carefully examined at the harbour gates and their escort hurried them along the quay. Taggart saw the rows of barges made fast to the quay face and to buoys. Why, after all, should the Germans worry if these few Frenchmen saw them? What could they do with the information? Security, under a dictatorship, was automatic and rigid, but even the Nazis did not expect a British officer to infiltrate a small port like this.

  The barges were all, as far as Taggart could discern, genuine. In the gloom it was hard to be sure, but he felt that even in this light a dummy would be detectable. They were made to delude the British in aerial photographs. Seen at ground level they would not deceive. He felt himself tingling with excitement at the knowledge that he had achieved the first part of his mission. But getting in here to plant explosives would be much more difficult.

  In the outer harbour, where the fishing port lay, all the barges were again real ones. But there were two more sentries here to escort the party and Taggart was unable to stray away and spy around on his own.

  He said as much to Odile when he returned, under escort, to the big house.

  She looked cross.

  “One cannot always be right. Anyway, you saw all you needed to.”

  “I still think you should pay a forfeit, just the same, for being wrong... over-optimistic... there’s too much of that around.”

  She adopted her challenging stance.

  “A forfeit? Such as?”

  “Well... I’ll give you a sporting chance. I’ll ask you a riddle.”

  To his astonishment she grinned suddenly and her eyes reflected impish amusement.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Do you know the difference between a thistle in the heather and a kiss in the dark?”

  She shook her head and shut her eyes.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. She responded. “That is the difference.”

  She was still smiling. “I saw that Robert Donat film, too, in which he played that trick on the girl. ‘The Ghost Walks’.”

  “In that case, if you knew what to expect...” He put his arms around her and pulled her to him.

  After a while she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  “That was very pleasant. And if you are as good a soldier as you are a...” She raised her eyebrows with a look of enquiry.

  “As good a what? A lover?”

  “Don’t take too much for granted, Lieutenant...”

  “Rodney, Odile.”

  “Time for bed, Rodney.”

  “That is music to my ears; I’m glad we feel the same way.”

  “Separately, Rodney.”

  He shrugged and politely opened the door for her. As she passed him he put his arm around her wrist.

  Gripping his wrist with surprisingly strong fingers, she removed it; at the same time giving it a quick twist that made him start.

  There was apparently a touch of sadism about Mademoiselle Legrange, he reflected: which did not begin and end with hacking enemy soldiers to bits; or was it just natural aggression, nurtured on fierce competitive driving and flying? He was no masochist, but it would be interesting to find out: in the most delightful way possible; in bed; but he had only twenty-four hours left in which to do so and most of that time was already committed.

  * * *

  The permit from the petty officer who controlled the small fishing harbour was awaiting them when they made their return visit to the limping lieutenant. He gave it to Taggart with an expression of annoyance.

  “The petty officer is a petty tyrant, Monsieur Chavagnac. He insists that it will be pointless for the local fishermen to haul their boats out of the water before September. And by then they may not need to, for he expects that they will be able to resume fishing.”

  “That is uncooperative in a way that astonishes me, sir. It is the policy of your Government to encourage the occupying forces to foster good relations with our people.”

  “Perfectly true. The Führer’s wishes on that score have been made plain.”

  “Then perhaps I might count on your support if I appeal against this hostile decision?”

  “You certainly may. What do you intend to do?”

  “Report the matter to the senior Harbour Master.”

  “I shall have a word with him. And with the Town Major.” The lieutenant turned to Odile with a broad smile. “The Town Major speaks highly of your father, Mademoiselle.”

  Taggart and Odile exchanged a glance. She knew what the German was fishing for. He turned to look at Taggart and she made a grimace behind his back that brought Taggart to the edge of laughter, his nerves were so taut.

  “You must come to visit us one day, Lieutenant.”

  “I should like that very much.” He was not one to let opportunities slip: “Would tomorrow be convenient? I am off duty at six-o’clock.” And, unspoken, was the hint that a dinner invitation would be appreciated.

  Odile made a good pretence of disappointment. “If you could conveniently make it next week, Lieutenant?”

  “Certainly. Monday?”

  She had to agree.

  When they left the village Taggart said “I don’t like to leave without seeing that harbour for myself.”

  “Can you delay another twenty-four hours, to give us time to force the issue?”

  “We have a rendez-vous at sea tonight, an hour before first light.”

  “And no means of communicating with the boat?”

  “None.”

  She looked him squarely in the eye and said “I think it would be well worth your while to stay another night.”

  A sharp current of comprehension coursed through him to reinforce his sense of duty. He nodded. “All right; if I can think of a way to make contact with our friends at sea.” She did not know what kind of vessel had brought the Commandos; and, despite his trust in her, he would not reveal this.

  The senior Harbour Master was a lieutenant who greeted them with a Nazi salute and “Heil Hitler”; the first warning of trouble to come. Physically he was a contrast with the petty officer in charge of the smaller harbour: tall, gaunt and pale. From his ill-humoured manner, Taggart deduced that he probably suffered from an ulcer.

  “I am in entire agreement with my petty officer. There is nothing more to discuss. You have been given the permit; now wait until September to make use of it.”

  Taggart and Odile left in dejection.

  “If we go to the Town Major and he agrees to put our case,” Taggart said, “it will only put that damned fellow’s back up; it won’t change his mind. And it will draw unwelcome attention to you; and your father and the entire household.”

  “We must think of some way for one of us to take a look at the place.”

  “If we set out early enough tonight, I can canoe there before we leave for our rendez-vous.”

  “Will you be able to see well enough?”

  “Starlight and even the smallest moon will be enough if there are no clouds.”

  “I hate to be thwarted by the Boches.”

  “By the time we have finished here we shall have done the best that is possible. Operations this like are in their infancy. Planning is necessarily far from satisfactory. As we gain ex
perience, we shall do much better: both those of us who will come to France and those of you who will help us.

  “You will return?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “That gives me great encouragement.”

  “Is that all?”

  She smiled and touched his arm with an unexpected gesture of intimacy, but made no reply.

  Jacques came to the house in the afternoon, and, with the rest of the party seated at the kitchen table, he and Taggart, with suggestions from Odile, made the plan for that night’s work.

  Afterwards Taggart said to his men “Try to get some sleep now. I’m going to.”

  At the foot of the stairs he paused and took Odile by the hand. He looked at her with a question and an appeal that brought a flush to her cheeks.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rodney. It is not possible with the servants wandering about; and my father often comes home early.” A mischievous smile. “Besides, you will need all your energy and strength for tonight.”

  “I’m disappointed: but what better incentive could I have for coming back?”

  “How about patriotism?”

  “Of course; but that still leaves room for a large share of... attraction... affection.”

  She kissed him and gave him a gentle shove towards the staircase.

  * * *

  There was a strong breeze off the sea that night when they left the house. Odile led the way, Sergeant Duff was at the end of the file. Jacques awaited them at the beach hut.

  Taggart had asked no questions about the corpse that he had last seen tipped into an inspection pit in the Legranges’ garage. It must have been got rid of by now. He fought shy of a mental picture of Odile at work with hatchet and knife. There had been no repercussions on the town for the German’s disappearance. Jacques had told him that the Germans were tightening their control of their own men because there had been several desertions. One of the new measures was to send out sentries and patrols only in pairs and to spring surprise inspections on them at irregular intervals instead of every two hours. The latter made the Commandos’ walk to the beach more hazardous; but they arrived at the hut unchallenged.