Army of Shadows

by John Harris

  ‘Yes,’ Urquhart said.

  She stared at him furiously, aware that in that strange quiet manner of his, he was well aware of her tactics, ‘Would you marry me?’ she demanded bluntly.

  The question was without artifice and Urquhart answered it in the same manner. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not poor!’ She sounded indignant that he should refuse her. The farm’s mine. I would bring a good dowry.’

  Urquhart was still unmoved. ‘Englishmen don’t expect their wives to bring a dowry. But that’s not the point. When I get married. I’ll do the asking.’

  Her expression sagged and the fierceness went out of her. For a moment she stared at her feet, bewildered and ready to cry. Urquhart didn’t move and slowly she gathered her courage again. She was determined to have it out. ‘Neville’s perhaps not very good with his hands,’ she said, ‘but he’s very handsome and he makes me laugh. Perhaps he’ll marry me.’

  ‘Why not ask him? He might even say yes.’

  ‘I must have a husband.’

  ‘For the farm?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stared at him unblinkingly. ‘And for me, too.’

  When they reached St Seigneur, the ride proved to have been for nothing. The agent had vanished towards the south where things were said to be stirring and the radio operator had gone with him; the only help and advice they could get came on the way back from Brisson, of the bereft Rolandpoint réseau.

  ‘If he said it’ll come,’ he insisted, ‘then it’ll come. Our drop came exactly when they said it would.’

  ‘We don’t even know how to welcome the damn thing,’ Urquhart said.

  Brisson drew three dots on the oily surface of his bench. ‘Three of you have to stand in a triangle,’ he said. ‘Like that. With the summit pointing upwind. All with white torches. There must also be a red at the apex. When you hear the aircraft you change it to three white lights, a hundred yards apart.’

  He agreed to ride back with them to the field where they were expecting the drop, and they took nets and ferrets so that it would look as if they were rabbiting. In the middle of the field, they stared about them and Brisson pointed to where they should stand.

  ‘I’ll be here when it happens,’ he promised. ‘I can get up from Rolandpoint in an hour. Just have your transport ready, that’s all. They’ll be flying as slow as they can, and everybody must count the parachutes as they come down. Everybody.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if you miss one and it’s seen by the Germans, they’ll know there’s been a drop and then -’ Brisson drew his finger across his throat and made a slitting noise ‘ - that’s it for the lot of you.’

  Marie-Claude remained so nervous the walls seemed to tremble and bulge with her efforts to keep silent. Again and again she went over what they needed. ‘Hercule and the platform with enough hay on it to cover everything,’ she kept saying. ‘Butter, cheese, bread, and a bottle or two of wine -’

  ‘And hard-boiled eggs,’ her mother added. ‘They’re very good for the muscles.’

  Torches,’ Marie-Claude went on. ‘Rope. Spare batteries ...’

  Urquhart grabbed her by the arms and forced her to stand still. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Stop it, Marie-Claude! There’s no need to make a meal of it. It’ll be all right on the night.’

  She felt choked and dizzy and despairing with the sense of obligation that swept over her. Except for one or two like Reinach, she knew she was surrounded by a lot of elderly men and young boys given to too much patriotism, and she felt responsible for them. She tried to explain, moving in Urquhart’s grip, but he refused to let her go, holding her until she calmed down.

  ‘Stop tearing round like a cyclone in a barrel,’ he said quietly. ‘That way you forget things.’

  ‘You would perhaps like me to do as the English do - sit down and make some tea?’

  He smiled. ‘Just calm down, that’s all. You’ll do what you have to do much better that way.’

  She looked desperate. ‘They’re such old fools, so many of them.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  She stopped trying to escape and stared up at him with a perplexed face. ‘What are you expecting out of it all, Urk’t?’ she asked.

  ‘I owe the Germans as much as you do,’ he said. ‘I was also in that defeat you like to recall so much, you know. We got away at Dunkirk but we were beaten just as you were.’

  ‘Is it important to you, too, that they suffer?’

  ‘For God’s sake, yes.’ Urquhart exploded. ‘I want to see the whole lot of them marching past me into captivity, like we did and you did in 1940, with their heads down and their eyes on the ground because they know they’ve been beaten. I don’t believe in turning the other cheek. I believe in the Old Testament and an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I want to see them going through what they’ve put everybody else through. And they will, Marie-Claude, with you or without you. There are so many men and guns and aeroplanes in England now, just waiting for the word “go”, there’s no room for any more.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘There are?’

  He nodded. ‘And when they come, the Germans won’t know what’s hit them. Already we’ve damaged their cities more than French and British cities have been damaged. I’ve seen them. Soon they’ll have the pleasure of seeing us march through their streets, too, and this time they’ll not be able to say that the politicians stabbed them in the back, because they’ll be defeated and they’ll know they’ve been defeated.’

  She stood silently for a moment, staring at his face. Then she nodded and he allowed his hands to drop from her arms.

  ‘You’re right, of course, Urk’t,’ she admitted. ‘Thank you.’

  Without embarrassment, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Urk’t,’ she said again. ‘I think it will be all right now.’

  Nevertheless, it was as well for her nerves that the message arrived the next night. Almost as if Brisson had contacted London, it came in the high plummy voice the BBC seemed to favour even in French. ‘D’Auguste a César! ‘

  Marie-Claude, who had been listlessly eating her meal, sat bolt upright at once. ‘That’s this area! ‘

  Immediately, there was a suggestion of electricity in the air. As Neville laid down his knife, it clattered against his plate and Marie-Claude irritatedly shushed him to silence.

  ‘Here he comes again,’ she said, her eyes glowing with fervour. She’d heard of allied intervention in other parts of France but this was where it became personal, because this was for her alone.

  ‘Maître Corbeau, sur un arbre perchi - ‘

  That was all and it seemed almost an anti-climax but they knew at once that they were in the war again. Marie-Claude rose, her eyes alight. Turning to Neville and Urquhart, she kissed them both with great ceremony as the representatives of the country across the Channel that had brought her hope.

  ‘Those lines were chosen by us,’ she said solemnly. ‘No one but us. I was there.’ She hurriedly cut more bread. ‘You must finish your food and you must have plenty. You’ll be hungry.’

  As soon as he’d finished, Neville dragged out one of the ancient bicycles to set off to warn Brisson. He hadn’t even reached the road when he met Reinach hurrying up the dusty drive.

  ‘It’s tonight.’ he said. ‘Did you hear it? I’ve told everybody. There’s Théyras and Ernouf and Father Pol. We’ve also got three boys and the Dring family and Yvon Guélis and the Péroutins.’

  They exchanged cigarettes in a way that to Neville seemed to scream out loud of conspiracy. ‘It’s not enough,’ he whispered. ‘Urquhart said we’d need at least twenty. The more the better.’

  ‘I can get de Frager. And Dréo and his son. They’re not much good at walking with their stiff legs but they can lift. I’ll get young Hénault as well, and Rapin and the Gaudins from the other end of the village. And Vic Letac, Mère Ledoux’s barman, and Roland Razzo, who works for Théyras. Is that enough?’

  At Rolandpoint there was no sign of Br
isson, and the garage was closed. ‘He’s at his mother’s.’ Ernestine Bona told Neville. ‘Are you going to stop the night? It’ll soon be time for the curfew.’

  ‘No. It’s the parachute drop.’

  Then bonne chance, mon brave.’ She nodded at the bicycle. ‘Can you ride it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fast?’

  ‘I’m almost as good as a Frenchman on a bike now.’

  Her lips curved in a smile. ‘Just be careful. With that between your legs you could end up no good to anybody. Certainly not to Marie-Claude Defourney. I’ll bet she’s after you, isn’t she?’

  Neville grinned and she disappeared, to return wheeling a petrolette. ‘Borrow this,’ she said. ‘And just be careful the Germans don’t catch you or they’ll “friction” you. I’ll find Brisson.’

  Marie-Claude and Urquhart were waiting with the horse and cart when Neville returned. The brigadier of police had stopped him on the outskirts of Rolandpoint to demand what he was doing there; in a sudden inspiration he’d said he was going to see a woman whose husband was on night work, and the French love of l’amour’ - especially illicit ‘amour’ - had worked and he had been waved on.

  As he clattered into the farmyard he saw Marie-Claude was wearing her men’s boots and hat and was bundled into one of the heavy coats the French called ‘canadiennes’. As the sun sank, the woods became russet. Then the eastern horizon took on a shade of misty blue and a strong scent of hay filled the air.

  They set off as soon as it was dark, leading the old horse along the track that ran round the farm, the wheels crunching on the flints. After a while, they met Théyras who was waiting with a bicycle, hump-backed and still.

  ‘They’ll never come,’ he said sceptically.

  ‘Of course they will,’ Marie-Claude replied fiercely. ‘You heard the message. It came through on the nine-fifteen broadcast also. Maître Corbeau sur un arbre perché . . . Maître Corbeau...’ she repeated it excitedly.

  Soon afterwards, they met Ernouf, then two more men with spades and sacks, and they followed the cart in single file through the trees. Ernouf was trying to imitate the announcer’s voice and sounded as if someone was clutching him by the throat. ‘Maître Corbeau ...’ he said. ‘Exactly as we suggested.’

  ‘He had a catch in his throat, I thought,’ Ernouf commented.

  ‘Of course he didn’t, you old fool! Do you think he’s just concerned with you ?’

  Ernouf scowled. ‘Well, he read it better than any of the other messages, and it’s the first we’ve had for ages.’

  The argument stopped as Reinach appeared, jolting down the lane in his lorry with Father Pol. The exhaust was broken and it was making a tremendous noise.

  They’ll hear us all over the Côte-d’Or,’ Marie-Claude wailed.

  Reinach seemed unperturbed, ‘I gave the garde-champêtre a lift,’ he said. ‘He won’t bother us. Father Pol made him promise to look the other way.’

  ‘Priests shouldn’t be involved in this work,’ Marie-Claude persisted anxiously.

  ‘Neither should young girls,’ Father Pol said. ‘And since the man and the priest are inseparable, the priest couldn’t live with his conscience if the man didn’t do his duty.’

  It was pitch dark now and their shoes were already saturated with dew. The cows on the dropping zone had rushed away in alarm as they’d arrived but now they were edging close again, fall of curiosity, black and white patches in the darkness, filling the silence with the sound of chewing and belching. Reinach went among them with a stick and they heard the thump of heavy feet as the cows moved away. Ten minutes later they were back once more, standing in an inquisitive ring round the little group of humans, breathing heavily and occasionally mooing a soft welcome.

  After a while the moon came up, flooding the countryside with orange light, and as they chewed cold rabbits’ legs they saw a wild boar racing across the field to the woods, its tail up like a pennant against the sky.

  ‘A big one,’ Dring said to Urquhart. ‘If you go into the woods, look out for their runs. They’re like tunnels in the undergrowth. And that’s the sort that’ll charge.’

  Father Pol sighed at the thought of the fats and greases they’d let go, and looked at his watch. ‘It’s time,’ he observed.

  ‘I don’t think they’re coming,’ Marie-Claude said.

  ‘The English are never on time,’ Sergeant Dréo grumbled. ‘They weren’t at the Marne.’

  There was no sign of Brisson and Marie-Claude went into a riot of nerves.

  ‘He won’t come,’ she muttered.

  ‘If he doesn’t we’ll manage on our own,’ Urquhart said.

  Dring was frankly sceptical. ‘I served in the air force in 1920,’ he said. ‘No aeroplane could navigate to a single small field.’

  Reinach shouldered his way among them, shoving at them with his big hands. ‘Stop arguing,’ he growled. ‘There’s a trench to be dug for the containers. Get on with it.’

  Marie-Claude was standing with her hands clenched, and Neville drew her on one side.

  ‘They’ll come,’ he reassured her.

  Her head turned quickly. Her face was set, as though she were willing the venture to succeed, trying to project her determination to the aircraft they were expecting, to its crew, even to the people in England who had despatched it. ‘It must work,’ she said. ‘It will work.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so he could see her face in the moonlight. ‘It’ll work all right,’ he said. ‘It will, Marie-Claude. ‘You’ve made it so it’ll work.’

  He was trying to say more than merely that he believed she was brave, and he hoped she’d understand. He believed, in fact, that she did understand and was grateful for her comprehension as she reached up to give him a chilly little peck on the cheek.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ’It will.’

  Reinach tried to cheer her up. ‘You can have one of the parachutes,’ he offered. ‘They make good underwear, so long as you don’t let the Germans see it.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘What makes you think I’d let a German see my underwear,’ she snapped, and Reinach grinned.

  The men digging the trench had started work by the light of hurricane lamps, grumbling at the effort it entailed. But Reinach didn’t let them rest. He’d been a good choice as leader because he had the gift to make them do as they were told just by the strength of his personality.

  The ground’s like concrete,’ Dring complained.

  ‘So’s your head. Dig.’

  Brisson arrived at last in a lather of sweat. He was still fighting off Marie-Claude’s indignant accusations when she stopped dead, ‘Hush!’

  As they listened, they made out a low drone somewhere in the sky, though it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.

  ‘That’s it!’

  After a while the drone died and they were all silent.

  ‘They’ve missed us,’ Dring said. ‘I knew they couldn’t do it.’

  The moon was high now and the landscape was silver blue. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the stars were bright lamps in the heavens. Faintly they could hear the sound of crickets and the shuffle of night birds.

  ‘It was a false alarm,’ Théyras said.

  ‘No! It’s coming back. Listen.’

  Then they heard the beat of unsynchronized engines and Reinach yelled. ‘That’s it I Get to your positions!’

  ‘Let me hold the lamp,’ Théyras said, grabbing at Ernoufs arm.

  ‘No! I want to hold it first! ‘

  ‘Shut up,’ Reinach snapped. ‘You’re like a lot of kids!’

  The torches were switched on and, as the droning sound grew louder, they strained their eyes.

  ‘There!’ It was Neville who spoke, and they all saw a black patch drifting across the sky.

  ‘Four engines. Twin rudders,’ Urquhart said. ‘Halifax. Lucky bastards. They’ll be home tonight.’

  The black patch vanished and the sound died. They al
l became jumpy, and were peering skywards when they saw the moon making a star of reflection on a perspex nose. There was a brief glimpse of a light inside an open hatch and the sound of the propellers drumming against the earth. Then the sky exploded in a spray of round black mushrooms.

  Marie-Claude flung her arms round Neville and hugged him. ‘They’ve come!’ she crowed. ‘They’ve come!’

  Father Pol crossed himself and raised his hand in a blessing to the crew of the aeroplane. ‘Bless you, my sons,’ he said quietly. ‘God’s love be with you in your travels.’

  Ernouf was not half so circumspect and was yelling at the top of his voice. ‘Vive la France!’ he screamed. ‘Vive de Gaulle!’

  Reinach cuffed him at the side of his head and sent him staggering. ‘Shut up, you old fool! Do you want every German in Néry up here? Start counting.’

  There was a series of tinny clonks as the containers hit the ground and the parachutes deflated, then a stampede of excited men across the stubbly grass. It was a good drop and all the containers were together. They were the length of a five-hundred-pound bomb and heavy enough for the edges to dig into the hand. Théyras gaped at them, startled. ‘Mother of God, do they expect us to carry these?’

  Brisson showed them how they hinged down one side like a pea-pod. Inside were three shorter containers, all heavy but all supplied with handles. There was a lot of puffing and panting as they were carried into the trees, and curses as someone cut his hand on a bent lid. A wheelbarrow was lifted off the platform to help; then Reinach’s lorry started up and they all stopped dead, aghast at the noise the defective exhaust was making.

  ‘They’ll hear us in Dijon,’ Marie-Claude panted.

  ‘Not them,’ Reinach said. Throw the stuff on the lorry! By the time they wake up we’ll have finished.’

  His confidence paid off and the containers were in the woods within a few minutes.

  ‘Make sure they don’t leave anything behind,’ Reinach whispered to Neville. ‘And make sure you’ve got all the parachutes. They’re daft enough to forget something.’