by Sharon Maas
‘I am so grateful that I have you, that you said yes, that you are mine, the other half of my heart. I have kept all this deep in my soul and it has almost killed me. I needed to tell someone, and I am so grateful that you listened, that you are listening. To things too dreadful to even believe. I heard rumours before but I did not believe them. Who could believe such terrible things, that Germany could do such terrible things? But it is not Germany. It’s Himmler. It is his idea, his plan. He calls it the final solution. But it is no solution, Marlene! It is a catastrophe! It is, it is – I can’t find the words even to describe the horror of it. And it has been confirmed. It is happening. It is real.’
‘I don’t understand… what’s happening? What’s real? What do you mean with final solution? Solution to what?’
‘To the Jewish problem.’
‘Oh… I see… and what is the solution, according to Himmler? I know that Hitler sends them to labour camps.’
Of course, she knew about Hitler’s obsession with Jews; the stories horrified her. Jacques’ sister and her Jewish sweetheart. Margaux’s maid Leah, having to escape, and Margaux’s work in harbouring Jews to be secretly sent to France. And, of course, on her own street: the violin-maker’s story. The Reichskristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass, had made international headlines. Hitler’s rants, broadcasted around the world, in which he blamed Jews for all the world’s problems.
‘Labour camps? Labour camps? Do you know what those camps really are? They are death camps! They are systematically murdered! In their thousands!’
She listened, stunned, as von Haagen described Himmler’s plan for the clean and final eradication of all Jews from Germany, from Europe. His voice trembled as he spoke; he reached for her hand and clasped it as if it were a lifeline. He cried tears, he snorted into the serviette. Her shock turned her blood to ice. She could not believe it. It couldn’t be true.
‘It is true, Marlene. It is true. He showed us photos – with pride, bragging! He is proud of this solution! And I – I am devastated. As every honourable German should be. To think that…’
The room began to crackle. Someone had switched the radio on.
‘Here is Soldatensender Belgrad…’
Followed by the the yearning, nostalgic, melancholic crooning of Lale Andersen, singing the heartbreaking ballad of Lili Marlene.
* * *
‘I can’t stand it. I can’t. Come, let’s go.’ Von Haagen pushed away the table, edging himself free of it, held out his hand to help Sibyl slide out. He threw a wedge of Reichmarks on to the table, and practically pulled her to the door; outside, the motorcycle and sidecar were parked. She refused to get into the sidecar.
‘Wolfgang, stop, stop; let’s talk some more. I need to know… tell me… is it true? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I am sure, absolutely sure. And I am devastated, ashamed; I am sorry I asked you to be my wife… now you know. How can I take you to live in a country that has done such things? How can you bear to accept me, a German?’
‘Wolfgang, please. It is not you who has done these things.’
‘But I am responsible. Every German is responsible. We gave this party, these people, that man, power. I am serving in the army. I am fighting to preserve such an evil regime. And there is nothing I can do about it. Marlene: I have been conscripted for field duty. Next week I am to join Army Group G under General Balck. Most of all, we are to ensure that Strasbourg stays in German hands. But, Marlene, the enemy forces there are so mighty. We must fight not only against the USA Seventh Army but against the French First army and the Free French Army. And they are strong. Marlene, I fear too strong. I do not know if we can hold Strasbourg. But it is what Hitler wants. He says we must fight unto death! Marlene, my precious: I must go and I do not know if I will survive this. It is perhaps a suicide mission. Morale is low among the Germans – I know mine is – and strong among the French. Marlene, I want you to promise one thing: pray for me!’
‘I will, Wolfgang. I will. I promise.’
Chapter 37
Sibyl and Margaux had a code, by which Sibyl could request a pick-up. She was to go to a public phone booth and dial Margaux’s number. With that in mind, the next morning she dialled Margaux’ number, and when Margaux picked up, she said, ‘Bonjour, Madame. Do not forget it is Aunt Blanche’s birthday on Tuesday. We are expecting a delivery of pinot gris.’
‘Bien sûr,’ was the answer. ‘We have the order in writing and the crate will be delivered at four.’
That afternoon, at four, Sibyl waited at the usual meeting place. Margaux was five minutes late, by which time Sibyl’s insides were a hive of bees. They packed her bicycle into the van, Sibyl joined the bicycle in the back, and Margaux drove off. They had decided that it was not safe for Sibyl to be on the passenger’s seat in the cabin; Margaux had been stopped three times in the last month, asked for ID. The back of the van had never been searched.
Once at the château, Sibyl made an emergency call to Acrobat; she managed to give a concise account of von Haagen’s news.
‘Apparently they are using their very strongest forces and will fight to the death,’ she reported. ‘Army Group G, under General Balck.’
‘Very good. Excellent. This is the kind of report we’ve been hoping for. We expect more of the same and have made a contingency plan: you are to be given a pianist of your own, Acrobat One. We will be dropping the agent in as soon as possible; please arrange a place and date. It’s all arranged from this side.’
‘A pianist?’
‘Yes. You’ll have a pianist. You are to be concerned only with gathering information. The MI6 is in on this. They know about you and von Haagen. You need back-up. Do you have a courier?’
‘I suppose, well, Marg…’
‘No names, please. We get it. Over and out.’
‘Wait… wait… there’s more…’
She wanted to tell Acrobat about Himmler, about the supposed death camps for Jews, but it was too late. Acrobat had signed off. She sighed and returned downstairs to Margaux.
‘It seems, Margaux, that Acrobat Circuit is finally taking shape. I’m to get a pianist – a wireless operator – and it seems you are to be the courier.’
She gave Margaux a summary of the conversation with von Haagen, more detailed than the one she had given Acrobat. She described his tears, his breakdown, his belief that he might be killed. ‘He asked me to pray for him, Margaux, and I promised to do so!’
‘Well, it’s a promise you’ll have to keep. One does not promise such a thing in vain.’
‘But, but how? How can I pray for Germany to win?’
‘That’s not what he asked you to do. He asked you to pray for him. For his eternal soul. For his salvation. So, even if he is killed, his sins will be forgiven, hopefully. That you can do. You must do it.’
‘I will.’
‘But you must also pray for Jacques. We heard from Jacques yesterday. You will never believe where he is – he is in Strasbourg!’
‘In Strasbourg! What is he doing there?’
‘Jacques has joined the General de Gaulle’s France Libre Army; they have been conscripting volunteer Resistance fighters. All of Jacques maquisards have also joined up. What’s more, France Free has joined forces with the regular army, the French 2nd Armoured Division under General Leclerc. And both these armies have joined with the Americans Seventh Army to defend Alsace and free Strasbourg. Sibyl, it looks as if your two lovers will be fighting against each other for the liberation of Alsace! Now, what do you say to that!’
Chapter 38
Well, what was there to say? She was thrilled at the news. Beyond thrilled; Jacques, no longer a renegade, Jacques doing what he had to do, fighting for France, but now legitimately, protected by de Gaulle’s army, no longer on the run.
On the other hand, knowing what she now knew, knowing the strength of the forces he’d be facing, knowing that this was Hitler’s last stand, the fiercest battle with the strongest forces: it terrified her.
We must fight to the death, von Haagen had said. To the very last man! That would mean, surely, to that last man on both sides?
If that was true, then Jacques was finished. Alsace was finished. France might have been cleaned of the Boche but Alsace was still well and truly in German hands. Fight to the death meant that Hitler would not surrender this last bastion. It would have to be wrested from him after the war as a whole was won; and who knew when that would be? And in the meantime, it was fight to the death. And there was nothing she could do but sit in her cobbler’s shop and wait for news: the fate of women in times of war since time began. Women, holding the world together while men slaughtered themselves, women, doing their best to maintain a world worth living in; women, their hearts ripped out as their menfolk fought like wild beasts, their own courage and stalwartness overlooked in the stories of bravery and valour.
She thought, now, of von Haagen. His breakdown had astonished her, but more important was the vital news he had passed on which she, in her turn, had passed on to her superiors. That was her contribution to the war effort, and hopefully it would be of use. Acrobat had been palpably delighted, as if, at last, her appointment was showing results. This was a matter for MI6, he’d said; it would be passed on to military intelligence, as that information went beyond the scope of Special Operations. She had passed it on and never once looked back; she had lived up to her promise that she would do her job no matter what. That she was not just a soft-hearted nurse too weak to make tough decisions. It had been no decision at all; and yet her concern towards von Haagen had been genuine. She had been touched by his confession, moved by his heartfelt cry for help. And yet, in the very next breath, she had betrayed him. Perhaps that was what it meant to be an agent.
But there was no time now for reflection. She had new orders: she was to be given a pianist, and had to arrange the parachute drop. And she had no-one to help arrange it, since, according to Margaux, all of the maquisards, except Pierre, had joined the Free French forces. She’d have to think of alternatives and, inevitably, that meant Margaux and Pierre. Together, they would receive the pianist, welcome him to the team. It would be done on the first of the three next moonlit nights – if the weather allowed.
* * *
It was, thankfully, a lucidly clear November night. The swollen moon was one night away from fullness, a yellow floating ball that seemed to be sailing, due to a few puffed clouds drifting past, blown by the cool night breeze. It was a chilly night, and the three of them were dressed for the cold in sheepskin jackets, woolly caps and gloves. The lanterns were filled and waiting to be lit; no need to waste fuel. As ever, the wait seemed endless; they had chosen exactly the landing place at which Sibyl herself had come down so many months ago. Only months. It seemed like years. They waited.
At last, Sibyl discerned the hum of a distant plane. ‘Here they come,’ she whispered, and the three of them sprang into action, lighting the lanterns, placing them at strategic positions around the perimeter of the field.
The Lysander was above them; it circled once, and then, like a huge white umbrella, there was the parachute, the pianist a black shape dangling below, suspended in space. This time there were no supplies to be delivered. This time, the only delivery would be human.
The pianist fell to earth, shrouded in the billowing silk of the parachute. The Lysander disappeared back into the night. The three of them rushed to help the figure struggling with falling folds of fabric, trying to be free. Sibyl pulled away the material from the pianist’s head and gave a cry of shock.
‘Elena!’
‘Sibyl!’
It was an almost comic repeat of her own landing, when Jacques had pulled away the parachute from her face and they had recognised each other. But now, Elena!
* * *
Later, in Margaux’s kitchen, Elena explained.
‘I was recruited just three months ago; I’m here as your pianist.’
‘But, Elena – how? To be a wireless operator – well, it takes a huge amount of training. You must only have had a couple of weeks! How can you be a pianist in that short a time?’
Elena chuckled. ‘You think you’re the only one with secrets? I had my secrets too. I told you I worked at the Foreign Office didn’t I? Do you know what I was actually doing, for the four years of the war? I was a wireless operator! Fully trained! I’m an expert in codes and ciphers – better than you. I am one of the people who received the messages of SOE agents, decoded them, passed them on!’
‘That is – that is…’ Sibyl was lost for words, but finally found her tongue. ‘But of course. You have the same languages that I do. Why wouldn’t they recruit you! But that’s marvellous! And now we can work together!’
‘That’s right. But, you know, I didn’t know where you were either, that you were an agent in Alsace. I didn’t know they were sending me to you, and to Margaux. It’s all so secretive!’
‘I didn’t know either, that I’d be coming to Margaux.’
‘Why Margaux, I wonder? They know she has links to Jacques?’
‘They also know I’m the safest person around. My wine keeps me safe.’
‘But, Elena – what about your husband? Your little girl? How could you leave her? Who did you leave her with? Or was she evacuated?’
Elena’s face froze into a mask.
‘My husband – his plane was torpedoed. By Germans. He is dead. My daughter, my little girl… no, she wasn’t evacuated. I couldn’t bear to send her away. But I should have.’ The muscles in her face twitched in the effort to retain the mask.
‘My little girl is dead too. Her grandmother was looking after her at home, in London. A doodlebug hit the house. It was flattened.’
‘Oh my God! Oh Elena! I’m sorry!’
She took her sister in her arms. They cried together, then Elena pulled away.
‘And that’s why I here. To kill Germans. Those damned doodlebugs!’
‘I’m a bit confused… what’s a doodlebug?’
Elena chuckled, but it was a dry, humourless chuckle.
‘A toy of Hitler. A pilotless missile. They are aimed at London and attack randomly. Radar can’t find them. They come hissing through the air and then silence and when they go silent that’s when you have to run for shelter but you don’t know where, you don’t know…’
Elena swiped fiercely at her eyes with the back of her hand. Margaux handed her a serviette and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
‘Now all I want to do is kill Germans. Every last one of them.’
‘Oh, Elena! I – I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say, is there. I’m here now. I’ll be staying here, Margaux, with you. If I may. Acrobat’s orders.’
‘Of course.’
‘My cover story is that I’m a second cousin, from Strasbourg, come to stay with you and help out in the vineyard; I knew the war was coming to Strasbourg, so I fled. My name is Nicole Arnaut. I am by profession a seamstress. You know I was always good at sewing!’
Sibyl remembered. All during the early war years Elena had kept them clothed; she had a gift for reassembling pieces of material into dresses and blouses that could even be deemed fashionable.
‘You can begin with that parachute!’ said Margaux. ‘My underwear is in rags.’
‘Well, that of course has to be secret – but I’m to be looking for work in the villages, patching up clothes and so on.’
‘As if the villagers can’t do that themselves! Really, these cover stories are too ridiculous. We don’t need a seamstress down here. People know how to use a needle.’
‘Well, the main thing is I’m a coward fleeing the war. But my impression is – what I read between the lines – is that it won’t be long now. A few months at the most. But apparently you, Sibyl, are going to help shorten that time.’
‘So – I’m the agent, you’re the pianist – who’s the courier?’
‘We haven’t been given a courier.’
Sibyl and Elena b
oth turned to Margaux.
‘Don’t look at me! I’m not your damned courier!’
Sibyl and Elena said nothing. They waited. Margaux sighed.
‘I’m guess you aren’t giving me a choice.’
Chapter 39
Sibyl introduced Elena to the wireless transmitter and together they made their first call to Acrobat.
‘Acrobat Two.’
‘Acrobat. Good. So all went well with the landing?’
‘It did. Here’s Acrobat One with a message.’
‘Acrobat One. I didn’t get to finish my message last time. There’s more important information.’
‘Go ahead, Acrobat One.’
Sibyl took the mike from Elena and as succinctly as possible related von Haagen’s story: that Heinrich Himmler himself had revealed that the final solution to the ‘Jew Problem’ was not labour camps, as she and others had believed, but death camps; camps so horrific in their concept and execution it made the pogroms seem like mild foreplay.
‘We have heard such rumours, Acrobat One. They have yet to be confirmed.’
‘Percy said…’
Percy was their code name for von Haagen.
‘What Percy said is not evidence, Acrobat One. And anyway, there’s nothing we can do until we have won the war and invaded Germany. If this is true, we’ll find out in due course. Your job is not to repeat rumours. It’s to aid the war effort by extracting German military intelligence from Percy. You’ve done well so far; you were right that their forces were tougher than expected. Continue in that vein.’
‘But Percy himself is now on the battlefield! He may not survive.’
‘Oh, he will. Don’t worry about that. Over and out.’
* * *
Weeks passed, quiet weeks in which Sibyl wondered if she had imagined it all; if Elena had been sent for nothing, for there was no war, no bombs, no artillery anywhere near Colmar. If not for Margaux, she would never have known…
