Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  “I agree, but as a last resort, and only if fired upon. Now tell me, do you have a jet in your back pocket?”

  “No, I hoped you might know where we could find one,” Stenger said.

  “And if I did, how would we obtain this jet?” Hartmann said.

  “Steal it,” Stenger said.

  “Who is going to steal the jet, you and Willi?” Hartmann replied.

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “The French Foreign Legion,” Stenger said.

  “Those thugs? Hartmann laughed. “Why on earth would the Legion steal a jet at the direction of Horst Stenger?”

  “Bir Hakeim,” Stenger said, “Madeline fought with the Legion in Africa, you know.”

  “Madeleine has a connection to the Legion’s defense of Bir Hakeim? That wasn’t included in the debriefing dossier I was privy to,” Hartmann said surprised.

  “She was there. She warned the garrison dug in there that Rommel’s army was rolling on their fortification. She bought them valuable time and stayed to fight during the fifteen days the Legion held their position. She told me the story in great detail. It is not widely known, but the Legion’s commander at Bir Hakeim was so impressed with her abilities and fighting spirit, that he swore her in as a Legionnaire on the eve of their retreat from the position.”

  “If it was anyone other than Madeleine, that would sound like a fairy tale, but I was aware that she had been sent to carry out at least one mission in the region. She must have been impressive. Bir Hakeim was a legendary battle and if Madeleine was there for the whole thing, I can understand the Commander’s decision. The defense of the fort was pivotal. I take it that you know someone in authority in the Legion,” Hartmann said.

  “I do. His name is Hans Meyer. He is, unfortunately, a former SS officer. At the end of the war when his regiment was captured, he escaped and made his way to Marseilles and presented himself to the Legion. Legend has it that he and several other SS and regular German army soldiers found their way into the Legion. Meyer did so, survived the training, and today has risen to the rank of Colonel,” Stenger answered.

  “That’s not all he did at the end of the war. I know for a fact that Meyer had been given orders to execute several Jewish families that had been denounced by a neighbor collaborating with the Nazis. They had been hiding in plain sight and would not have been discovered. Meyer ignored that order,” Hartmann said.

  “I know that’s true. Although he was a highly decorated German SS officer, he saw himself as a soldier, not the murderer of women and children. I understand he dismissed the guards holding the prisoners, told the families to run for their lives and hide until the allies broke through the German defenses and counter attacks and then to present themselves to the first allied patrol they found,” Stenger said. “Meyer’s command was so devoted to him, they never said a word. They just followed him back into the fight.”

  “He was a fierce soldier, just not much of a Nazi. And neither were you. Now, how do you know Meyer?”

  “I saved his father’s life at Verdun, Captain, where you and I briefly met. His father and I remained friends and I knew Hans as a boy between the wars. I’ve seen him a few times since he entered the Legion, when he was home to visit his family. He is closed lipped about his time in the SS or the Legion,” Stenger said.

  “Will he agree to help?” Hartmann said, warming to the unlikely plan.

  “Madeleine is a Legionnaire and a hero of France. Besides, the Legion has much less respect for the French government since the Legion’s failed coup attempt in 1961, when they tried to assassinate President de Galle, and take control of Algeria.

  “That’s what De Galle got for throwing the Legion out of Algeria, their ancestral home, and reducing their fighting strength so drastically,” Hartmann mused. “Clearly one of the last things you ever want to see is the Legion’s first parachute regiment landing in your town.”

  “I know Hans. I think he’ll do it. I understand that he is stationed in the Middle East and should be able to do something. Some kind of air reconnaissance would be the most effective,” Stenger said.

  “As far as I know, the Legion has no air force and no pilots, Horst.”

  “They are resourceful. I will get Hans to agree. He’ll know that he has to take the initiative and not involve his superiors. Besides, he will be ordering a rescue mission to save a hero of France and more importantly, his beloved Legion. What are the chances that you can find him a jet to borrow?” Stenger said.

  “You get him to agree and I will find his pilot a French jet to fly.”

  “Where can he get his hands on one?”

  “The French government wanted to test their latest model of the Mirage under desert conditions. I know they sent one in the hope that we would buy several more. It’s at a government testing facility, thankfully in a rural setting, and not at one of our air force bases.”

  “Is it heavily guarded?” Stenger asked.

  “No, it’s not heavily guarded,” Hartmann answered.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t get involved?”

  “I said directly involved. We’ll clear the way for your pilot, with no casualties. I believe early morning just before sunrise would be best. The jet will be able to cover a great deal of ground in a short period of time. If she has been out this long, she must be on foot.”

  “Let’s hope she has water.”

  “Let’s pray she does,” Hartmann answered. “Give my number to Meyer and be sure to mention my name. Any surviving member of the SS will remember it,” Hartmann said hanging up the phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Madeleine’s thirst started just after sundown. She’d been walking for a few hours under the last of the day’s blast furnace heat longing for the cool of night and a reprieve from the sun. She stopped only briefly to remove sand and rocks from her shoes. She took care to inspect her feet for blisters. She tightened her shoe laces periodically to avoid as much damage as possible. Protecting her feet meant the difference between life and death. If she injured or hobbled herself in any way that made walking either difficult or impossible, she would die. She kept the same pace she remembered from her days in Africa and moved forward down the road. There was little vegetation of any kind, and the plants that grew were small and parched, relying on rainfall that rarely came. This was the barren desert in which Jesus wandered, devoid of any semblance of life save for the scorpions, serpents and harsh winds.

  During her time with the Legionnaires, Madeleine had learned that under normal circumstances it was best to hide from the sun during the day and travel at night, and if necessary to bury oneself under the sand if no other shelter was available. Shade of any kind was desirable. Even the shadow of a plant or the lee side of a rock casting a shadow was better than the unrelenting heat of the sun. This portion of the desert provided neither, nor was she inclined to stop. Rescue was unlikely given the proximity of the war and the lack of governmental sanction of her mission by any friendly government. She regularly scanned the sky for aircraft but knew that it was foolish to expect a rescue mission of any sort.

  I didn’t die in the desert the last time, Madeleine thought, trying to keep her mind off of her thirst. I will walk out of here and there will be water when I get there, she promised herself again and again.

  I have to keep focused on what I am doing physically and what is happening to my body. I must concentrate and push everything else aside, the mission, my family and friends, the enemy, everything for as long as I can, she thought. The disorientation, the pain and the mirages will come soon enough, but I’ve seen them before. I wonder if after all these years the same visions will come to me? Will Jack appear to push me forward, will my parents and Yves? I hope Yves comes. I still miss him so much, Madeleine thought, remembering her twin brother who was killed during the German Blitzkrieg attack on France. It was his death and her rape at the hands of an SS officer that had led her to her first kill and eventual escape to Eng
land in search of a means to fight back.

  It was because of her ability to kill that she had been selected during her Special Operations Executive training to be trained as an assassin. Hartmann and Jack had selected her out of many highly skilled agents to be the weapon at the end of the long reach of the SOE. Madeleine allowed herself to think of Yves and how he had loved her. His memory would keep her going as it had so many times during the war. The thought of him gave her purpose. She drew upon the well of hate that lived inside her, hate for those who would oppress, rape, kill needlessly; those whose cruelty was its own end. That hatred and rage had sustained her. It was always that way when her life was in danger. The rage had sustained her during the war when she walked many miles over the barren Sahara sands to Bir Hakeim. It had been a pivotal time in the war and her life. She felt closer to the men of the Legion than any others.

  She wanted to remember the battle they fought together those many years ago one more time, while she could. She knew that after the thirst came the indecision, the disorientation and eventually the hallucinations. The only thing after that was an eventual collapse and the wait for death.

  Madeleine had been ordered to North Africa to eliminate an embedded double agent feeding crucial information to the German Army during the late spring of 1942. Her orders had been to intercept the suspected double agent, determine his loyalty and extract any valuable information he might have concerning Rommel’s Africa Corps.

  She learned that Rommel planned to attack the British and Allied troops and establish a dominant position along the crucial northern coast. The SOE command stressed the strategic importance of defending the Egyptian coastal city of El Alamein and the port of Tobruk in Libya.

  Madeleine determined that the agent was loyal to Germany. An intense interrogation of the agent revealed that he had information concerning Rommel’s planned attack on the Free French position at the ancient Egyptian fortification of Bir Hakeim. Madeleine followed orders and buried the traitor under the desert sand and attempted to relay the information back to London. She was unable to gain access to a radio.

  Fearing that the attack on the French was imminent, she hid underneath a troop transport until night fell, then she lowered herself out from underneath the vehicle and began a long march through the desert, hoping to find a British or French patrol. She found neither.

  Madeleine walked for three days and nights, exhausting her water supply by the beginning of the second day. She stumbled forward, thankful for her compass and the cool reprieve of the desert night.

  More than once she hid from German patrols by burying herself in the sand. The Sahara seemed to be an ocean of sand and dust. During the day clouds of dust on the horizon meant that a patrol was coming her way. She always had ample time to hide. At night she listened for the telltale mechanical sounds of equipment that carried for miles in the thin desert air. She lived thirst. The thirst was an entity that possessed her, slipping dusty fingers in the corners of her mouth and down her throat, sending grit to cake maddeningly in her eyes. She willed herself forward until she stumbled into two Legionnaires scouting several miles out from their entrenched position at Bir Hakeim. Madeleine collapsed into their arms, losing consciousness only at the very end. The Legionnaires gently lifted her into their jeep and drove as quickly as they could back to the fort. While one man drove, the other trickled a thin stream of water into Madeleine’s mouth and bathed her face with a cool rag.

  Later, Madeleine woke up in the fort’s infirmary with an impeccably dressed officer standing over her. His white tunic was spotless as was his cape and the kepi he wore placed firmly on his head. He looked like he was dressed for the opera or other formal occasion. He was impressive. The makeshift hospital was spartan, but clean and well provisioned. There were several unoccupied beds and an operating theatre was visible through an open doorway on the opposite side of the room from Madeleine’s bed. The room seemed to be expecting casualties. There would be plenty of casualties if the information Madeleine carried came to pass.

  “Mademoiselle, I am Colonel Amilakvari,” the man said in French. “While I’m sure the men of the garrison would welcome the company of a beautiful young woman, I doubt you crossed the disputed section of the desert for that purpose. May I sit down?” The man said gesturing to a chair beside the bed.

  “Of course, Colonel. Please let me explain myself,” Madeleine said, her voice barely audible. I must apologize, I was long without water. I was in a hurry to get here and underestimated the distance I would have to travel.”

  “What is the purpose of your effort to reach us?” Amilakvari said, smoothing his pants and setting his hat on the bed next to where he sat.

  “Sorry, let me explain, Colonel. I am French but I am a member of the British armed forces. I fled France and found my way to England. I was ordered to Northern Africa, given my heritage and my ability to speak Arabic.”

  “Damnable language, I had a great deal of difficulty learning any of it and my first posting was to Algeria years ago. Where did you learn to speak the language?”

  “My mother was born in Algeria and taught me and my brother to speak it from infancy.”

  “Algeria is the Legion’s home. We are practically related,” Amilakvari said his face breaking into an expansive smile. “What branch of the British military would send a young woman to a combat zone, of all places?”

  ”Colonel, I must insist that you keep the information to yourself,” Madeleine said glancing up at the plasma bottle dripping into the needle in her right arm. Her head had started to clear but she felt far from healthy.

  “I give you my word as a Legionnaire and that means a great deal to me.”

  “And to me,” Madeleine said. “Very well then, I am a member of the SOE. I operate in France.”

  “What is your mission?”

  “My orders are to kill the enemies of France and to see her free of the Nazis.”

  “We share that mission. Why did you come to Bir Hakeim?” Amilakvari said.

  “I came by some important information. Rommel is planning to attack on May 26th.”

  “We have been waiting for that for three months. We are well provisioned and prepared, but have had no idea as to when the Desert Fox would commit and attack us. How did you find out this information when we have had no information from allied command?”

  “I was sent to interrogate a British agent, embedded within Rommel’s command. My superiors began to suspect the agent was feeding us false information and supplying correct information to the Germans,” Madeleine said.

  “He was a double agent?” Amilkavari said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did this double agent give you the information concerning Rommel’s plans, voluntarily?”

  “No sir, he did not.”

  “May I ask where this agent is now?”

  “Under the sand,” Madeleine said, meeting Amilakvari’s gaze.

  “I see. Then he is where he should be. When you are able, I would like to discuss this matter more fully before you leave us.”

  “When I decided to come to Bir Hakeim, I planned to make my way through to British command and seek passage back to France through Gibraltar and the Spanish frontier. But if Rommel pushes the allies into the sea, I’ll have a long swim. Colonel, I would prefer to stay and fight,” Madeleine said.

  “You are remarkable, Mademoiselle. The men will find it odd, fighting alongside…”

  “A woman?” Madeleine interrupted a challenge in her tone.

  “No, with a soldier who is not a Legionnaire,” Amilakvari smiled. “Besides, what French soldier has not heard of L’ange de la mort?”

  “Do you think I’m she?” Madeleine answered.

  “I’m not sure, but we shall see,” Amilakvari said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door.

  “I must say, Colonel you seem to be dressed in your parade finest,” Madeleine said.

  “One never knows when he will have to go before the almighty on short
notice,” he said.

  Madeleine regained her strength steadily and drank more water over the next few days than she thought possible. She promised herself that she would never be thirsty again. She knew she had come close to death. The desert had almost accomplished what the Gestapo had been unable to.

  The second day after she was rescued from the desert, Madeleine was able to leave the infirmary. That morning she awoke to find her pistols on the table next to her bed and a single rose. Where in the desert could anyone find a rose? She suspected the Colonel had left the rose. How was it possible in the blasting sand of the desert that anyone could look so polished and handsome?

  Madeleine spent her time regaining her strength by alternating periods of walking with rest. She was able to reconnoiter throughout the old fortification. She learned from the medics that the Turks had originally set up the fort at an oasis that had since dried up. Its position at two cross roads made its location strategic. Much of what Madeleine saw, she came to understand, had been dug or built by the Free French garrison during their long wait for battle.

  After she was rested, Madeleine began to familiarize herself with the layout of the Legionnaires’ entrenched position. She learned that the men had been digging in and fortifying every aspect of their defense. Battle in the desert was defined by heavy artillery and tanks. The men had ample time to lay mines between themselves and the anticipated enemy advance.

  The news of Madeleine’s arrival and the message she brought was a relief to the men of the garrison. Legionnaires are fighters; Madeleine knew inactivity weighed heavily on the troops. Battles were punctuated with violent periods of terror. Rommel was sure to throw everything he had against the Legionnaires in his attempt to swat them aside, push the allies into the sea and establish German dominance and control over the area.

  Madeleine walked throughout the compound and spoke to many of the men. They treated her with respect although she could feel their eyes and caught the low tones of whispered conversations. She liked the hard edge the Legionnaires all seemed to have. They were not young boys or recruits, and most of the men were not French.