by Soren Petrek
Antoinette woke up as the women and children were marched down towards the church. The younger children wore wooden clogs that drummed as they made their way down the cobble-stoned street. The sound was eerie. After a short while some of the soldiers encouraged the children to sing. The children’s schoolteachers walked with them and led the children in song. Perhaps this would all end soon, they hoped.
It seemed that just about everyone was accounted for, Gabrielle thought. Amidst the singing some of the children whispered to their mothers as they walked. The women tried to reassure the children that it would only be a short while before they would be released and that the Germans were just checking them to make sure they were who they said they were. The children thought that odd, not understanding the adult need for something so silly.
Gabrielle listened and prayed that that was the truth. She held Antoinette and whispered assurances to her that everything would be all right. There were close to two hundred children in their procession, and as many women, both young and old. Nobody was exempt. Even the infirm had been forced from their homes. With their usual efficiency the Germans had cleared out everyone in the town.
Once they arrived at the church they were ordered to go inside and sit in the pews. The church was old and made of local fieldstone and wood. The church was the center of the town. Generations of townsfolk had been christened within its walls and buried in its graveyard. It was a symbol of the town’s past and its future. Gabrielle began to allow herself some hope. What could possibly happen to them inside of a church? It was God’s sanctuary. Gabrielle watched as several soldiers were dispatched around the building to secure it and prevent escape. It was a small church and not everyone could get a seat. Once the doors were closed the women began to speak excitedly among themselves.
“What is happening?” One young mother asked Gabrielle as she sat her children down in a pew and stood protectively in front of them.
“I have no idea. How did you get here?” Gabrielle asked, knowing that the woman lived on a small farm just outside of town.
“They stopped and rounded everyone up on the outskirts and a little way out. I think most everyone is here.”
“I hope not,” Gabrielle whispered, “I hope not. I don’t know what’s happening but I won’t feel safe until the soldiers leave.”
“They’re probably on high alert because of the invasion,” the woman answered.
“High alert? Here? Nothing ever happens here. I doubt any allied soldiers will ever come here. We’ll find out we’ve been liberated when we read it in the paper,” Gabrielle said, trying to lighten the mood a little and give herself some confidence while she was at it.
A young man crouched in the weeds, several hundred yards from the town. He was picking mushrooms in the forest to go with the trout he had taken out of the Glane River that morning. He and his family ate pretty well despite the occupation. They were country folk and grew or gathered most of their food anyway. He was just about to cross the meadow into the town when he saw the trucks arrive. He instinctively crouched down to avoid being seen. He had never seen so many soldiers at once. It was a rare occasion when one came into town. There were no Maquis here, he thought, remembering the unspoken position of the village to stay out of the fighting. Something was wrong. I had better stay here and watch, he decided. His mother and younger sister were at home and his father was away at market and wouldn’t be home for at least two days. The soldiers almost always targeted the men and he was now sixteen. The safest thing for him was to lay low and wait for the Germans to leave. He was confident that the soldiers would leave his mother and sister alone. He hadn’t heard anything suggesting that they would harm women and children indiscriminately.
“I think if we just cooperate everything will be fine.” Gabrielle heard one of the more outspoken women say. There was a general chorus of agreement.
“They have always left us alone before. They will not find any weapons or contraband here. Does anyone know of any Maquis activity? I don’t. They’ll find nothing and leave just as quickly as they came,” another voice encouraged.
Gabrielle was silent. She moved around and tried to see through the small windows of the old church. There were German soldiers everywhere. She saw a truck with a machine gun in the back. Nobody was going anywhere. They were helpless. Besides, what could they do with no weapons and their children to protect?
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
In the center of the town, Diekmann stood in front of a garage into which many of the town’s men had been forced.
“I could care less about guns,” Diekmann hissed. “Members of your town ambushed a convoy and removed something of great importance to me. They took an SS Major hostage and killed him! He was a hero of the Reich, and my friend! I want names or I will start shooting!”
“We have no Resistance here. I can’t tell you something that I know nothing about,” the Mayor pleaded.
“I will get answers!’ Diekmann shouted, furious that he was being delayed. He had four hours to find the gold, collect it, and get to Limoges. He grabbed his flask from his jacket that he had taken off under the relentless sun. He took a large drink from it and tossed it back into the vehicle.
“No activity, I see. I too can be unreasonable!” Diekmann sneered through his teeth. He drew his pistol and motioned to the soldiers nearest the garage doors to move away. The men inside moved back as the soldier manning the machine gun directly in front of them cranked back the gun’s arming mechanism. Diekmann gestured to one of his captains. The officer drew his side arm and fired a shot into the sky.
The machine gun that had been aimed directly at the men trapped in the garage opened up. The gunner lay on the ground and fired randomly, hitting the men trapped inside repeatedly in the thighs and shins. He had been ordered to maim as many as possible first. The men tried to scatter but there was no way out as the bullets ripped into their lower bodies. Many were struck in the chest and neck as they fell to the ground.
Diekmann raised his hand and the shooting stopped. The injured men on the ground groaned in pain. Diekmann raised his pistol and walked up to the Mayor writhing on the ground.
“Well, Monsieur le Maire, how about now? I will be blunt. I am looking for stolen gold. SS gold,” he said, standing over the wounded man. It is here in this town. Your people ambushed my friend, Major Kampfe, took him, and stole our gold. Now I do not want excuses. I know you understand more of what I am saying than you let on. Now talk!”
“Mercy Major, we have no gold,” he wailed raising his hands in a pleading motion. Like he was shooting an old dog, Diekmann raised his pistol and casually fired a shot into his head, killing him instantly as his pleading hands dropped lifelessly to his side.
An older man was quietly calling for his wife. Diekmann casually stepped over the Mayor’s corpse. He stood over the old man and cupped a hand to his ear, feigning as if he was trying to hear the man’s pleas. The soldiers laughed, and then abruptly Diekmann tired of the sport and shot the helpless man in the eye.
“There now, he doesn’t need his wife anymore. Who wants to tell me about stolen gold? I’ll shoot you one by one until I get it.”
Several men shouted denying any gold. Others were bleeding too profusely to respond. They simply prayed and waited to die.
Diekmann screamed, “Burn them!”
Soldiers covered the wounded men in straw and doused them with gasoline. Most of the dying men were trapped in the tangle of bodies and were beyond resisting.
“Just hold up your hand if you remember anything about my gold!” Diekmann addressed them like a teacher asking students for an answer in elementary school. He chuckled at his own absurdity as the tinder-dry straw smoked and caught fire. It spread instantly throughout the old wooden building. As the inferno raged he motioned for the doors to be closed and stomped off to check on the other men.
Moments before the shooting began, Gabrielle was pushed back as three soldiers carried in an odd looking bundle. It was
about the size of a hay bale and had what looked like fuses sticking out from it. Once it was deposited in the vestibule of the church two soldiers lit the fuses. The soldiers backed out, training their guns on the women and children as they left. The object started to smoke and the women in the church pushed back towards the nave. Several tried to go out a side door. A shot rang out in the distance and the true horror of what was happening struck the women. Screams erupted simultaneously as women and children broke in every direction. Gabrielle grabbed her daughter up off the floor and moved to the far side of the church away from the mass of women trying to escape. The door burst into splinters as a machine gun opened up, firing directly into the women trying to drag their children away from the stream of fire. Many were hit and Gabrielle saw several children’s lifeless eyes staring out from their ruined little bodies. Others screamed at their mothers and grandmothers who died, leaving their children to their fate. Smoke from the bundle filled the church and random gunfire continued from outside.
Diekmann walked up to the church and watched the first of the smoke billow out from the windows.
“No, no, too slow!” He walked over to one of the enlisted men and took a grenade from his belt. “Like this,” he laughed and lobbed a grenade through a window at the side of the church. Several others took his queue and lobbed in others. Flashes and flesh rending explosions tore from inside the church.
“There,” said Diekmann. “Make sure it burns. I want this town turned into rubble,” he said as he walked briskly off, as if on a routine inspection of his troops. Some of the older soldiers from the regiment seemed to be enjoying themselves and laughed at the newly conscripted Alsatian soldiers, whose eyes were wide with panic. They were from a part of France that adjoined Germany. They had been forced into this madness.
“What, no stomach for war? Show these animals that they should fear Das Reich,” an older sergeant bellowed as he pushed two stunned men towards the church. They stood in frozen disbelief as they listened to the screams of dying women and children from within.
Gabrielle saw the first grenade fly through the far window and explode, tossing the bodies of children and women aside like so much confetti. She pulled Antoinette to the ground. The child was screaming in terror, calling for her father and for her mother to make it stop. Gabrielle looked around wildly for some escape. The interior had caught fire along with several people, completely engulfed in flames as they ran into one another. There was no escape. Gabrielle sank to her knees sobbing at the horror. Hell could be no worse.
“Mommy and Daddy love you, Antoinette ma cherie,” Gabrielle whispered into her daughter’s ear, kissing her fiercely.
Sensing something in her mother’s voice, little Antoinette cried. “Don’t leave me Mama, don’t leave me.”
Gabrielle reached around behind Antoinette’s small head, firmly gripping her chin, her hand draped by the child’s blond curls. “Never, my darling, never!” As soon as she spoke Gabrielle violently jerked Antoinette’s head around, snapping her neck. Gabrielle let out a savage wail, every part of her screaming out in anguish. There was nothing human in it as it tore from the depths of her soul. Without hesitation, Gabrielle stood and walked towards the nearest machine gun fire. With Antoinette in her arms she fixed her eyes on the ancient crucifix hanging behind the altar. It was untouched by the violence erupting all around. She stepped forward towards her death, trusting in the sacrifice made for her soul so long ago by the man who gave his life for love.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Madeleine had been feeling out of sorts and nervous all afternoon. Stenger and Willi sensed it right away. They said nothing, but the tension in the small police station was growing. Suddenly a wave of fear hit her. She clutched her stomach and sank down onto a cot. She had a strong intuition. All of the women in her mother’s family had it. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Madeleine felt it physically. She knew that she wasn’t sick. Her emotion was grief, and she was struck by it as intensely as she had been upon the death of her brother. There was no mistake; she had lived with her grief for more than three years. She was wild to get out to find out what had happened.
“Stenger! Help!” She screamed instinctively. Stenger and Willi were through the door in an instant.
Stenger saw Madeleine’s face contorted in fear. He had seen fear too many times to be mistaken. He went directly to her, Willi close behind. Without hesitation Madeleine threw herself into his arms.
“Something horrible has happened to my family,” she cried into his chest. He held her gently as huge sobs shook her body. Stenger looked over at Willi and caught his eye. He had been right. There was more human compassion and love in the woman he held than he had suspected. He pushed aside his amazement and held her in her torment. It was as real as if she had witnessed a loved one’s horrible death.
“I must go to my parents,” Madeleine pleaded, torn between thoughts that Jack had been killed or her mother or father.
“Where are your parents? The time for secrets is past now, mademoiselle. I will call the police station there and have them run a routine check.”
Madeleine thought quickly. Stenger was right. This was her first step in regaining some trust in the world. If she could not feel trust for this man, then to whom could she?
“La Ciotat. We own a small restaurant, Chez Toche.”
“Toche. That is a strong name,” Stenger said in a reassuring tone.
Madeleine began to regain her composure as Willi left the room to place a call to the small police station in La Ciotat.
Minutes later, Willi’s call went through. Glad I’m calling south, he thought, considering the chaos and cut phone lines up north closer to the front.
“Chez Toche on Le Boulevard de la Republique is open for business. One Jean-Pierre and Claire Toche are offering a daube de boeuf and potage de Pommes-de-terre on the board today. They are safe and sound, mademoiselle.”
“You may call me Madeleine. I am Madeleine Toche. I am an officer in the British army, a special operations division. Thank you, Willi. At least I know my parents are safe. It makes me feel a little better, but I can feel that something is wrong.”
“Saying it only confirms what I know, mademoiselle. I suspected all along that you were with the SOE. Their agents are the best, but it changes nothing. We will all surrender to the British or Americans. Willi and I have both done it before.”
“The Great War?”
“Willi and I were at the Marne, among other delightful locations.”
“My father’s left leg is still there,” Madeleine replied casually, her initial panic having somewhat subsided. Her thoughts turned to Jack. She knew there was no phone call that could be made to check on him. She would have to wait. She racked her mind and tried to think of other family. None of them were in harm’s way, and most likely not involved in the Resistance.
“Did you hear that, Willi? The Marne,” Stenger said turning.
“Then we’re almost family,” Willi said, smiling. “ Did your father ever tell you about it?”
“He told me many things after my brother died. He was killed in the first days of fighting up north.”
“Lots of painful memories there,” Stenger said. “My generation was used as cannon fodder. Mostly by foolish officers fighting a modern war with conventional tactics.”
“My father says the same thing, and that your sacrifice has been forgotten.”
“One million causalities at Verdun. I guess that wasn’t enough for the world,” Stenger said his voice trailing off, sitting down heavily.
No one spoke, but it was clear that they had cast aside any remaining barriers between them. Souls had been laid bare. Madeleine was now bound beyond her word. Stenger knew she would never do anything to put her parents in danger.
“An SOE agent? No wonder you took me so easily, Madeleine. But much more importantly, your family owns a restaurant. Can you cook?” Horsty here is pretty good with boot leather, but I’m tired of that,” Willi said
, smiling.
“You just show me a kitchen, Willi,” she answered as she stood.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel’s face was pained as he read the scant details in a report concerning a cursory investigation of the destruction of Oradour sur Glane. It was a two-page document intentionally devoid of any meaningful detail. Not a man prone to intense outward displays of emotion, he paused as he finished reading the document and lowered his head and slowly shook it from side to side. The report was conclusive enough to tell him what he needed to know, that an SS division had razed a town and murdered its entire population. He swung around in his chair and looked out the window of his office and contemplated the disaster unfolding as Germany tried to defend against the invasion. His hands were securely tied. Any meaningful command decisions had to go through Hitler’s office. All of Rommel’s efforts to station armor near the front in preparation for invasion had been largely ignored. The tragedy of this town was a direct result of that stupidity. The farther away your armor is, the more time, fuel, and resources it took to bring it to bear. He had argued that the longer the road to the front, the more opportunity for the Resistance to attack. Rommel knew that unless the invasion became a stalemate, Germany’s chance to negotiate reasonable terms of peace with the Allies would be lost. Without negotiated peace, they would crush Germany into oblivion.
The Field Marshal stood up and began to pace. He wondered whether Germany would be permitted to exist as a nation after this. Some officers took the more direct approach by trying to assassinate Hitler. He had not participated in any of that. His duty was to his men and the defense of Germany. Things had been much easier in the beginning of this war, he mused. He thought of the heady days in command of the seventh Panzer, his beloved “Ghost Division,” spearheading through France like a blazing meteor gobbling up and casting aside military resistance wherever he encountered it. Sometimes he had been so far ahead of the rest of the German army that even command headquarters didn’t know where he was. Hence the name, “Ghost.” This was his second war leading men into battle by example, and, sometimes, by reckless bravery. He had the privilege of serving with men of monumental courage and determination. This abomination could not go unanswered. A country has a right to defend itself. When combatants fight they know they risk death. The women and children of Ouradour were not combatants.
