Clash by Night (A World War II Romantic Drama)

by Doreen Owens Malek

  A key was inserted into the lock on the back door and Harris leaped to his feet.

  Brigitte walked into the room, her hair and coat dusted with snow, and stopped short. All the color drained from her face.

  “It’s all right,” Laura said quickly. “He’s an American.”

  Brigitte’s eyes darted to Laura, alert, puzzled.

  Harris got his shirt and slipped into it, buttoning it hurriedly. He moved to stand behind Laura.

  “Brigitte,” Laura said, “this is Dan Harris.”

  Brigitte looked blank for a moment, and then the name registered.

  “Your Dan Harris?” she said to Laura.

  “The very same,” Harris said, and extended his hand. “How do you do?”

  Brigitte shook it with remarkable aplomb, recovering nicely. “May I ask what you’re doing here?” she said to him, removing her coat.

  “It’s a long story,” he said, looking at Laura.

  “I imagine it is. Do you mind if I change before we go into it?” she said, walking across the kitchen. “I want to check on papa too,” she added to Laura. “I’ll be right back.” She opened the hall door quietly and slipped through it, leaving them both to look after her.

  “Well, she’s not what I expected,” Harris finally said. “You used to talk about her like she was such a kid.”

  “She’s not a kid anymore,” Laura replied quietly. “She’s learned how to do what’s necessary. Whatever is necessary.”

  “What does that mean?” Harris asked, not liking her tone.

  Laura shrugged, shaking her head, and he saw that she wouldn’t reply.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said briskly, ignoring his blue stare.

  “And there is something you can do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “I have to start the stove and what’s left of the coal is down in the cellar in the bin. Would you get it for me?”

  “You bet.” He pulled on his shoes.

  “It’s right at the foot of the steps, you can’t miss it,” Laura said.

  He left, and she heard the sound of his feet on the stairs. Brigitte came in, wearing her green Sunday dress in honor of the occasion, and Laura said to her, “So what do you think of him?”

  “He fits your description,” Brigitte said, smiling slyly.

  “What was my description?”

  “You said he looked like the guy your mother warned you about when you were thirteen.”

  “You have quite a memory.”

  “Not really,” Brigitte said. “He looks like the guy anybody’s mother would have warned them about, if you know what I mean.”

  “No,” Laura said, putting her hands on her hips. “Tell me.”

  Brigitte made a dismissive gesture. “The way he wears his clothes is an unspoken invitation.”

  “To what?”

  “To tear them off,” Brigitte said smugly.

  Laura burst out laughing. She had long since ceased to be startled at such pronouncements from Brigitte.

  “His shirt was half buttoned because I just washed it. He put it on as you were coming through the door,” Laura said tartly.

  “And did you take it off?” Brigitte asked, arching her brows. “Or did he?”

  Laura sighed.

  “I rest my case,” Brigitte said, turning her palms up in finality.

  Harris returned with the coal scuttle and glanced from one woman to the other, sensing conspiracy.

  “What’s going on, ladies?” he said, handing Laura the coal.

  Laura busied herself at the stove and Brigitte said casually, “We were just discussing you.”

  Laura shot her a virulent glance.

  “What about me?” Harris asked warily.

  “That you were our next candidate for the ambulance run into Bern,” Laura said quickly.

  Brigitte absorbed this information without expression. “When?” she said.

  “As soon as a burn case arrives, I guess” Laura replied. “Curel said he would be in touch.”

  “How did you get here?” Brigitte asked Harris, sitting at the table and gesturing for him to join her. He did.

  “Escaped from a camp in Germany,” he replied.

  “You must be tenacious of life,” she said. “You’d have to be tough to make it this far.”

  “And lucky,” Harris said.

  “That too. So once you got to France you came looking for Laura?”

  “No, I wound up in a convent north of here. All Laura knew was that she was picking up an American pilot. She didn’t know it was me.”

  “That must have been a surprise,” Brigitte said softly. “For both of you.”

  “A very pleasant one,” Harris said.

  Laura sat at the table and Brigitte said grace. They ate the meal in companionable silence, too hungry and too appreciative of the rare largesse to spoil their appreciation of it with conversation.

  When they were through all three cleared the table and then Brigitte said, “I’ll go up and take a nap if you don’t mind. I haven’t slept since I got off shift.” She made a chicken sandwich and wrapped it in newspaper to take to her father. In the doorway she paused and said to Laura, “When do you want me to tell Kurt about this?”

  “Better wait until we hear from Curel,” Laura said.

  Brigitte nodded, waved to Harris, and left.

  “Who’s Kurt?” Harris asked suspiciously.

  “Her boyfriend. He’s helped us on the previous jobs.” She looked at him. “He’s Becker’s aide,” she said, delivering the coup de grace.

  Harris stared at her. “A German soldier is going to get me out of here?” he asked incredulously.

  “That’s right,” Laura answered. “He’ll do anything for Brigitte.”

  Chapter 11

  “Laura, have your lost your mind?” Harris demanded.

  “Strange bedfellows,” she said, and put the last plate in the sink.

  “How can you be sure you can trust this guy?” Harris asked.

  “He’s worked with us before, I told you that. He does it for Brigitte.”

  “I don’t care who he does it for, you can’t forget who he is. He could shift loyalties very fast if you get into trouble.”

  Laura pumped water and let it run into the sink, sluicing the dishes. “We need him, Dan. This won’t work without him.”

  Harris studied her, then put his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. “I don’t like it,” he said.

  Laura lifted one shoulder. “I can’t say I’m crazy about it either, but we don’t have much choice. You can stay here and take your chances every day, or use our old methods, which would make your odds of getting through only about fifty-fifty. We used to route everybody through Portugal because Switzerland was such an obvious choice. Do you know how FAR it is to Portugal? And Lisbon is a hotbed for every kind of traitor. Anybody we sent there stood a good chance of being sold to the highest bidder. We haven’t lost one person since we’ve been working with Kurt.”

  “They’ll catch on to it sooner or later,” Harris said.

  “We’re going to switch soon, before they do. I don’t want to endanger Kurt any more than we have to, not just because I like him but also because I don’t want to lose the contact. But until then we’re sticking to the ambulance method.”

  He considered it. “ I suppose it has the advantage of being so brazen they wouldn’t suspect you of doing it,” he said thoughtfully.

  She smiled at him. “Now you’re talking.”

  “I never would have thought you’d get so chummy with a Kraut,” Harris said uncomfortably.

  “They’re not all monsters, Dan. He’s just a kid in love with my sister-in-law.”

  “Aren’t you broad minded?” he said cynically, sounding like the pre-camp Harris she’d known in London. “There was a time when you wanted to string them all up by their heels.”

  She turned from the sink and looked at him, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I guess I’ve change
d too,” she said quietly. “It’s the larger picture that interests me now. I don’t want to kill all the Germans as individuals, I just want to win this war. And if Kurt can help us do it I’m going to let him.”

  He regarded her expressionlessly for a moment, then nodded abruptly. “All right,” he said. “What happens now?”

  “We wait,” she said simply. “We wait until the time is right.”

  And wait they did. Three weeks passed, during which Laura experienced such a conflict of emotions that she could barely endure it. On the one hand she wanted Harris to stay with her forever. On the other hand, as each passing day increased his chance of discovery she wanted him to be gone immediately.

  The only person more anxious for Harris to depart than Laura was Curel. As time wore on and an opportunity to transport the American did not present itself the leader of Vipère grew increasingly desperate. He was about ready to set fire to his own feet when Brigitte sent word that a man had been admitted to the hospital in Bar-le-Duc with third degree burns on his legs, the result of a boiler explosion. Plans were underway to move him to Switzerland very soon.

  Laura received the news on a Wednesday. She had tried to be businesslike about the preparations, finding warm clothes for Harris to wear and preparing food for him to take with him so he would be ready to go at a moment’s notice. But her expression betrayed her. She was so determinedly cheerful that her state of mind was more obvious to her lover than if she had been wailing with misery.

  She came back from teaching school one January day to call Harris out of the cellar and tell him that he would be leaving that night. He spent most of his time down there when she was not home in case Henri ventured forth from his self imposed prison, or an unexpected visitor dropped by the house. He came up the stairs and one look at her face told him what she had to say.

  “It’s tonight, isn’t it?” he said.

  She nodded. He helped her off with her coat and they went back to the kitchen, where they stood regarding each other gravely.

  “It’s best, Laura,” he finally said gently.

  “I know,” she replied, nodding, looking away from him.

  “I have to get out, get back to the fight,” he said.

  She nodded again. “We can’t expect the Allies to win without Smilin’ Jack,” she said, joking feebly.

  He touched her arm. She bit her lower lip, staring at the floor.

  “I can’t stay here, Laura. You knew that all along,” he said.

  She blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “Of course, of course, I knew. I’m never to have anyone or anything for very long, isn’t that the way it works? First Thierry, and then Alain, and now you...”

  “I’m not going to die,” he said calmly. “I’ll be back.” He had been expecting her bright facade to break down sooner or later and now it had.

  “Oh, how do you know?” she responded cruelly, ripping her arm from his grasp. “You may think you’re superman but I know you’re not. I hear you mumbling and screaming and whimpering in your sleep: name, rank, and serial number, name, rank, and serial number, over and over again. Isn’t that what they teach you to say when you’re tortured?”

  His eyes slid away from hers.

  “How much more of that can you take?” she demanded. “If you get picked up again what will happen? And even if you don’t, you could be shot out of the sky at any moment, or killed on the ground or horribly injured. I know it’s selfish. I know I should be thinking of the people in the occupied countries and in camps, I should be thinking of what will happen to all of us if we lose this war. But right now I’m thinking of me. And I want you to stay where I can see you and touch you and know you’re all right.”

  He listened, letting her get it out of her system.

  “Aren’t we supposed to have any happiness?” she said hopelessly.

  “We have had it and we will again.”

  “Your confidence should be catching but I’m just worn out with worrying,” Laura replied in a tired voice. “I can’t spend another two years wondering if you’re alive or dead.”

  “Laura, I would change things for you if I could. I can’t.”

  “Do you want to leave me?” she asked, her eyes beseeching him.

  He picked up a log and threw it savagely onto the lowering fire. Sparks flew.

  “Christ,” he said in exasperation, “how can you ask me such a question? What am I supposed to say?”

  “The truth.”

  “The truth is I would like to drag you off somewhere and never deal with any of this again. But even supposing we could do that, what would you think of me then? What would we think of ourselves? Could we hole up in a little love nest while my buddies, and your friends, do the job we should be doing? What would happen if everyone ran away?”

  Stretched to the emotional breaking point, faced with the inescapable logic of what he was saying, Laura burst into tears.

  Harris sighed and put his arms around her. He let her sob for a good while before saying, “Come on now, stop crying. You’ve been brave for so long. You don’t want to spoil that perfect record, do you?”

  “I don’t care,” she whimpered.

  “Yes, you do,” he murmured. “Maybe not at this moment, but in the long run you do. Or you’d be back in Boston right now playing backgammon with your mother.”

  She sniffled and he wiped her eyes with the tail of his shirt.

  “Now listen to me,” he said.

  She hiccupped.

  “Are you listening?”

  She nodded, looking at him with green eyes starred by clumps of damp amber lashes.

  “If there is any way on God’s green earth for me to get here, I’ll be back for you.”

  She stared at him, her mouth square, her eyes still swimming. She looked so young, like a despondent teenager who’d just failed to make the cheerleading squad.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked her, wiping away an errant tear with his thumb.

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  “And that’s the only assurance I can give, isn’t it?” he said.

  She pressed her lips together and then nodded.

  He hugged her close. “Laura, I love you. I love you so much that I’ll rearrange the continents to find you again. Have faith in me.”

  “I do,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “If anybody can do it, you can.”

  He held her off to look at her. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “You know what it is. Too many things are beyond even your control, Dan.”

  “I’ll narrow ‘em down, honey. I give you my word,” he said, and kissed her.

  She responded avidly and he was soon unbuttoning her blouse.

  “One more time, baby,” he said huskily, running his hands up the smooth expanse of her back. “Let’s make it last.”

  She knew they would.

  * * *

  Becker looked up as Kurt Hesse entered his office carrying the orders of the day.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Sir, there’s an ambulance going from the hospital to Misericorde in Bern this evening, carrying a burn case. It needs an escort.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?” Becker asked, glancing at his copy of the papers the boy carried.

  “Misericorde just made room today,” Hesse said.

  Becker nodded. “Who will be going?”

  “The driver, the patient, and a nurse to accompany him. We’ll follow in a car to the border.”

  “What nurse?”

  “One of the staff nurses here,” Hesse responded carefully, deliberately avoiding the use of the last name.

  “And the driver?”

  “The regular man. He’s reliable.”

  “Where will it be crossing the border?”

  “At Lissante.”

  “Fine. Alert the guards at that checkpoint. Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. I would like to see it to the border myself.”

  “Why is t
hat?” Becker asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I just don’t want to take any chances. It’s our policy to closely supervise any vehicles crossing the border.”

  Becker sat back in his chair and examined his aide, his lips moving close to a smile.

  “Are you telling me about our policy again, Hesse?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t you ever get bored with reciting the rule book to me?”

  “That’s what I’m here for, sir.”

  “I knew there was a reason,” Becker said, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows with his thumb. “Very well, you may go.”

  Hesse left and Becker remained staring at the door he had closed behind him.

  Becker was fond of the boy. He missed his children, or at least his memories of them when they were small, and in this outpost Hesse was the closest he could come to a bond of affection with one of his own people. It was obvious his aide had a girl somewhere, one of the locals; he would disappear and reappear mysteriously like the Willis in Bavarian folklore. Becker was prepared to overlook it. His original ban on fraternization had relaxed during two years of cohabitation, though it was still officially in force; he could use it as a weapon when he chose. But Hesse was valuable enough for the colonel to permit him his relaxation. The commandant knew how important it could be.

  Becker stood up and lit a cigarette. Kleinschmitt was coming in a few days, and the school in Bar-le-Duc was on the itinerary he had sent ahead to Becker’s office from the Chancellery. Apparently the Gestapo wanted to make sure the proper curriculum was still being taught.

  The idea of the SS officer visiting the school where Lysette worked filled Becker with unreasoning terror. It was as though he thought that, with the peculiar genius of madness, Kleinschmitt would be able to tell by looking at Lysette that she was Jewish. And Becker knew that before he let the Gestapo man take her he would kill Kleinschmitt.

  Becker toyed with the idea of telling Lysette to stay home on the day of the tour. But he thought that the absence of a regular employee might arouse the suspicion of the ever vigilant secret service. So he resolved to warn her to be circumspect. Becker would also make sure to accompany Kleinschmitt on his rounds. That way he would be on the scene to deal with any problem that might arise. By cutting the pig’s throat, for example, an activity he would certainly enjoy. He entertained himself imagining various violent methods of dispatching Kleinschmitt while he finished his cigarette and then went back to his paperwork.