The Soldier's Girl: A gripping, heartbreaking World War 2 historical novel

by Sharon Maas

  ‘It is in his thigh.’

  ‘They will operate to remove the bullet and then they will put him in a ward to recover.’

  ‘No. He is a prisoner. The yellows will put him in a private room with a sentry. That was my experience, the last time I did this.’

  ‘You have done this before?’

  ‘Yes, in the first year of the war, that is how I know it can be done. It was not a resistance fighter, it was a boy they arrested because he is a Jew. You know I used to help the Jews escape?’

  ‘Yes, Jacques told me.’

  ‘The Château was a safe house; they would stay here and then Jacques or someone would escort them over the Vosges into occupied France to another safe house. But in the last years there have been no more Jews. They were all evacuated to Vichy. Thank goodness, not to Germany: we have heard terrible things about Jews sent to Germany! But I once got a Jewish boy out of custody this way; he too was wounded, though not from a shot. But I got him out. That is how I know it can be done. Good wine opens doors. But anyway, according to you, he will be having an operation.’

  ‘That’s what I assume, yes.’

  ‘And then?’

  Yes. As soon as possible after that, we don’t know when, they’ll take him to Gestapo HQ for interrogation.’

  ‘I’ll find that out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I told you: wine. My second-best, Château Laroche-Gautier 2014. It will open doors; it’s like gold. Listen: they will take him to the Louis Pasteur. I know people who work there, doctors, nurses, administrators. They all buy their wine from me; they know me and want to keep in my good books. Everybody appreciates discounts. I will make a few phone calls to the hospital. Find out if he is there at all, and if so, how he is doing and how well he is being guarded. The administration is still French. They will help. If possible we will go in tonight.’

  ‘That sounds good. But now we must make plans. I think I should go back home as soon as possible. The main thing is that the transmitter is no longer there; that was the most incriminating thing. But first I would like to use it, if I may; I need to report back to headquarters. And hopefully you will allow me to keep it here for the time being? Until the danger is over, I mean.’

  ‘You can keep it here as long as you want. This is my suggestion: I will return you to Colmar to your house; if someone from the yellow comes you just plead innocence. It was some horrible vandal who hates you because you are friendly with a German officer. You must hide behind your major. You must insist that he is your sweetheart and you are engaged to him, and that is why your home was attacked. You have nothing to do with the terrorists. You must use that word and be offended that you are under suspicion. But in my view that is all just a precaution. In my view they will leave you alone.’

  ‘That’s a good plan. And now, if I may, I will help you clear up and then I will go off to use the transmitter. I will go up to the attic; that room we used to play in as children? It would make a good hiding place for the equipment.’

  ‘It is all fine – run along. Don’t bother about the kitchen, I will do it.’

  ‘Then I will go.’

  Sibyl grabbed the suitcase and made her way up to the top of the house. The door to the playroom creaked as she opened it. She entered and switched on the light. A wave of nostalgia swept through her. This was where they had all played, mostly on winter evenings when it was too cold and dark to play outside. All of them: she and Elena and the four Laroche children and Jacques and Juliette. Now of the eight of them, two were dead, one was fighting in Russia, one was estranged from the family, one was wounded in the hands of the Boche, and one, Elena, was no longer in France and could not return before the war was over. She sighed and walked over to the mansard window where the old wooden table on which they had played multiple card and board games still stood. Jacques and Marie-Claire had been such rivals! Marie-Claire always was so triumphant when she won against Jacques; annoyingly so, whereas Jacques had merely shrugged it off. Jacques had never cared much about winning. Until the war. And now, winning was all he could think about, all they could all think about; and they would win. The Allies would win. And she and Jacques would be a part of that victory. But now Jacques had made a terrible mistake and somehow she had to explain that to her superiors.

  She set up the radio and found the frequency. ‘Acrobat!’ she said.

  ‘Acrobat. What is the matter?’ Came the reply. This was not a scheduled call, and thus was immediately recognised as an emergency call.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s bad news.’

  She succinctly described the events of the night. Acrobat was, predictably, not pleased.

  ‘You had asked us to send over an explosives expert for that bridge. We were in the midst of arranging that. Why this ridiculous solo action?’

  ‘I can’t explain it, Acrobat. He had thoroughly reconnoitred the area and he thought it could be done.’

  ‘Did you give him permission?’

  ‘No. I told him I had requested an expert.’

  ‘So he acted against orders. And in so doing endangered everyone. That is, in particular, you, since you are the network.’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘There is no supposing about it. We cannot afford renegade actions. He has jeopardised you and the entire operation as now we will no longer be able to send our explosion for the bridge. It is quite serious. He could have set us back months. Apart from that he has now put you in jeopardy. The circuit is contaminated. Fortunately it’s a small one, consisting of only you. He’ll squeal under torture.’

  ‘I was getting to that. Actually we’ve planned a rescue – he is in hospital now, we think, and if so we hope to get him out.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Good luck with that. But, Acrobat One, you’re on your own in this. We cannot help you. You need to hide as best you can.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Well, nothing to be done now. Even if you pull off the rescue attempt successfully, I want no more action at all for the next few months; probably not ever. Lie low. It could very well be that the war is coming to Alsace and the maquisards have outlived their usefulness. It would have been good to get that bridge down, as it would have destroyed their supply flow to the Alsace. Very annoying.’

  ‘So – what am I to do? I mean, if all goes well tonight?’

  ‘Wait there. I will let you know at the next scheduled call. Over and out.’

  She was trembling as she put away the transmitter. Acrobat’s anger had been palpable through the waves. Sibyl, as a nurse, had almost always followed instructions, except in those few instances when she had truly known better than the attending doctor: because she knew the patient better, because she had more actual experience in a particular treatment; or because the doctor had not given the case more time and attention. In the few cases she had acted against a doctor’s orders it was because her instinctive and innate knowledge of the situation had directed her. It had never been out of bravado or overconfidence, never an attempt to prove herself right, the doctor wrong. And she had always been right, in every case, as had been proven by the recovery or improvement of the patient. So a reprimand from her superior dug deep; a thorn in her flesh. But there was nothing to be done.

  His last words, though, were both enigmatic and exciting. The war is coming to Alsace. The maquisards have outlived their usefulness. What did it mean? Did it mean that she, too, had outlived her usefulness? Would she be recalled? Sent back to England with her tail between her legs? To return home in ignominy would be unbearable; because if the war was truly coming to Alsace, that was exactly the time to do her bit. Up to now, it seemed, she had been but treading water.

  And so she was quite glum as she returned to Margaux, who by now had cleared away the kitchen and was out in the yard letting out and feeding the chickens because dawn was breaking.

  ‘Just help me a bit with the animals, will you,’ she said, ‘and then we’ll
drive back to Colmar. Pierre and Victoire, by the way, are back. Everything went without incident; however, the main streets around Colmar are crawling with the yellow. They were stopped and questioned twice! Once on the way there, once on the way back.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘The usual: delivery of wine. As ever, wine is the magic word. I suspect they gave away a bottle or two.’

  ‘It’s all rather frightening.’

  ‘We are used to it. We have lived with this terror for four years.’

  ‘It might soon be over. I think the Allies are moving in!’

  ‘Is that what your boss told you?’

  ‘Not in so many words. It would be confidential if that was the case. But he hinted at it. It might be the end, Margaux. Think of it! I believe it is true. Major von Haagen also hinted at something like that; he was called back because of Allied activity in the region, he said. Maybe it is true! Maybe it is the end!’

  ‘Well, if the Allies are coming, it means it is not the end but the beginning.’

  ‘The beginning?’

  ‘The beginning of the end. It means the war is coming to Alsace. Don’t you understand, Sibyl? The Boche have dug themselves in. They can only be driven away through war. And it will be terrible.’

  Chapter 32

  She returned home to find that Oncle Yves had already boarded up the broken window. Now it was the second boarded-up shop on Gerectigkeitsgasse, along with the violin-maker’s.

  ‘I will replace the glass when Alsace is free again,’ he said. ‘Until then, let the boards be a testimony to the yoke we are living under. My customers know I am here. They can find me.’

  Sibyl went up to her room to freshen up, and returned to the shop for a late start at her job: it was now almost midday. Because of the boarded-up window, the shop was dark. Oncle Yves did not want to waste electricity and so he provided candles, which gave the area an almost romantic atmosphere: cosy, glowing, and with the pleasant scent of melting wax.

  There were few customers that day; even fewer than before the break-in. And then, shortly before two, the Boche came. They came in the form of two black-uniformed officers; one rake-thin and stern-faced, the other heavy-set, the kind of thuggish figure one would not like to meet in a dark alley. They entered to the usual jangle of bells.

  ‘Sicherheitsdienst. Good afternoon, Fräulein. We would like to question you regarding an incident that occurred last night,’ said the thin one.

  ‘I will fetch my uncle. He is the owner of the shop,’ said Sibyl. She opened the door to the workshop. ‘Oncle Yves, there are some officers here to see you.’

  Oncle Yves came through, removing a pair of goggles.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘You name and ID card, please.’

  The thin one did all the speaking while the burly one cast beady eyes slowly over the shelves at the back of the shop. Having done that, his gaze rested on Sibyl, sitting quietly on a stool behind the counter. She had the distinct feeling of being mentally stripped naked. She shuddered.

  ‘It has come to our attention that there was a break-in here,’ he said. ‘In fact, we can see that the window was broken. When did this happen?’

  ‘Last night when we were asleep.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘It must have been about two in the morning, n’est-ce pas, Jeanne? We both woke up and came downstairs.’

  ‘Have you reported the crime to the Kripo, the criminal police?’

  ‘No, I did not. I simply cleared up the mess and boarded up the window. I do not have time to report it. I may do so later in the week.’

  ‘Did you see anyone? Did anyone come upstairs?’

  ‘No. We saw no-one.’

  ‘A terrorist act was committed last night. At least two terrorists were involved. One was later apprehended. The other one escaped. We are concerned that he was aided by members of the population. Did anyone associated with terrorists seek refuge in this shop?’

  ‘No, indeed not.’

  ‘Why then was your shop broken into?’

  ‘That itself was an act of terrorism. This is what we found.’

  He produced a large stone and a sheet of paper ripped from an exercise book, with the word ‘COLLABORATEUR!!!’ scrawled across it.

  ‘What does this refer to?’

  Oncle Yves shrugged. ‘We do not know. Perhaps to my niece’s friendship with a German officer?’

  The thin officer turned his attention to Sibyl.

  ‘Your name, Fräulein?’

  ‘Jeanne – Marlene Schuster.’

  ‘Show me your papers.’

  She produced her identity card. He inspected it and handed it back.

  ‘What is this about a German officer?’

  ‘He is just a friend. We go out occasionally. He is a major in the Wehrmacht.’

  ‘His name?’ She told him.

  ‘Can this officer vouch for you, that you are positively inclined to the National Socialist government of Colmar and have no sympathies towards terrorists?’

  ‘I am sure he would vouch for me. Unfortunately, he is in Berlin at the moment.’

  The two officers exchanged looks.

  ‘Having a German officer as a friend is not necessarily an alibi. Any whore can have an officer friend.’

  ‘Are you suggesting…’

  ‘Save your outrage. I am just suggesting that it is easy for a woman to have an officer friend, especially if that woman is seeking a cover for clandestine activities. It is easy to hide behind an officer, but we are not fooled. It is also easy to stage a break-in. It is rather coincidental that this break-in occurred less than half an hour after the terrorist act. Someone escaped, sought refuge, perhaps came here? I think we will need to search the building, Herr Schuster.’

  Oncle Yves seemed not to have heard; he had been fiddling with the shoe in his hand and, apparently, not listening. He did not look up.

  ‘Herr Schuster?’

  ‘What? You mean…? Ah yes, Schuster. That’s me. I forgot. D’accord. What were you saying?’

  Sibyl said: ‘They want to search the house. They are looking for terrorists. They think we are hiding them.’

  ‘Oh. Well, let them search. They will find no terrorists here. I do not know any terrorists.’

  ‘You go, Kurt,’ said the thin one. ‘I will stay here with the two of then.’

  The burly one nodded and went through the workshop, leaving both that door and the door to the stairwell open. A moment later his heavy footsteps could be heard thudding up the stairs. And then, clumping around on the ceiling above their heads.

  He took his time. But half an hour later he was back, shaking his head.

  ‘Nobody is upstairs, sir.’

  ‘Did you look in all the cupboards? Under the beds?’

  ‘Of course. There is nobody.’

  ‘Well, then we will move on. But we will keep an eye on you two.’

  ‘Good luck finding your terrorists,’ said Oncle Yves.

  The thin one nodded curtly. The officers exited the shop. Sibyl and Oncle Yves, once certain they had gone, hugged each other.

  ‘Well, my dear, you have managed this far without arousing suspicion. Now, I fear, it will be a bit different. These people – they can actually smell spies. It’s a sixth sense in the brain of the Gestapo.’

  ‘These were SD officers. Sicherheitsdienst. That’s what they said when they came in. That is actually above Gestapo.’

  Chapter 33

  Margaux came later that evening, with news.

  ‘I called the hospital, someone I know. Jacques is fine. He is recovering well. The bullet was removed and he is in a private room on the first floor of the hospital. I have arranged everything. I have already handed out several hundred Reichsmarks worth of wine to hospital staff and they will turn a blind eye to what is to happen tonight. He has a guard from the SS with him in the room twenty-four hours a day. Tonight, that guard, after being fed his supper by the hospital staff,
will feel very sleepy and in fact he will fall asleep. A friend will enter the room and inform Jacques of the plan. He will be helped through the window. There is a drainpipe outside that room he can climb down.’

  ‘That is – wonderful – well done! And there was no problem, bribing the staff?’

  ‘If you ask me I almost did not need to bribe them. They are French – Alsatians. They hate the Boche as much as anyone. They are Resistance fighters as much as anyone. They know Jacques is not a terrorist. Jacques’ father was operated on here a few years ago. Some of them even know Jacques. We Alsatians stick together!’

  ‘It’s just odd that the Germans would put him in such a low-security hospital.’

  ‘It is the only hospital. Though it was officially Germanised, it is still run by Alsatian staff. They do have a small military hospital but it is for the military, not for prisoners.’

  ‘And the prison?’

  ‘The prison does not have its own hospital. When a prisoner needs treatment he is sent to the local hospital with a personal guard.’

  ‘Well – anyway. It sounds like a good plan if we can make it work.’

  ‘We can. Pierre is willing to be the one to go in to Jacques and help him escape. It will be easy. And in the morning the guard will awake after a deep sleep and wonder what happened. Never mind. He, too, will have a glass of Château Laroche-Gauthier with his supper. I’m sure it will be much appreciated. But you: you cannot come. It is too dangerous. They do not suspect you yet. You must stay out of it.’

  ‘Too late for that.’ Sibyl told her about the visit of the SD officers.

  ‘They came to Château Laroche-Gauthier too and searched but did not find the radio; they were looking for Jacques, not an object. And of course Maxence’s place. We are now all under suspicion. You cannot take that risk. You must stay out of it. For you, the stakes are too high. They will execute you if you are caught.’

  Sibyl shook her head. ‘They’ll execute you, too, and anyone else they catch.’

  ‘But you: as an agent…’