The Spark of Resistance

by Kit Sergeant

  “Alice,” Didi returned.

  “And one more thing,” Bisset interrupted. “Occasionally it might be your responsibility to alter the appearance of a male colleague.” He used his own-clean shaven face to demonstrate how to use a make-up pencil to add whiskers.

  Finally it was time for dinner. After getting her tray of admittedly delicious-smelling food, Didi sat next to Adele.

  “Is any of this really necessary for us?” she asked. “The make-up, the hair coloring…”

  Adele shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. They’ve certainly become more thorough since I was recruited, probably because some of the women I trained with are missing in action.”

  Didi felt her heartbeat speed up. “Not Jackie?”

  Adele shook her head. “No. Not…” She left her sentence unfinished, but Didi mentally filled it in for her. Not yet.

  “Listen,” Adele put her hand on Didi’s arm. “Being in the field, whether as a courier or wireless operator, is not easy. You don’t have anyone to truly confide in. Sure you have the other people in the network, but you can’t reveal yourself to them fully. They can never learn your real name or who you were before the war. But—” she relaxed her grip, “you must remember how important the job is: you’re going to be part of the Resistance. You will play a critical role in the liberation of France and, hopefully, victory for the Allies.”

  Didi gave her a grateful smile before digging into her meal.

  Chapter 54

  Odette

  The next morning was the same for Odette: more bitter brown liquid for breakfast and then the guard took her to the room where Bleicher was waiting.

  Once again Odette took a quick puff of the cigarette he offered her before carefully putting it out.

  Bleicher watched her intently. “I visited Peter,” he said finally. “He’s in cell number 220 in the Second Division.”

  Though her heart leapt at the mention of Peter’s name, she refused to show Bleicher any reaction.

  “Peter is well and sends his love. I’ve given him some cigarettes. As you know, I’m trying to arrange an exchange for him.”

  Again, Odette said nothing.

  “But it is you that I want to talk about,” he continued. “I have hoped that two days and nights in this place might have softened you.”

  “Did you now, Hugo?” Odette replied, deliberately dropping the formal ‘Monsieur Bleicher.’

  He frowned. “If you choose to stay here in Fresnes, the Gestapo will send for you. They are determined to find the whereabouts of your wireless operator Alec and the British officer Roger.” He fixed his eyes on hers. “They know, as I do, that you have this information. I frankly fear for you if you are summoned to 84 Avenue Foch. The Gestapo is not as patient as I am.”

  She sat forward. “Tell me, Hugo. Are you going to offer to save me from the Gestapo again?”

  “Yes,” he replied eagerly. “I can get you out of here. All you have to do is ask.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “You seem to know much about the French Section of the War Office, but there is one important point on which you’re lacking knowledge. If one of us is captured, then we’ve got to take what’s coming to us. I tried to play games with you once, and I lost. It’s why I’m here. And I won’t play anymore—I’m not clever enough to leave here under your protection and keep my silence and, therefore, my self-respect. So I choose to remain.”

  “I impose no conditions, Lise. I know I would be wasting my time if I asked you either to give your friends away… or work for me.”

  She sighed. “Do you think I could ever return to England and look my daughters in the face while telling them that I was captured, but they let me out again because an Abwehr man took me under his benevolent wing?”

  “Maybe don’t tell them. It is war, and people must do what they can to survive. Others have done worse than what you believe I’m proposing and are thriving.”

  “There is no way I would thrive if I betrayed anyone. I couldn’t even live with myself, let alone face my daughters.” Or Peter. She stood. “You will forgive me if I ask that this interview come to an end.”

  His reply was unexpected. “Are you hungry, Lise?”

  She folded her arms around her chest. She was unsure where his question would lead, but decided to answer honestly. “Very.”

  “I could order you extra food.”

  “Do other women get extra food?”

  “Some. The ones that do chores, such as push the food trolley around.”

  “No thank you. I can manage on what they've been giving me.”

  “Would you like books to read?”

  “Do other women get books?” She didn’t want it to look as if Bleicher was giving her special treatment.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I should like some books.”

  “I will arrange that for you. Is there anything else?”

  She hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said softly. “On my cell door there are some notices in German. I don’t know what they say, but I’d like to learn.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “I will translate them for you.”

  “Thank you, Hugo.”

  He knocked on the door and, when the woman in gray opened it, he told her, “I will accompany Mrs. Churchill back to her cell.”

  The guard nodded and led them to Cell 108. Bleicher rubbed his chin as he read the signage outside her door. “That one means that you are a grand secret.” He pointed. “This one says “no books, no showers, no favors, no contact with anyone, that sort of thing.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to only have one notice stating, Nichts, Nix, nothing?” Odette asked.

  Bleicher considered. “I suppose, but it might upset the system. It’s all carefully planned, you see.”

  She nodded. “Wouldn’t it upset the carefully planned system if I walked out of the prison with you?”

  He bent his head, the glare of the lamp overhead hiding his eyes. “You are quite incorrigible, Lise. I don’t suppose there is any point in you coming to talk with me anymore.”

  She gave him a polite smile before she sauntered away. He left and the guard slammed the door shut.

  Odette sat on her bed, triumphant that she had managed to outwit Bleicher. She was still congratulating herself when she heard a faint call. She stood up, tracing the sound. It seemed to be coming from near her window. “‘Allo, ‘allo, la nouvelle,” the voice repeated in a lilting tone.

  La nouvelle, the newcomer.

  “‘Allo, la nouvelle in Cell 108, if you can hear me, stomp your feet.”

  Odette pounded both feet on the floor and then stopped to listen again.

  “Bonjour, la nouvelle,” the disembodied voice said. “I am Michelle. I am in the cell directly under yours. Near the ceiling in your cell is a grating for the furnace, which connects to my cell. If you wish to speak, talk into the grating.”

  Odette pulled a chair over. By standing on her tip-toes, her mouth could just reach the lip of the grating. “Hullo, Michelle,” she said.

  “Aha,” Michelle returned. “Welcome to Fresnes, la nouvelle. What is your name?”

  Odette hesitated. She didn’t want to use her real name, but couldn’t bear being called Lise by anyone else. “I am Céline.”

  “‘Allo, Céline. How have you come to join the ranks of the mortes vivantes?” The living dead.

  “I am a political prisoner,” Odette said, and then for good measure, added, “I am English.”

  “Oh là là, an English prisoner!”

  “And you, Michelle, how did you come to be here?”

  Michelle replied that the Gestapo had found an incriminating letter in her home. She’d been in Fresnes for four months without a trial. “One day I will either be allowed to go free, or else be shot by the Gestapo. If it is the latter, I hope I will go with dignity. Dignity is the best weapon we have against the Boches, Céline, for they do not understand it.”

  “I agree with you, Michell
e.” Odette paused before asking, “What about the women here who scream and then are beaten?”

  “Oh, them.” Even through the indifferent medium of the heat vent, Odette could detect the scorn in Michelle’s voice. “They have no self-respect. Sunday is the worst day because it is so quiet, and the stillness makes them scream all the more.”

  “The stillness is awful, but the screaming is worse.”

  “Have you broken a window pane yet?”

  “No,” Odette replied with surprise. “Is that possible?”

  “Yes. You will be punished by not being given soup for a day, but it is worth it to see the sky, especially because you are new and don’t know the pangs of real hunger yet.” She paused. “Try it and we will talk again this afternoon. The best times to speak are between twelve and two, when the SS women are at lunch, and then again when they are making dinner between four and five in the afternoon. Au revoir, Céline.”

  “Au revoir, Michelle.” Odette stepped down from her perch. She considered the window for a moment before lifting the chair over her head and smashing it against the panes. To her delight, one of the panes cracked. She repeated the motion, and a piece of glass fell out. She set the chair upright and climbed on it once again as she heard Michelle call, “Bravo, Céline.”

  By peering through the small hole, Odette could catch a glimpse of the blue sky. A tiny wisp of cloud rose up from the south. She marveled at the idea of it, forming over the olive groves of the Mediterranean and drifting its way to Paris. For a few minutes, Odette watched the cloud change shape and, as it passed over and then faded from view, she felt as though she’d lost a friend. But now I have Michelle, she reminded herself. She got back into bed, her eyes focused victoriously on the broken window.

  Chapter 55

  Didi

  The SOE had recently developed a manual for field wireless operators, and Didi had to suppress herself from continuously pointing out the many contradictions it presented. The manual stated they should not be contacting other members of their network directly, yet, two paragraphs later, they were instructed to “room with friends as the key taps are quite loud and can be detected in other rooms.”

  “How are we to find ‘friends’ to stay with if we are not to have contact with anyone in our network?” Didi asked Nora one evening. They were supposed to use this time to study, but Didi’s mind was often too filled with questions to concentrate, questions that plagued her long after lights-out and kept her from getting a good night’s sleep.

  Nora shrugged from the bed across from Didi. “I don’t suppose they mean to make friends with random people off the street. The Gestapo has ways of turning even the most patriotic French citizens onto their own people.”

  “And this.” Didi ran her finger across the words as she read them aloud: “Wireless operators in the field must constantly move their sets in order to prevent detection.” She looked over at her friend. “Do they know how hard it is to locate a suitable safehouse from which to transmit, let alone several safehouses?”

  Nora’s voice had grown sleepy. “Let’s ask Adele in the morning. Since she’s already been to France twice, she’ll probably know.”

  “It’s because they want you to only transmit at certain times,” Adele told them at breakfast the next day. “If you do so enough, then the Germans can lock onto your schedule and trace your wireless. They have direction-finding vehicles camouflaged to look like ordinary laundry vans with antennas that can pick up a signal within half an hour.” She put her fork down. “You do know that a wireless operator is the most dangerous job of all, don’t you?”

  Didi nodded. Marks and Archie had told her something similar.

  Both Didi and Adele’s eyes turned to Nora, who, for a moment, looked panicked. She blinked hard, and the panicked look faded. “Of course,” she replied.

  Adele watched intently as the woman next to Didi prepared her coffee. “Don’t ever put the milk in first,” Adele stated.

  The woman looked up in confusion. “What?”

  Adele nodded at the little pitcher of milk next to her. “Not that there’s a lot of milk to go around in France, but if you do get your hands on some, add it to your coffee, not the other way around. Putting the milk in before the coffee is a dead giveaway that you are English.”

  “Does it really matter that much?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” Adele said simply. “A little gesture like that could get you killed.”

  The panic was back on Nora’s face as she met Didi’s gaze.

  After lunch it was time for interrogation training. Philby started by saying that, thanks to returning agents like Adele—and agents who’d miraculously escaped after being caught—the SOE had learned a lot about the Gestapo’s methods of questioning. “They rely more on terrorizing their subjects into confessing everything rather than accumulating much intelligence,” Philby stated. “If you find yourself in the hot seat, remember to talk slowly. Think before you speak and try to stay calm. No matter what, stick to your cover story—you’re just an ordinary French citizen trying to make a livelihood, but don’t get too indignant. These Gestapo thugs don’t take kindly to people who challenge their authority. If all else fails, just count to yourself, especially if they give you an injection. If you can make it through the first fifteen minutes of whatever they do to you without giving up your network, chances are you can make it through the next fifteen days, or even fifteen months, provided they don’t gas you first.”

  Didi filed these useful tips away in her brain, hoping they’d become as second-nature to her as Morse code.

  Didi was too mentally exhausted to even flip through her manual that night. She fell asleep much earlier than usual, only to be awoken shortly before dawn when the bedroom door was flung open.

  “Get up!” a man whom Didi didn’t recognize demanded. He and his companion were dressed all in black.

  He nudged Nora with the butt of a gun. “There’s been a leak among you trainees,” the man spat out. “You are all to report for questioning.”

  Didi reached for her robe, but the other man stated, “Now.”

  Once downstairs, Didi, Nora, and the rest of their roommates were taken to separate rooms.

  Her interrogator wore a long black coat and wide-brimmed hat and spoke with a German accent as he barked questions at her. “Who are you?”

  Didi blinked as a spotlight was directed at her. “Alice Wood.”

  “Say it again,” he commanded.

  Didi repeated her code name, feeling her face growing hot under the heat of the lamp.

  “What were you doing at 7 pm yesterday evening?”

  She kept calm, knowing this was yet another test. “I was reading in bed.”

  “No you weren’t. You were at the train station.” There was a swift motion and Didi suddenly found herself on the floor, the chair next to her.

  “Get up!” he barked and she rose shakily to her feet, her backside already sore.

  “I’m going to ask you again: where were you at 7pm yesterday?”

  “I was reading in bed.” He did another sudden movement and now her face stung from where he’d slapped her.

  She could feel her eyes fill with tears of shock. If this was a test, why were they getting physical? He shoved her against the wall, and Didi bit back a surge of rage. Remembering what Philby said that afternoon, she started to count in her head. Un, deux, trois…

  The interrogation continued this way for what seemed like hours, with the masked man repeating his questions and Didi answering them the same way every time. Occasionally he’d deliver another slap or shove until Didi no longer thought it was a test.

  When the light was finally switched off and the man removed his mask, Didi was amazed to see the seemingly mild-mannered Philby.

  “Why did you hit me?” she asked dazedly.

  “I’m sorry Miss Woods,”

  “Wood,” she corrected.

  “Miss Wood. Since we’ve gained more knowledge about what the
Gestapo are doing to our captured agents, we’ve had to get much harder with that particular test.” He wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Go and snatch some sleep and we’ll talk after breakfast.”

  Nora was already asleep when Didi returned to the room, but her own heart was still racing and she lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

  After breakfast, the women were brought into a small room. “We’ve had time to review your individual sessions, and there are some things we want to point out. Some of you did very well, and some less so,” Philby told them.

  Didi crossed her fingers at her side, hoping she was in the former group. Suddenly her voice filled the room, “I was reading in bed.” She cringed as she heard the sound of Philby slapping her. Another dull noise. Didi rubbed her arm where she’d hit the wall when he shoved her. Then there was nothing but the sound of the tape spool.

  Philby stopped the recording. “As you’ve heard, Alice did a great job. She never wavered on her story, no matter what I did.”

  Didi kept her outward expression neutral, but inwardly she felt like cheering.

  “However,” Philby continued, “we must examine another’s experience.” He again fiddled with the machine and this time they heard Nora’s voice. “I was talking to Alice, and we were discussing the notion of our safehouses.”

  “What about the safehouses?” a disguised voice asked.

  “Well… I mean, they say we shouldn’t let the other members of our networks know about them, but yet we rely on our contacts to find them. So… what should it be? Should we…” There was the sound of a sharp noise, followed by a moan from Nora.

  Philby paused the recording. “I’m sure you’d agree that Nora gave too much away.”

  Didi glanced at her friend’s fallen face. A purplish bruise was forming on one of her cheeks.

  “These are stupid mistakes that can compromise a network, or, worse yet, the entire Resistance,” Philby continued. “But, with more training, we can get past them.”