Hearts of Resistance

by Soraya M. Lane

  ‘Hello again.’

  She glanced back and saw the man she’d travelled up with. For some reason she’d expected to be with other women, even though it had been made clear to her that both men and women were part of the network.

  ‘Seems we’re supposed to have a stiff drink together,’ he said.

  ‘I see.’ Hazel sat and watched him cross the room and pour amber liquid into the glasses. When he returned she stood and took one from his outstretched hand, then clinked her glass to his.

  ‘To being here,’ he said.

  ‘To being here,’ she replied, and took a small sip. The liquor burnt as it traced a fiery path down her throat and all the way to her stomach, and she tried not to cough.

  She almost wanted to tell him that she was engaged, not to get any ideas, but as she bravely took another sip, eyes watering as she swallowed it down, she realised that she wasn’t that girl any more. She wasn’t John’s fiancée, wasn’t waiting for her man to come home and doing her best until then. She wasn’t even truly Hazel any more. From this moment forward she needed to live and breathe her cover story. Today was the beginning of her new life, and there was no way she was going anywhere near the cooler.

  She sat down again, reclined and smiled at her companion. They might be enemies for all she knew, which meant that she was about to charm this man and everyone else she came into contact with. She felt alive. For the very first time in her life, she’d chosen to do something, something that wasn’t expected of her, something that no one would ever have expected her to do.

  ‘What do you think we’re supposed to do here?’ he asked.

  She smiled, feeling like an actor on a stage as her character gave her confidence and she breathed life into the person she was set to become.

  ‘I suppose they want to see if we can hold our liquor,’ she said, shrugging as she confidently took another sip. ‘I’m more used to wine from one of our local vineyards, but this will do.’

  He stared back at her, wide-eyed. For a moment she thought perhaps he hadn’t understood her French, and then she realised that he simply hadn’t been expecting the first proper conversation he’d had with her to be in character. They didn’t know who was watching them or what they were being judged on, though, so she wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘Were you born in London?’ she asked. ‘I’ve only been here a short while. My parents sent me here to be closer to friends, but all I want is to go back home.’

  By the time Ralph returned, she’d already filled her glass again, the burn no longer so bad when she swallowed, her body warm. She could feel her head starting to spin as she stood, the effects of the liquor so much greater when she was on her feet. She was surprised at how well she’d been able to tolerate it so far, although she was certain she’d have a decent headache in the morning. Hazel only hoped she’d done the right thing and the challenge hadn’t been about temptation.

  ‘We like to see how well you all do under the influence,’ Ralph said. ‘It can make it so much easier to become impulsive and forget one’s legend.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I want you both to follow me,’ Ralph said, beckoning with his hand. ‘I have some things to show you.’

  She followed, the other recruit falling in behind her. They were led into a room that was bare except for a table covered in tools, things that Hazel had never seen before. She took a few deep breaths, trying to block out the effects of the alcohol. She hated the way it had made her head feel woozy, whereas when she’d been seated earlier it had given her more confidence and made her feel like she could do anything.

  ‘What are these?’ she asked, about to reach out when a stern word stopped her.

  ‘No.’

  She pulled back her hand as if she’d been stung but continued staring at the contraptions.

  ‘If you were out for the night and having a few drinks, and somehow your cover was blown, you could be captured and taken in for questioning.’

  She slowly swallowed and stood up straighter.

  ‘These are some of the things the Germans might use to get you to talk. For instance, this here,’ he said, holding up a metal object that looked like a tiny guillotine and made her stomach churn, ‘is excellent for taking fingers off. The enemy finds that the more pain they inflict, the more likely their subjects are to tell them everything they need to know.’

  Hazel glanced sideways and saw that her drinking partner looked white as a sheet. She was trying her hardest not to let the shock register.

  ‘And that?’ she asked, her voice sounding shaky even to her own ears as she pointed at an unusual metal device that appeared to be a clamp of some kind.

  ‘That could be to hold out a tongue or cut it off. But often they’ll just use knives to get what they want.’

  ‘How long would this go on for?’ the man beside her asked.

  He received a shrug in reply. ‘Hours, days? Your guess is as good as mine. The best answer is probably until they get information out of you. Either way you’d probably be shot dead or left to rot at best.’

  ‘So we mustn’t get caught,’ Hazel said. ‘The point of your story is that no matter what, we mustn’t get caught, and even if we’ve been drinking we need to be able to talk ourselves out of any situation and not let even the smallest mistake give away our legend.’

  ‘I see we have a fast learner amongst us. Good work.’

  ‘Is it true that we have just as much of a chance at coming home as dying over there?’ Hazel asked.

  Ralph leaned against the wall, his expression sombre. ‘It’s true. It’s about even whether you’ll make it home or not, and it’s one of the reasons we give you every opportunity to pull out if you’re not sure about what you’re doing.’

  ‘How many have you lost?’ she asked, needing to know more about what she’d be facing. The more she knew, the better she could deal with it all.

  ‘That’s not information I can share with you. But I will tell you this,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘One of our operatives, a woman who was one of our best, was under suspicion for some reason. She was caught because she looked the wrong way when she crossed the road. It was as simple as that – their suspicions were confirmed instantly when they saw that she wasn’t a true Frenchwoman.’

  Hazel’s mouth went dry. The weight of what she was putting herself forward for was starting to rest more heavily on her shoulders. ‘She was killed for this?’ She had to ask the question.

  ‘Yes. Her life was over because of one thing she did that gave her away as not being French.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ her travelling companion said, stepping forward. ‘You’re trying to scare us on our first day to see who turns tail and runs for the hills.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ Hazel said, finding her voice again. ‘We already knew the chances, we came into this knowing the odds.’

  ‘Take a look over these things.’ Ralph gestured at the grotesque instruments. ‘Familiarise yourself with them, train yourself to fear them enough that you won’t ever let yourself be put in a position where they’re used on you. You need to find a balance between fear and bravery, and remember that nothing is as crucial to you as living and breathing your legend, and staying smart every second of every day when you’re in the field.’

  Hazel absorbed his words. She wasn’t in this to end up dead or tortured, but he hadn’t scared her any more than she’d already been scared, either. This was her calling. She’d never felt so strongly about doing anything in her life, and she didn’t even know what was required of her yet. All she knew was that whatever her field assignment was, she’d be responsible for helping to bring down the Nazis and their network, and that was all she needed to know.

  ‘When do we start our training?’

  ‘Tomorrow. If you make it until the end you’ll be here for three or four weeks. You’ll learn Morse code and be given instruction in explosives.’

  A tremor
ran through Hazel’s body; she didn’t know if it was fear or excitement, or perhaps a combination of the two. Never in her life had she thought she’d be learning about explosives or understanding how to translate and send codes. Yet here she was.

  ‘Can we make a start tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘You don’t get points for trying to be teacher’s pet here.’

  She laughed. ‘You have me all wrong. I just want to learn everything I can to increase my odds of getting back home at the end of all this.’

  She received a smile for her joke, although she noticed that her fellow prospect was not laughing. He had his arms folded across his chest, and his face was impossible to read, mouth in a tight line.

  ‘What is it you want to learn first?’

  ‘I want to know how to protect myself,’ she said. ‘If I’m caught and there’s a chance of surviving, I want to know what to do.’

  She’d always been the friendly girl, the happy girl, the girl who’d make a lovely wife and was a good best friend. But here, it was like she was playing a character, being someone she’d never dreamed she could be, and she liked this stronger version of herself.

  ‘You’ll need to pass beyond this level to get to weapons training, but I promise you that we’ll teach you everything we can while you’re here.’

  She opened her mouth to say something in reply, then shut it when he started to speak again.

  ‘To be honest, as useful as all that will be, your ability to speak perfect French and blend into your surroundings without being discovered is the best weapon you have. I can’t stress enough that you must practise your language skills and become up to date on the current situation in France. The more you know, the more chance you have of not being discovered.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, relieved. If there was one thing she knew, one thing she’d excelled at in school and when she’d been sent abroad, it was how to speak perfect French and be mistaken for a local.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ROSE

  BREST, FRANCE

  1943

  Rose walked out into the garden, noticing how everything was a little overgrown, so different to how their coastal home usually looked. Peter had liked everything to be perfect, and she’d made sure they had the people to keep it as he wanted. But that was before. She kept walking, not wanting to stare at something that reminded her so vividly of her husband.

  She’d risen early to say goodbye to Charlotte and Sebastian, and now that they’d gone the house felt unusually empty again. Not for the first time she wished her maid, Maria, had come with her, simply so she had someone to talk to, someone to help pass the silent hours with.

  Now, alone with her thoughts, she could only think one thing: missing Peter wasn’t going to bring him back, and she’d cried so much for him she wondered if there was even a tear left in her body. She clenched her jaw in a bite so hard she feared her teeth would crack.

  There was one thing she could do, one thing that kept playing through her mind, and pregnant or not, she was damn well going to do it.

  The Resistance needed help. They needed people prepared to do anything with nothing to lose, and they needed money; it just so happened she could fulfil both demands. Peter’s death wasn’t going to be for nothing – avenging him was what had forced her out of bed that morning. Once her baby was close to coming, she’d find a way to keep them both safe, but until then, having a child wasn’t going to stop her. If Sebastian and Charlotte could be part of the movement, then why couldn’t she?

  She would take the day to mourn, maybe even the week. Then she was going to put a plan in motion. Next week, she wasn’t just going to be the outspoken woman with a desire to do something to help the war effort and bring the Nazis to their knees.

  Rose kept walking, imagining her husband falling into step beside her. At home, Peter had worked hard and their social life was often bursting at the seams, but here they’d liked a quieter pace, and they never entertained. She kept walking as she remembered Peter’s warm smile. If he’d been here with her they’d have lain in bed until late morning, drinking inky coffee and indulging in croissants.

  A noise pulled Rose from her thoughts and she noticed she’d walked further than she’d meant to. She stared with her mouth open at the sight of men running down the street towards her. There were three of them – all young, all looking terrified – and a cold, numbing terror passed silently through her.

  She knew there was a reason why many of the homes around her were empty, how dangerous it was being here. Even her brother had warned her that she would need to be careful of the Germans, but she’d shrugged off his warning without paying it any heed, too lost in her own grief to care.

  It finally dawned on her that she was indeed in the thick of it. Were these men part of the Resistance?

  ‘Come with me,’ she croaked, waving at one of them as he came closer, looking desperate. Her heart started to race when she saw the panic on their faces.

  ‘Get out of here!’ he yelled.

  ‘Follow me,’ Rose said, clearing her throat and sounding more assertive, hearing an edge to her voice that sounded more familiar to her than the weak rasp of earlier. ‘I can keep you safe.’

  The man looked alarmed, perhaps he was thinking it was too dangerous for her, but she would have told him not to be so silly if he’d even dared.

  She rubbed her thumb over the big diamond on her finger, across the rough smaller diamonds on her wedding ring, too. They comforted her and gave her strength simply feeling their weight.

  ‘Quickly,’ she said. ‘It’s not far and you’ll be safe.’

  She wasn’t scared for herself. But these men? They would surely be taken prisoner if they were found.

  ‘This way. Quick!’ he called to his friends.

  Rose held her skirt up high and started to run, making for the road that would take them to her home. She had no idea where the Germans were or whether they’d be discovered on the way. It was telling that the streets were so deserted, everyone else locked up safely in their homes, but Rose had been walking aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, and she’d barely noticed her surroundings.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ one of the men asked as he caught up to her.

  ‘My home. I can hide you there,’ Rose said firmly.

  ‘We can’t put her in danger like that,’ another muttered. ‘We’re as good as dead as it is.’

  ‘They can try to find you all they like,’ she panted out as she kept running. ‘But they’ll have to get past me first.’

  They kept moving, their pace fast. She had no idea if they were escaped prisoners of war or if they were part of some sort of secret military operation, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted to save them.

  ‘This way,’ she said, pointing to a cluster of trees. She knew it would take longer, but if they weren’t so exposed then maybe they wouldn’t be seen.

  Rose kept running, not checking to see if all three were still with her. She smiled, a combination of adrenaline and fear propelling her forward. It was the most alive she’d felt in weeks, and she was finally doing something useful, something to help.

  ‘I have clothes,’ she managed to pant out. ‘We can get you changed and . . .’

  She actually had no idea. How could she expect to miraculously keep them safe? Changing their clothes was hardly going to be enough to change their appearance. The only thing she could do was hide them, and hide them well.

  ‘It’s the big stone cottage,’ she told them. ‘We’ll go through the back door.’

  Suddenly a blast of noise ricocheted around her, an explosion that made her trip and fall to the ground. What in God’s name . . . ?

  Rose gasped. She looked down at her arm, blood trickling faster and faster down her skin, skin that was suddenly so terribly burning hot. She opened her mouth to say something but her vision blurred and she stumbled when she tried to get up, the damp leaves beneath her somehow pulling her back down towards them.

&
nbsp; Big hands grabbed for her, strong arms pulling her to her feet as more bangs filled the air around them. They were being shot at!

  Rose turned, unsteady as she saw one of the men she was with fire a gun. And then everything went silent.

  ‘Run!’ one of them ordered.

  Rose ran fast, tripping every few steps, or at least it felt like that, but holding tight to the man’s hand as they dashed frantically for her house.

  Her breath caught in her throat, the wound in her arm sending shooting pains through her entire body, but she didn’t have time to care or worry.

  ‘Downstairs in the cellar,’ she said. ‘All of you.’

  ‘It’s the first place they’ll look!’ the man that had been helping her said, his eyes wide. She guessed he was probably twenty, maybe younger, and she hated the fear in his expression.

  Rose paused, shut her eyes, thought for a moment about where they could be safe. There was a shed in the garden, but that would be too easily raided. The cellar had seemed logical, but perhaps her attic? She suddenly smiled despite her pain.

  Peter’s mother had given her a crib, his own baby one, and after so long trying and not getting pregnant, they’d brought it here. She hadn’t wanted to have a nursery at home until they needed one.

  She pointed upstairs. ‘Go,’ she said.

  ‘What if we have to escape? We can’t jump out the window up there!’ complained one of the men.

  ‘You won’t need to.’

  Rose hurried them into the room and showed them the closet. ‘Get in.’

  ‘There’s no way we can all fit in there!’

  ‘Just do it. Quickly.’ She glared at them, then glanced down at her arm. She left the room and took her shirt off, hiding it under her pillow and getting one of Peter’s long socks out of the drawer. She used her left hand and her teeth to tie it tight around her wound, not wanting to draw attention to the blood there.

  Her hands were shaking so much, quivering from shock as much as terror. I’ve been shot. The three words kept echoing through her mind as she hurried, securing the tight knot and then stripping off the rest of her clothes. She stuffed them in her bottom drawer and quickly found a dress to pull on, then she raced back into the room where she’d left the men. She didn’t know if they’d seen her through the open door or if they were already hidden, but given the circumstances she didn’t care.