Cold Lonely Courage

by Soren Petrek

  Madeleine turned on the light and steered him towards the bed. He flopped down on his side and made little effort to right himself.

  “I will be right back. I have to use the bathroom,” she said.

  His response was little more than a grunt.

  Madeleine carefully opened the door and peeked out to make sure no one was up for a late night trip to the commode. She paused to ready herself. If she failed, her father would enter the building and shoot “any and all” Germans. He had said smiling. The remainder of the plan was simple. She would leave France immediately and try to make her way to England. If she was going to contribute to the war effort it would be at the direction of the British. Spain was a short distance away and, at least officially, a neutral country. Spain was a fascist state but had not joined Germany in her war against France and England. A fisherman friend would take her by boat to a small fishing village on the coast of Spain. With the help of some friends there, Madeleine would then find her way to Gibraltar and then on to England. If everything went according to plan she would escape long before the killing was discovered. Jean-Pierre would explain everything to her mother and bear the brunt of her panic. With Yves dead and Madeleine gone, their parents would only have each other to rely on until France was free and she could return.

  Both Madeleine and her father were confident that France would eject her age-old enemy and reclaim her stature in the world once again. No matter how long it took, the French always defeated their invaders. In antiquity the Romans annexed Provence to its empire and they were gone. She was completely devoid of compassion for the rapist. Once the people of France woke up and saw what had happened they would retaliate. Jean-Pierre told her that he knew the Americans would come. They had been allies of France since the days of revolution almost two centuries ago when the British and Americans fought two wars. The French and Americans were brothers and sisters. Just as siblings rarely got along, so it was with the two countries. They squabbled and picked at one another, but when the call of freedom came they fought side by side. That is the way of liberty and freedom. The Americans would come.

  Madeleine opened the door, holding the gun in the skirt she carried out of the bathroom. She checked the hall and walked boldly down it wearing a sleek negligee spirited out of her mother’s drawer. She knew the man wouldn’t notice the clothes in her hand when she appeared back in the room in the lingerie if he was capable of noticing anything at all.

  When she returned to the room she carefully opened the door and slipped inside. The officer was still on the bed and snoring, his clothes and boots still on. Madeleine carefully put her clothes back on top of the lacy nightdress. She moved to the bed and removed a pillow, wrapping the gun inside. She knew the longer she hesitated the harder it would be. She pictured his violation of her in her mind, but it was the memory of her brother’s disfigured dying face that gave her the strength to proceed. She leaned over and placed the pillow an inch away from the man’s temple and pulled the trigger. The gun’s report sounded like a small firecracker but to Madeleine it seemed deafening. Everyone in the neighborhood must have heard it, she thought. She froze waiting for someone to raise the alarm.

  Several tense moments passed as Madeleine listened to every creek and moan the old building made. When nothing happen she realized that the room had largely contained the sound of the small caliber pistol. She turned and looked at the corpse, noticing a few feathers drifting down into the pooling blood beneath the man’s head. She reached down feeling for his pulse and found nothing. She looked down at his lifeless eyes and knew the deed was done. She felt nothing for him and no revulsion for what she’d done. A feeling of satisfaction was there but it wasn’t overwhelming. Madeleine was amazed how easy it had been to take a life under the circumstances of the man’s crimes. She raised her skirt, tucking away the pistol.

  Madeleine quickly checked the room making sure that she had left no trace of her presence. She walked to the door and turned out the light. No one in the small rooming house had stirred. Everything was silent. She walked down the stairs and back into the street, glancing quickly in both directions. The town was asleep as she made her way down to the docks through the shadows, keeping her face focused on the road so that anyone remembering a person passing would not be able to describe her accurately.

  After a few minutes, the road opened into a broader market area adjacent to the place where the smaller boats were moored for the night. She saw her father walk up and stand next to a string of fishing boats adjacent to the part of the port where the larger commercial ships docked. The dark water beckoned to her as it lapped languidly against the wooden posts supporting the dock. The fishermen’s nets and their boats gave off a strong fish smell. It mingled with the familiar odors of the sea and a working port. The smell had a character all its own, personal to people that lived with it daily, depending on it for their livelihoods and identity. Madeleine savored it, wondering when she would be able to do so again as a free citizen of France.

  “Well, soldier?” Jean-Pierre asked as he stepped out of the shadows, awkwardly limping with his false leg.

  “He will rape no more,” Madeleine said, embracing him fiercely.

  “Always remember that he was an animal, Madeleine. There are more to kill, God’s will be done,” Jean-Pierre said, embracing her. Madeleine felt her voice catch in her throat, realizing that the hardest part of the plan had come. It was time for her to leave.

  “I could hold you forever, Madeleine, but that would not be safe. It is time for you to leave and carry on the fight from wherever the English lead. They are a resolute and determined people. The men and women of that country would all rather die than be conquered.”

  Together they turned and Jean-Pierre led her a few steps down the dock, stopping in front of an open fishing boat. It was small but sturdy. A fisherman Madeleine recognized was readying the boat for casting off. He looked more weathered than the rough wooden boats of his trade. Without comment he took Madeleine’s hand in his. She could feel the immense strength in his gnarled fingers as he gently helped her aboard.

  “You know Jacques, Madeleine. He was on the sea long before I was born. He will see you safely off,” Jean-Pierre said in a strained voice.

  She reached over the side of the boat and hugged her father as he bent down to reach her. Both of them were in tears as he spoke.

  “You are the warrior of the Toche family now,” he said, struggling to bring his emotions under control. “Come back when Germany is gone from France. Your mother and I will breathe easier knowing you are in England.”

  With those words he turned and limped away, the sound of his sacrifice for France thudding dully against the wooden dock.

  Madeleine went forward and quietly cried. The enormity of everything that had happened hit her at once. She was leaving everything behind she held dear for the emptiness of the unknown. Her mind raced as she clutched the hem of her skirt to her mouth and sobbed deeply into it. She searched her mind for the strength that had brought her this far, found an edge of it, and clung to it desperately. She knew her disappearance would do little to cast suspicion on her parents. Young people were being displaced constantly, many going to stay with family in other regions or being directed by their occupiers to relocate for work. Her rapist’s crime had been done in secret as was his death. Time would heal that wound as well. He hadn’t been an overly important man and now, she thought with satisfaction, he was only a dead one. She regretted leaving her homeland in secrecy and darkness. She drew comfort from the gentle rocking of the boat as it slipped from its moorings and the fisherman guided it out of the port. Madeleine let the motion of the boat calm her as she placed her trust and safety in the embrace of the sea.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  From her position underwater, Madeleine could see the bright light of an overhead bulb shining on the surface a few inches above her nose and mouth. Her training told her to remain calm. She wanted a breath of air from the other side of the surfac
e of the water more than anything she had ever wanted. Its closeness was maddening. Just inches away but she might as well have been at the bottom of a lake. She was inverted almost upside down in a tank of water. Her body was strapped to a board so that she could be easily lifted and dropped back down under the surface. Remembering her training, she controlled her panic as the sheer physical terror grew with her lack of oxygen. Suddenly she was lifted from the tank. Just as she gasped for air, she was punched in the stomach driving the air out of her lungs. She involuntarily choked and gasped and was immediately dunked back under the water. This time she had no control and couldn’t remain calm. Her whole body screamed as she struggled not to open her mouth as she tried to gain control of her lungs. She had no choice, throwing herself at the straps pinning her to the board. She thrashed violently in an attempt to get her head up. Her struggles were worthless. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought. Her mouth opened in a desperate attempt to find oxygen. It was involuntary and she realized that she was going to die. Her helplessness enraged her. This death was pointless. She was desperate to survive. Her anger and hate kindled in her. There was no fear of death, just anger at the lost opportunity to fight the Germans and fulfill her promise of revenge. She could barely hear the pounding of her blood in her ears over her fury.

  On the brink of unconsciousness, Madeleine was thrust up and out of the water. She sputtered and gasped, sucking in huge gulps of air. She had instantly been blasted into the light of the room and away from the point of despair. She choked uncontrollably, her body taking over as it raced back from near death. The door flew open and a tall officer stormed into the room.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, man? You almost killed her!” Captain Jack Teach yelled, moving quickly over to the board. His body was sleekly muscled from endless physical training and the harsh conditions of field operations. His blue eyes burned with anger, accusatory and enraged. He reached down to the slant board, slicing the straps that held Madeleine down with a knife that had materialized in his hand.

  “Following orders mate. Keep them in until they break or pass out. SOE training, isn’t it? She’s a woman. There’s your problem,” Lieutenant Brian Fish answered in a swaggering, insolent tone, forgetting that the man he addressed outranked him.

  “Get back, you bastard!” Teach screamed. Fish scoffed and moved a few paces back from the end of the tank. Madeleine stood slowly, bending as she retched water, holding onto the side of the tank to steady herself. As her coughing lessened, she turned her head slightly and peeked through the mass of wet hair covering her face. She saw a commando knife strapped to Fish’s side. Without an instant of hesitation she grabbed the knife and plunged it towards his eye. At the last moment, Teach grabbed her hand and averted a very messy ‘training accident.’ Fish stood transfixed to the spot in terror, his body rigid with panic as he realized how close to death he had come. Teach slowly eased Madeleine’s hand down. She did not struggle and released the knife. Fish, who was not a field man, was speechless.

  Teach looked at him like a revolting insect. “Next time, I’m going to let it happen, you ghastly sadist. I’m of a mind to strap you to that board and let her have a go at you.”

  While the senior officer spoke, Madeleine raised her shirt to inspect the spot where she’d been hit. Teach glanced at what she was doing and saw the ugly bruising.

  “I’ll have you, you bastard,” he roared and landed a giant right cross to Fish’s jaw. Fish rag-dolled to the ground and Teach followed him down with the knife, clearly not through.

  “Stop!” Madeleine yelled. “You can’t kill a junior officer, Captain. Besides, this pig’s not worth it,” she added calmly.

  Teach pulled himself back from the brink of violence, backing away slowly. Madeleine watched as his eyes cleared and the blood lust left them. It had been close. The training the recruits were under was full of knife-edged tension. The men who taught them were hard and brutal; Jack Teach was the hardest and most brutal of all. Madeleine was confused. Perhaps it was another of their endless tests designed to wash trainees out. She didn’t know what to think. The intensity of the moment was still palpable in the room. Death had visited and had been momentarily cheated.

  Without taking his eyes off of Fish, Teach said, “You’re right, Toche. But I can recommend him for duty in North Africa. I believe he’s an infantry man.”

  Unable to speak, Fish pulled himself up blubbering and wincing, his jaw broken in several places from a blow delivered by a man trained to inflict maximal damage.

  “I bet you weren’t bloody crying when you punched her, you coward. I mean what I said, it’s combat for you. And by the way, when the 75mm shells come raining down on your position, you think about her. I wager she’ll be waiting if you get back. As I’m sure you’re aware, the casualty rating from Northern Africa is staggering. Now piss off, you bloody sadist. I hear one word about any of this and I’ll cut you up into little pieces. I know London quite well. My people are down by the docks. My father is Robert Teach and a harder man you’ll never meet. He’ll know what to do with you.”

  By now Fish was not only panicked; he was terrified. Robert Teach was a known gangster, brutal and ruthless.

  Fish all but threw himself out of the room as Teach turned to Madeleine.

  “Toche, I can’t have you killing my instructors,” he said gently, brushing the hair back from her face. His touch was firm and purposeful. Her first reaction was to push his hand away and regain the stoic, almost mechanical demeanor that she had adopted during the training. There was no tenderness and mollycoddling in Special Operations Executive training, just countless hours learning to kill in every manner known to man. When not in ‘Kill School’ there were codes and ciphers to master, as well as innumerable clandestine skills whose teaching suggested that their mastery was crucial. Madeleine had excelled at everything they had thrown at her.

  After a fleeting moment Teach realized what was happening and pulled his hand away. It was a struggle as he looked at her savage beauty, made all the more alluring by the water soaked clothing that clung to her, dripping onto the floor. It was an awkward moment but neither of them moved apart. A dangerous passion sparked between them, raw with unbridled energy, the intense violence of the preceding moments kindling an equally physical need. Teach felt himself drawn towards a violation of duty as thoughts of her raced through his mind. He had never felt this way towards any other female recruit, and there were many young and beautiful ones each seeking to undertake the most dangerous of missions in the name of freedom. Madeleine was a breath away from reaching out and tearing his shirt open; she tingled as the delicious lure of lust began to overcome her.

  “I thought I was dead, Captain. I must protest. It can’t be wise to kill prospective field agents. Nobody will volunteer if they think they’re going to die before they get a chance to kill Germans,” Madeleine said, lifting her eyes up to his. In her mind she saw herself falling into his arms, her need was so great. She struggled to rationalize what was happening. She realized that whatever he wanted she would give without hesitation. All of her senses screamed at her to give in. One touch and the tiny thread holding them apart would break.

  Suddenly Teach broke the trance, stepping back slightly.

  “Well, right then. Time to get you back to the barracks and get you cleaned up. That’s enough training for one day. Quite frankly Toche, I’m not sure there’s much more we can teach you anyway,” he said, his face breaking into an encompassing grin.

  Madeleine relaxed as the promise of the moment faded. She was now convinced that what had happened had not been a hoax but instead a lack of restraint on the part of that bastard Fish. She fervently hoped that he would show up on the casualty lists, a victim of Germany’s Africa Corps.

  Madeleine nodded, moving past Teach as she hurried into the hallway. As she made her way to the barracks she remembered once again that the training was designed to keep her confused, keep her guessing, forcing her
to make decisions quickly. The training plus her physical attraction to Captain Teach kept her plenty confused, she mused. It would all come to an end soon enough. She would either be posted under cover in France or behind a desk in London.

  Madeleine entered the women’s barracks, suddenly wondering if her training was indeed over as Teach had suggested. She certainly wouldn’t miss it, but she felt empowered by what she had learned and the physical training she had undergone. Everything from sleep deprivation to withholding water had been used. Clearly the simple things people took for granted could be utilized to torture them as well. Thirst had been the worst. By the end of that treat she would have endured nearly anything else for a swallow of water. Teach had been there for it all. Something about his presence encouraged her. Having him nearby made her feel strong in the face of the enforced deprivations. She found everything about him alluring. She knew that could have been an aspect of the training, another way to break her down or to test her. She allowed herself the fantasy of him as a man and walled it away in her mind, careful to give no indication of it. She knew that she had slipped in gesture or comment. Had he not seen it? These Englishmen. Even in the street they rarely looked at her. Was there something wrong with the way she looked? Wasn’t she attractive? She couldn’t understand the way they seemed to ignore her. Ever since she was fifteen or so, Frenchmen had always looked at her in an admiring way. Maybe these men didn’t like French women. Still, Teach had acted ferociously in her defense and she had felt something radiate from him towards her that was overpowering. She sighed, knowing that once back in France she would probably never see him again. She laughed sharply, thinking that there it was, one more reason to hate the Nazis. Their damn war was taking her away from the most physically attractive and exciting man she had ever known. There just weren’t that many men like Captain Jack Teach wandering around the world.