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

by Sharon Maas

  ‘The coast is clear. Now, what I am about to tell you is absolutely confidential. I shouldn’t even be telling you – but you know that and I know your lips will be sealed tightly. Not even your uncle must know this. But,first of all, there is news that General Eisenhower plans to remove the Amis out of Strasbourg. Strasbourg will be left without a strong defence; the French armies cannot hold her. We will take her back. Eisenhower isn’t interested in Alsace. He wants his best men to fight in the Ardennes, a battle which is still raging with our army winning. This is Hitler’s last stand, my darling, and it is a furious, powerful one.

  ‘But that is not all, and not the main thing. New Year’s Day 1945: that is the day of the German resurrection in Alsace. We have planned a tremendous attack, midnight on the 31st December. It’s a secret attack. The Amis will be totally unprepared; they have their weakest men, greenhorns who’ve never fought a real battle. Much less in a cruel French winter. Whereas Hitler has sent his strongest troops, his best generals, to win this last stand. This will be the most significant battle of the entire war – guaranteed. I won’t go into details, I’m sure they’d bore you. But I want to put hope in your heart. We will win. I promise. We will be together. Alsace will be German, we can make it our home. I shall retire from the army; as I told you before, I’d like to get into wine-growing, a nice safe peacetime occupation, and lucrative as well. I’m sure there are one or two vineyards whose owners will decide to cut their losses and move to France rather than stay in Alsace once it is finally German in a time of peace. Because yes, peace is coming; but in that peace the question of Alsace will be settled once and for all, as German.’

  ‘You are sure about that?’

  ‘Positive. There will be fierce fighting, and the war will come to Colmar – don’t worry, you’ll be safe. Neither Germany nor France wants to see Colmar destroyed; it won’t be bombed, and civilians will be safe. So it’s not over yet. But Germany is on a path of victory. New Year marks a new beginning. Operation Northwind will change everything. And that is the reason, my dear, why you see me so confident today. I am fired by hope and courage, a knowledge of victory to come, and peace, and a lifetime with you as my wife, as my life. And now, my dear, let us drink to that!’

  He raised his glass. So did she, smiling, her eyes locked with his. The glasses chinked; they drank to their future.

  And all the while Sibyl’s only thought was, how do I get hold of Jacques? Of Margaux? How do I pass this on?

  Chapter 47

  Fired by hope and courage, indeed he was. A second glass, and a third, loosened his tongue yet more; von Haagen grew sentimental, garrulous. He took her hand, stroked the back of it with his thumb, touched her face, tucked a stray curl of hers behind her ear, and Sibyl grew more and more silent, punctuating his talk only occasionally with a non-committal grunt or appeasing nod. In the end he noticed.

  ‘You’re so quiet, darling. Aren’t you just as excited as I am? It’s almost over, I promise you. We can start to look forward now, plan our lives – oh, darling, what’s the matter?’

  For Sibyl had pulled her hand from his, tucked it under her armpit, and even through his excitement he noticed her agitation.

  ‘My dear, what’s the matter? You’re upset? Have I said something wrong?’

  ‘No – yes – I don’t know. I just know it’s not going to be that easy. What if – what if…’

  ‘What if – what?’

  ‘You shouldn’t be telling me these things, Wolf. Really not. They’re highly confidential. Even I know that and I’m not in the military. They’re top secret!’

  It was a risk, reprimanding him. But a risk she had to take. The more innocent and genuine she appeared to him, the more secrets he would share. And she had to warn him: that the Gestapo might suspect them both.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘But nothing! It’s just wrong! You could get me into trouble! I’ve already had to lie about it and I’m not good at lying.’

  ‘Lie about it? How? When? – Oh!’

  Realisation struck him and he struck his own forehead.

  ‘Don’t tell me they’ve come to question you?’

  ‘Yes, they have! Of course they have and I had to lie, tell them you had told me nothing, and it scared me to death! I could swear they knew I was lying. They said they’d be back! You could get me into deep trouble by telling me these things!’

  ‘Oh my dear. I’m sorry, so sorry. I should have realised – warned you somehow. I didn’t think – you see, I thought I’d convinced them.’

  ‘Convinced them of what?’

  ‘Well, of course, after a major assassination attempt like that, everyone is under suspicion, even the highest officers, even the generals. So we were all subject to visits by the Gestapo – and some quite rigorous questioning. The Gestapo, after all, is directly answerable to Himmler, so an attempt on Himmler’s life, well, of course they had to probe. There’s a leak somewhere – most probably an innocent leak on the part of the soldier. Some officer telling his girlfriend too much, the girl being in the pay of the enemy. But, my dear, it’s not you they’re after. I could prove your innocence. The main thing is that it was I who approached you, not the other way around. You can’t imagine the way some of these French hussies flirt with German officers; you can’t blame them, perhaps, because all they want are a few favours, food, money, support. Many officers have their girls, their whores. And I assure you, not all of them have sealed lips! A man needs to let off steam after hours, and if he’s had a drink or two – well. So I’m sure that’s what happened. An officer leaked, the girl told the enemy. That’s the general conclusion. It could be anyone.

  ‘But not you, my dear. You’re my fiancée, not some loose girl from the streets! I made sure that you are cleared of suspicion – of course I stood up for you! You’re on our side – you even look innocent, which is more than I can say of some of those floozies. But they had a job to do. They had to interview you, my dear; it’s just German efficiency. You don’t really think you’re a suspect? Why, that would be laughable!’

  ‘I am a suspect, Wolf – they made it quite clear, and it’s frightening! Everyone knows what the Gestapo does to people they don’t like!’

  ‘No, darling. Please don’t be scared. It was just a routine interview. They spoke to all the officers, all the girls. The leak could be anyone, but nobody really suspects you. Rest assured, that was your first and last encounter with the Gestapo. I know it can be nerve-wracking. But I will protect you.’

  ‘They’re all over the place, now. Even Oncle Yves was interviewed! They never used to come down this road before – now they march down twice a day. It’s terrifying!’

  ‘They have to be alert, my dear. That was a serious attack and could have had dire consequences. Of course, they have increased security. But I always say – the innocent have nothing to fear. Come, now, give me back your hand.’

  She laid her hand on the table; he took it, squeezed it, stroked it.

  ‘See. Don’t be afraid, my darling. You can rely on me, lean on me for strength. All will be well. They’ll find the leak. In fact, I think I know who it is; I passed on the word.’

  ‘You do? Who?’

  ‘Oh, what does it matter? One of the loose girls. She’s well known among the officers. She made a play for every one of us, and some of us succumbed over the years. She’s quite pretty you know, and obviously the men aren’t saints. They have their needs. Her name is Grete. I’m convinced she got one of the officers to talk. Anyway, I passed her name on to the Gestapo. I’m sure I’m not the only one who mentioned her name; they’ll probably arrest her before long.’

  ‘Really! And then?’

  ‘They’ll get her to talk. Trust me, the Gestapo have their methods. No-one can resist them, much less a cheap little French slut.’

  ‘But – what if it’s not her? What if it’s someone else?’

  He reached out, stroked her face.

  ‘Darling – it’s nothing to worry
your little head about. Someone did it, and the Gestapo will find out who and eliminate them. Don’t fret about it. The main thing is, you’re above suspicion. It’s over. They will probably find the leak, patch it up, and that’s that.’

  And so, as if Sibyl didn’t already have enough to agonise about, the innocent girl Grete joined the legion of her cares, and her responsibilities. Another sleepless night lay ahead.

  Chapter 48

  It was sometime in the middle of the night. She lay awake, going over the conversation again and again, agonising over the possible outcome and her own inability to raise the alarm; any contact with Margaux or Jacques now would be almost suicidal. The seconds ticked by silently. Her windowless room was pitch black, and so silent she could hear her own breathing in the darkness. A vague creak seemed to come from far away. Immediately she was on the alert, holding her breath, waiting for a repeat that did not come. The dark silence seemed everlasting, and thick, and now she could hear the rapid beating of her own heart, but nothing else, and yet… she sensed a presence. She tensed. Her hand slipped under her pillow, where a knife lay hidden. And then, another almost imperceptible creak, a sliver of greyness where the door should be, and then, as she noiselessly moved into sitting position, knife at the ready, prepared to pounce, a whisper:

  ‘Sibi!’

  ‘Jacques!’ she gasped, and in a trice, as smoothly and silently as a cat, he had pounced across the narrow space between door and bed and was beside her, in her arms, the knife’s clatter as it hit the floor so loud they both drew in their breath and held still before they remembered that there was only Oncle Yves in the house beside them, and he was not the enemy, and they breathed again.

  ‘Ssshh! Come here, you!’ whispered Sibyl. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’ She pulled him down to the bed. They huddled together, leaning against the back wall, the eiderdown pulled up around their shoulders.

  ‘I have a back-door key now. Oncle Yves gave me one. So I can surprise you in the night!’

  ‘It’s dangerous for you to have a key!’ she admonished.

  ‘I knew you’d say that so I didn’t tell you. It’s for emergencies. Like now.’

  ‘What emergency – Oh! Jacques! I have such things to tell you!’

  ‘And so do I – that’s why I came. Sibi – you won’t believe it. Alsace, my beautiful Alsace, is a warzone. In ruins. It’s beyond belief. I’ve managed to get around in spite of the snow and what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, Sibi – it is – just devastating. I can’t even begin to describe it.’

  ‘Tell me, Jacques, tell me. Get it out. Share it with me.’

  ‘I went with one of the generals to some of the outlying villages, Sibi. A reconnaissance tour. I can’t even begin to tell you what we saw. Devastation, pure devastation. Not even twenty miles from Colmar. Kientzheim! Ammerschwihr! Ruins! The countryside, the villages: devastated. Everywhere, shouting and stifled screams and the guns of the Boche, the steady staccato snapping of machine guns. The Boche are hidden away in buildings and they fire from windows and crevices and doorways and church steeples. Tanks rumbling and churning through cobbled village streets lined by those charming half-timbered houses.

  ‘Abandoned tanks, black hulks among the charred ruins of homes. In the streets, white phosphorous shells bursting everywhere. Yellow flames pouring from windows and open doorways. Buildings belching smoke because there’s nothing more to burn in them. Abandoned villages like ghost towns; snipers lurking in shadows, creeping through ruins and rubble. Mortars exploding without warning, scattering rubble everywhere. Every now and then, wherever there’s life, a voice screaming “Medic! Medic!” We picked up quite a few wounded, took them to a field hospital.

  ‘But the countryside, Sibi, the surrounding fields, once covered in a peaceful mantle of beautiful white snow; now, all gone, the snow a churned-up mess, pockmarked by craters, stained black from soot and scarlet from blood.

  ‘Jebsheim! Sibi, Jebsheim is a slaughterhouse. Indescribable. Incroyable. Dead bodies abandoned, lying everywhere. You have to step over them, step on them, even. I can’t even…’

  By now he was sobbing and she wept with him. They clung together, weeping for the pillage of Alsace. And then Jacques pulled away and dried her tears with a corner of a sheet and his own tears, and continued, his voice now collected, yet breathlessly, sentences running into each other.

  ‘Eisenhower wants to withdraw from Strasbourg, from Alsace-Lorraine – he needs his troops for the Ardennes; he’s in a hurry to enter Germany and move eastwards. Alsace is not a priority for him and that would mean we – the French army, the Free French – cannot keep off the Germans. General Devers is against it – he wants to stay in Alsace, hold on to Strasbourg but he and Eisenhower are at loggerheads and guess who has the last word. It’s a disaster! I came to warn you. Colmar itself might be next. I want you to leave, with me, tonight.’

  At this point Sibyl interrupted.

  ‘You mean, give up? No, Jacques, no! Never! I’m staying here. I need to be here. We can win this yet. I only wish – I could do something. I’m a nurse. I should be out there in a field hospital, helping – I wish I could! That’s my real job. But – listen. I can still be of use exactly where I am. I know so much, so much more; I’m so glad you came. There’s so much to tell you…I know it looks bad but maybe, just maybe…’

  She told him then about the surprise attack planned for the New Year.

  ‘You must pass this on! The Allies can still win, if they know of the attack!’

  Jacques’ reaction was disappointing.

  ‘And he really didn’t tell you exactly where they were going to attack? That’s the most important thing, Sibi. We have to know that. You should have wriggled that out of him.’

  ‘How could I, without appearing too interested? Already they’re all on the alert for a spy, already they all think it’s a woman. He doesn’t suspect me at all, but if I ask too many pertinent questions…’

  ‘Ok. I understand. But you must keep talking to him, keep him talking. Find out as much as you can. I can’t come back to Colmar for a while. And for you, the connection to Margaux – well, it’s no more. Ribeauvillé is safe now, outside the Colmar Pocket, in French hands. Elena is still there but you can’t contact her. She is getting news through me, through the Free French…’

  He told her of a net of couriers, starting with Madame Guyon, the cleaner. ‘I now work with the Bureau central de renseignements et d’action. I’m more of a scout than a courier due to my local knowledge.’

  ‘So – you’re not actually fighting any more?’

  ‘No. I’m helping with strategy.’

  ‘Just like von Haagen, for the enemy. Oh, the irony!’

  ‘And you are not falling in love with him? He’s very handsome.’

  ‘How do you know that? Who told you?’

  ‘Nobody told me. I saw him when we captured those officers at Strasbourg…’

  ‘You? You took him prisoner?’

  ‘Well, not me alone. I said we. I was sorry we had to let him go. I’d have loved to keep him – pack him off to a prisoner of war camp…but orders are orders, and, there was you, waiting. The sacrifices we have to make sometimes!’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘You could have guessed. He was more important to us free, because of you. But now, I don’t know. He can offer you so much more than I can.’

  ‘Jealousy doesn’t become you, Jacques!’

  ‘Still it is not easy.’

  ‘It’s not easy for me, either. It’d be easier if he was a bad man, evil. I could handle that. But he isn’t.’

  ‘So you like him, a little? You know that like can turn to love?’

  ‘It won’t, in this case.’

  He sighed. ‘I will try not to feel jealous. I know it is just your job. I know it is for France. I know you must do – whatever you must. But still…I am only a man. Only human.’

  ‘I love you, Jacques. Remember that. That’
s all that matters.’

  ‘I can’t offer you much, after the war; I won’t be a valiant maquisard anymore, a hero; just a humble winegrower in the employ of Château Laroche-Gauthier.’

  ‘The best winegrower in Alsace. A winegrower who loves me. Sounds good to me.’

  He nuzzled her neck. ‘And you really prefer French love to German?’

  ‘Any day or night. But it’s so cold…my cheeks are freezing! Come, snuggle down under the blankets.’ She pulled him down; they lay beneath the blanket, clasped together, sharing their warmth, their despair, their hope.

  ‘What will we do, when it’s over? Where will you go, chérie? Back to England?’

  ‘Alsace is my hope. I belong here, whatever happens. But…’

  She told him then of von Haagen; his proposal, his plan.

  * * *

  Later, she said, ‘Jacques – listen. There’s another thing I’m worried sick about. There’s a woman, Grete. They might arrest her: von Haagen says she’s the main suspect for the Himmler bomb attack. I want to help her, hide her somehow, but Colmar is swarming with Gestapo. I’ve been lying here trying to figure out ways to rescue her – she’s got a child!’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘She told me once. I know the street, not the house number.’

  ‘D’accord. I’ll find out somehow. We’ll figure out a way.’

  She woke late the next morning. Jacques was gone.

  * * *

  Two days later, von Haagen moved in to the violin-maker’s house. There had been activity around the property the day before; tradesmen came, a plumber, a carpenter. Germans, it seemed, men who had been imported from Germany to help settle the Alsace. The house had been made habitable for the winter; coal delivered for the stove, electric current reconnected, an armchair, a carpet, even. Von Haagen invited her over to inspect and approve.

  He led her into the tiny salon, cosy now with the floorboards carpeted and the little black cast-iron stove in the corner giving off a pleasant warmth that seemed to sink right through to the bones. A small glass window in the front door of the stove revealed golden dancing flames. Beside the stove, a basket of coal lay ready to keep the fire burning. It was the warmest Sibyl had been for weeks. She stood before the stove, palms held out, as if to soak in the warmth, to store it for later.