Hearts of Resistance

by Soraya M. Lane

  Sophia made her way as carefully as she could down the tree. She had no concept of how long she’d been waiting, clinging there in the dark, but there hadn’t been any noise for what she was certain were hours. If she waited longer, then she risked them coming back to check the house over in the daylight, especially if someone they’d captured talked and gave any information away. She stretched once she landed, her legs heavy and achy from being in the same position for so long.

  The risk now was that they’d left someone in wait. There could be someone hiding, watching to see who emerged and came back to the house. If only she had a weapon. But she didn’t and she was going to have to risk it.

  She walked quickly but was as careful as she could be. She headed straight for the house. The moonlight was almost completely covered by a mist of clouds, which made it nearly impossible to see. But she kept going, determined, knowing she had a small window of time, one opportunity before the sun rose. She had to gather what she needed, secure what she could and then head north before it started to get light.

  Sophia entered the house. She strained to listen, her breath loud in her own ears as she waited, expecting to hear something, but there was nothing. Only long stretches of silence greeted her, so different from the house that had been heaving with people up until a short time ago. They were fortunate in that so many of the maquis had gone. Even though they might have had a chance at surviving against the Germans if they’d been here, they would have lost so many more men and all of their plans would have been interrupted. As it was, she had no idea how she was going to warn the other cells, get word to London and Paris before things got worse. How much did they know? How many cells were they infiltrating?

  She refused to think about Rose. Rose would never have talked, nothing would have made her give up her friends or anyone in the Resistance, but she hadn’t made it back and that meant something had definitely gone awry.

  Sophia stopped when she saw the first body. Face down, a huge wound through his back. She didn’t need to turn him over to know he was dead. As she moved through the house there were more. Bodies were strewn everywhere, not all of them theirs, but most. There was blood splattered across the walls, pools of it seeping into the floor, and she was thankful there was no smell yet or she’d have been gagging with every step she took.

  She stopped to touch one man, slumped against the wall. Sophia placed her fingers to his neck, waiting, silent as she hoped to find a sign of life. But as with all the others she’d come across, there was nothing. She moved fast, eyes straining as much as her ears to see. There was only one place she needed to go, and that was upstairs. Hazel had been taken, but that didn’t mean her equipment had. She hurried, focused on where she had to go and not letting herself think about anything else. Creaks echoed out from under her feet, but she’d quickly realised that the likelihood of anyone surprising her now was almost non-existent. If they were lying in wait, she’d have been long dead by now.

  She placed one foot on the stairs, about to race up, when a noise made all the blood drain from her face. Sophia paused, spun around, her heart in her throat.

  ‘Halt.’

  Sophia came face to face with a German. He was crawling, his face screwed up in pain, but his intent clear. He was holding a gun but his hand was shaking and she quickly moved out of his line of fire. He groaned and tried to follow her, but she was too fast for an injured soldier fallen to his knees.

  ‘Halt!’ he screamed, but it came out as more of a plea, his voice faltering as she stared at him.

  Sophia dodged his aim again, cringing when he fired the gun. It shot through the wall to her left, and she knew that she had no choice but to disarm him. He might be injured, but his desire to kill her was strong, and she wasn’t going to walk away from him only to have him shoot her in the back.

  She’d passed another dead German on her way in, and she was furious with herself that she hadn’t taken his gun then and there. She made her way back and found him, bending to push him over. He was heavy and she had to shove him hard, her heart in her throat as she listened to the shuffles of the other man near the staircase, rattled now after being so certain she was the only living person left in the house.

  She collected the pistol, checked it and made her way straight back to her enemy. There were many things she could have done; disarming him by overpowering him and killing him with her bare hands had been her first thought, but this was safer. And if she died or hurt herself right now? Then thousands of maquisards, the rural French Resistance fighters who relied on them, who were so vital to their movement, would be effectively left in the dark.

  She walked closer, stood over him from behind. He went to move, went to turn around and take aim, but she was already waiting, pistol head high. A cool rush of calm passed through her body, her mind clear as she stared at the enemy in front of her. Sophia squeezed the trigger, pulled it back and held the gun steady, refusing to look away when the bullet entered his head and killed him before he’d had a chance to do the same to her. This time when she stepped over him and started up the staircase, she kept the gun with her, ready to take anyone down who dared to stand in her way.

  Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as she took the steps two at a time. She paused at the top, dizzy and pressing her hand against her side as she nudged the door open and scanned the room. It was silent up there, but everything had been upturned. Sophia glanced where the radio had been, where she’d last seen Hazel sitting, her back to her. Hazel had turned and smiled, laughing at something when she’d teased her about Harry. She hadn’t known at the time that they’d never share another moment like it.

  Sophia gasped, the weight of everything that had happened, what she’d survived, what she’d done, hitting her. She fought the urge to fall to her knees, to give up, to berate herself for sitting in a tree and watching her friend get taken so brutally. But she couldn’t. This was how she helped her friends. This was what they’d want her to do.

  She took a moment instead, inhaled deeply and positioned herself in the middle of the room. She grabbed a pillow off the bed and took the pillowcase off, smiling when she saw a wooden piece from Hazel’s radio fall to the bed. She left that and quickly tore the pillowcase, fastening it tight to her side now that the bleeding had started up again. Then she looked around, knowing the other parts must be hidden in the room. Hazel must have heard what was happening and had a chance to hide the parts, and she’d obviously broken it down. The trick now was to find them all, and hope that she hadn’t tried to run with the rest of the radio.

  Sophia remembered the secret boards in the room. She knelt beside the bed and leaned down lower, squinting and seeing nothing. The bed had been moved, but not very far, so she hauled it out from the wall and shoved it away as far as she could. On hands and knees, she felt around, glancing behind to make sure no one had followed her, that no one was about to surprise her with a gun pointed to her head.

  No one was there, but she was still unnerved about being in a house filled with so many dead bodies, and possibly another not-dead one.

  She kept feeling around and connected with a groove, a slight imperfection that didn’t fit against the other board, that made her certain she’d found it. Sophia scrambled forward some more, tugging at the board and then the one beside it. She grinned when she uncovered the hole and stuck her hand inside, connecting with a bag of some sort. Quickly she pulled it out, recognising Hazel’s satchel, and making sure there was nothing else there. She opened it, looked inside and saw the metal parts she’d been hoping for. She had no idea where else to look, but Hazel had obviously broken the machine down into parts so the entire thing couldn’t be discovered too easily. She might even have had a simple piece on her.

  And then she saw something that made emotion clog her throat, tears filling her eyes almost instantly. It was Hazel’s red lipstick, the one Rose had given her before she’d left. She reached for the Elizabeth Arden case, holding it tight, fingers clenching around i
t as she thought about her friends, the only other two women in the world she’d ever trusted that way. They both meant the world to her, and now they were gone. She opened the case and carefully swept the lipstick across her lips, leaning into the little mirror above a large piece of bedroom furniture. It was filthy and the light was still impossible, but she could see enough to make sure she wasn’t drawing on her face. Once she was finished, she slipped the case into her pocket, a little something of Hazel’s to remember her by. Then she rummaged around, found one of Hazel’s shirts and quickly changed into it, grateful that they were a similar size.

  Sophia froze when she heard a noise. Her ears pricked, body on high alert. It could have just been the old house moving, it could have been anything, but she knew it was time to get out. She frantically searched for the other piece, knowing there had to be another part, pulling down books from the bookcase. Then, frustrated, she opened the wardrobe, yanking things down and then standing on tiptoe, arm extended to feel around.

  Got it! She connected with a piece of cold metal, exactly what she’d been looking for. She quickly put the other pieces in the satchel and walked on silent feet across the room and back down the stairs, placing the strap of the satchel across her neck to drape diagonally between her shoulders. She hoped she’d found it all, did a quick check and ran through everything in her mind. She’d been trained in radioing, too, only it had been some time since she’d worked the equipment herself.

  It was silent now, and she hoped it stayed that way until she left. Sophia made her way to the kitchen, knowing her efforts would be fruitless if she didn’t have something to eat or drink or both with her. There was a meat safe that had been turned into a real safe some time ago, and she was thankful she’d been trusted with the code. She turned the dial, put in the correct numbers and reached in for all the money the safe held. She quickly stuffed it into her satchel, along with two papers she saw in there containing codes that could be useful.

  Sophia then turned and scanned the kitchen, the space a mess from so many people using the same house. She opened a cupboard, looked for something, anything, to eat. She found some bread and put the chunk into the satchel. It would have to do. She fetched a mug and filled it with water, gulped it down and then turned to go. There were some old bicycles out in the shed, and she knew they were her only hope to get away fast enough. On foot she’d be too slow.

  She kept glancing around outside, scanning the trees and thinking every shadow was the enemy, but she saw no one. When she reached the shed she hauled the rickety old door back and found an equally rickety-looking bicycle staring back at her, beside a crate half-full of apples. The bicycle was propped against a stack of old crates and covered in cobwebs, but she didn’t care. She quickly wiped it down, using her hand to get the dust from the seat and the webs from the handlebars. Then she took some apples to fill her satchel with, put the satchel in the basket at the front and pushed the bicycle out, wobbling as she got up on the seat and started to pedal. She struggled over the grass, pushing as hard as she could past the gnarled apple trees in the orchard. At least with her bag full of fruit she had a cover story, since she could be taking them to a friend or a relative, and with any luck they might help her to avoid detection.

  She had a long ride ahead of her, but all she was going to think about with every push of the pedal were the thousands of maquisards who were relying on her. She was the only one left from the chateau, and if the message hadn’t been received by everyone that the landings were imminent, then they could lose the war. They needed to disrupt the lines and cause mayhem to ensure the German focus was anywhere but Normandy.

  She gritted her teeth and settled into a steady rhythm.

  There was no way that was happening on her watch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HAZEL

  Blood poured from Hazel’s nose and down to her mouth, slipping past and dripping from her chin. She kept her face tucked close to her knees, refusing to let so much as one tear fall. She was stronger than that. No one was going to see that they’d defeated her.

  No one.

  She wondered what had happened to Sophia, whether Rose had been dead for days and they hadn’t even known. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried so hard to push the dark thoughts away, imagining her friends lying on the ground, bodies contorted, life squeezed from them.

  She’d lost everything. Everything. The only thing she had left now was her bravery, her strength at refusing to say anything that would give her friends and her colleagues away. They could beat her all they liked, but she’d never talk.

  Hazel lifted her hand, cringing when she parted her lips, the pain of moving after the beatings she’d received almost too much to bear. She touched her breast, felt the pill sewn into the pouch there. All this time it had been with her, a constant companion of sorts, an option if she was pushed to her limits.

  She imagined swallowing. She’d been told she would be dead within seconds, maybe a little longer. If she used her fingernails to get it out, if she raised the pill to her lips and put it under her tongue, if she bit down on it . . .

  Hazel dropped her hand, fisting it instead. No.

  She wasn’t a coward, and she wasn’t about to give up now. There was a chance she could escape. There was a chance she could live, that she could help others, that she could be useful in the war again if she survived.

  Swallowing that pill would be the easy way out, the coward’s way out, and she was strong enough to keep going. At least for now. The vehicle lurched and she slammed back, hitting her head and wincing. She tried to see where they were but it was still so dark. She’d been somewhere first, a house, where they’d asked her questions and taken pleasure in using their fists and boots on her, but now . . .

  ‘Get out!’

  She stumbled as a rough hand reached for her, yanking her arm so hard she wondered if it would disconnect from its socket. One of her eyes was almost closed over, the swelling rapid, but she used her good eye to look around, to try to get a bearing on where she was. If she had the chance to escape, she needed to be armed with as much information as possible.

  Hazel did her best to walk without stumbling as she was shoved forward, wondering how long they’d travelled for. She’d woken at one point, which meant she must have passed out, so she didn’t know how many hours they could have been driving.

  A push from behind almost sent her sprawling, but she lifted her feet just in time to step into the building. There were guards nearby, and a shiver ran through her as she realised she was in a prison. It must have been commandeered by the Germans, and she wondered how many others were being held there. Would she be thrown in with men? Would they . . . She gulped, staggering as she tripped on something, her eye completely swollen over now. She thought of Harry, tried to summon happy thoughts and push away the terror of being raped and beaten and tortured. She just needed to focus on his smiling face. Had to believe he’d made it safely away.

  The butt of a rifle slammed against her elbow. She stopped, almost numb to the additional pain. A metal door was pulled back and she was pushed forward. She stood, suddenly overwhelmed with tears when the door was shut with a slam.

  It might only be a short reprieve, but it was enough.

  She slowly, silently sank to the floor as she looked around, her strength disappearing now she was being left alone. There were narrow beds, lumps that she presumed were people sleeping on them, but other than that she couldn’t make anything out.

  Hazel curled into a ball, the concrete as cold as ice and eating into her skin as she huddled tight. She was so tired, all she wanted was to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ROSE

  Rose gritted her teeth and tried to stop them from chattering. She was so, so cold, and no matter what the time of night or day, her bones never seemed to thaw.

  Someone new had arrived into their already packed cell during the night, and the poor girl was still curled up on the floor, her body curved around its
elf as if she was fruitlessly trying to protect her stomach and face.

  ‘Hey,’ Rose said, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently shaking it. ‘Wake up.’

  They were in a cell of all women, and she gathered that most of them were suspected of being part of the Resistance. She had no idea how she herself was still alive. Perhaps she’d done a half-decent job of convincing them that she was a good Frenchwoman who’d done something wrong, feeding them little bits of information that seemed helpful.

  ‘Argghhhh,’ the woman moaned.

  She slowly rolled over and Rose kept her hand on her, wanting her to know she wasn’t alone. The woman pulled her hands from her face and Rose gasped at her swollen, bruised eye, but then she stifled a scream, falling to the ground beside her.

  ‘Hazel?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Hazel, what have they done to you?’

  Even with the blood-matted hair and contused eye it was unmistakably Hazel. Rose cradled her, pulling her up and holding on to her as they both cried.

  ‘You’re alive,’ Hazel whispered through badly swollen lips. ‘We were so worried about you.’

  ‘What happened?’ Rose asked, carefully taking strands of Hazel’s hair off her face. ‘Where is Sophia?’ Her stomach twisted and she wished she hadn’t asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hazel said. ‘I don’t know what happened to her. But they came for us, they knew where we were and . . .’ Her voice trailed off and Rose held her and rocked her as if she were a child. ‘We were supposed to be working in small groups – there were too many of us coming and going. We put ourselves at risk.’

  ‘I’m sorry I never made it back to you,’ Rose said, trying hard not to break down and cry. She’d been so strong, so stoic through her whole ordeal, but seeing Hazel like this, both of them being in the cell together, it was almost enough to break her.