by Andrew Wood
His initial assumption that they had been captured by just a few soldiers, the remainders of various Allied units, now needed to be revised. Despite the multitude of nationalities present here, this was an organised group and an active camp. Of the half-dozen radio sets that he could see, all but one were in use; the operators were tapping furiously on their Morse keypads, earphones clamped tightly to their heads in order to pick up the responses out of the static and background noise seeping in.
What most impressed and dismayed him in equal measure were the soldiers themselves. Despite their wet and muddy uniforms they had one thing in common: their eyes blazed with energy and spirit. These were not troops who had been bloodied and beaten, driven to flee into the woods. They were motivated, exuded confidence and were ready for action.
As the hubbub generated by their arrival in the middle of the encampment died down, three officers and a civilian stepped through the circle to survey the captives. The most senior, an English army major if Marner remembered his briefing on enemy insignia correctly, lifted off his cap and scratched his head in astonishment. He spoke in good French, “Good grief Baxter! What the devil have you gone and dredged up?” Laughter rippled through the assembled soldiers, exactly as the officer had intended. Again the thought entered Marner’s head: confidence and competence. “Well, don’t just stand there; get those horses out of here for a start. We don’t want them running around in panic if things suddenly get hot. Put our chum in the fancy uniform under watch with the others, and bring the two civilians to my tent.”
Marner was grabbed by both arms and quick-marched around the circle of the encampment to a thick stand of trees. Sitting in the open in the wet mud were three Wehrmacht soldiers and a civilian, all with their hands bound behind their backs. The civilian was approximately fifty years of age; his face was swollen and bruised, remnants of dried blood on his chin and clothes. They looked to be the most pitiful group that Marner had ever seen in his life. The Wehrmacht glanced up at the approach of Marner; one of them looked shocked and perhaps even encouraged to see a German officer in their midst. Any belief that Marner might be there to help them dissolved when he observed Marner being roughly frisked once again, then his hands yanked back behind him and bound with rope before being dumped unceremoniously into the mud alongside them.
They were being guarded by two soldiers who had lifted up the edge of a tarpaulin and were sat sheltering on the wooden crates underneath. From what Marner could see, it was a significant pile of munitions and supplies. As he felt the cold of the oozing mud in which he was sitting penetrate into his clothes, the rain beginning to form rivulets that ran down though his hair, under his collar and down his shivering feverish body, he wondered what they had stumbled into. Whatever it was, he could only conclude that any remaining chance of catching Graf had now disappeared.
----
Lemele and Loic were led to the major’s tent, which was actually a patchwork of waterproof groundsheets that had been lashed over a frame of branches to form the command post. Maps that were open on upturned crates were hastily rolled up and placed into tubes. The affable mood that the officer had displayed in front of his men was now replaced by indifference and hostility. He made no attempt to introduce himself, his fellow officers or the civilian, the latter cradling a machine gun and sneering at them. This Maquisard had evidently labelled Lemele and Loic as collaborators and was looking forward to dealing with them in his own manner, once the major had finished.
Lemele took the initiative, recognising that they were in a dangerous situation having been captured in the company of an SS officer. She pulled her credentials from inside her coat and thrust them at the major. The civilian tensed as she reached for them, fearing that she might be pulling a weapon; the major calmly pushed the levelled Sten gun aside. Before the major could form his first question, Lemele introduced herself and launched into an explanation of who they were, Marner included, and why they were in the Foret de Duault, hundreds of kilometres from Paris. By the time that she had finished, the major had ordered mugs of tea and they were seated on crates. The major interrupted only a couple of times to ask for clarifications, and to mutter ‘incredible!’ at numerous points.
When Lemele finally finished and silence fell in the tent, it was the Maquisard that broke it, “Preposterous! And better still for her, impossible for us to verify. Give me and my men ten minutes with them and we will have the truth,” he implored the major. Instead the major reached for a sheet of paper and pencil, scribbled for a full minute and then handed it to one of his fellow officers. “Send this priority, by both our comm’s and by the Jedburghs. It’s more likely that the SOE people will be able to make something of it than our chaps.”
He turned to Lemele, his manner resigned. “You have arrived at a bad time. We are being probed by German patrols and so we think that they are close to locating this camp. I have got a lot to attend to and we really do not have the time or the capability to deal with you.” His tone indicated that Lemele and the group were yet another burden and problem. “So we will just to have to wait and hope that someone back in Blighty is able to verify what you are saying, or at least give us some guidance on what we should do with you.”
The major stood up, discussion closed. Lemele, however, was not finished. “And what happens to us if they don’t come back with ‘guidance’?”
The major looked out of the tent. “Curse this bloody rain,” he muttered whilst he watched the soldiers milling around, coming back from or preparing to go out and patrol the perimeter. “I think that we will just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?” he responded finally, and then strode out into the rain. The cold tone of his voice and his departure without looking at her was alarming to Lemele; the wicked sneer of the Maquisard only served to deepen her concern.
Chapter Forty Six
Lemele and Loic were being held under close watch. Loic had been accompanied into the nearby woods to tend to the horses. When he had returned, Lemele had questioned him on whether he had seen anything of Marner, what he had observed in other parts of the camp. He had only shaken his head and refused to talk to her.
Loic had become completely mute and uncommunicative and Lemele assumed that he was angry at her for having dragged him into this mess. Perhaps he was worried about his partner and whether he would be able to get back in time for the birth. Perhaps he was simply scared that he would not be going back at all after what they had heard during the interview with the major yesterday, the implied threat and the hostility of the Maquisard.
The evening meal brought a moment of communication from him. They had been handed a number of cylindrical tins that they had turned over and inspected, mystified until one of the soldiers had shown them how to use the flat key on the base to open the container. Inside was a bewildering array of packed food. In the larger can Lemele had found a packet containing meat stew with vegetables, which Loic had asked if she would trade for his pork and rice. The smaller tins revealed crackers, candy bars, sugar tablets and powder. The soldier had provided two mugs and they were instructed to dissolve the powder to make a drink. Lemele discovered that she had cold coffee that lit up Loic’s eyes and so she handed it over in return for his orange-flavoured drink. One cube of the sugar was used to make it palatable; she gave the others to Loic to give to the horses.
They exchanged some comments on the curiosity of these instant meals, joking that it would have been useful for their own journey, although Lemele assured him that she had much preferred his rabbits, chicken and oatmeal cakes. Once the elementary necessities of conversation to exchange and remark on the food had been dispensed with, Loic fell silent once again.
Lemele, now entirely alone with her thoughts, was sinking into despair. These soldiers were treating her as hostile, a possible collaborator. She was unable to prove her story or why she was travelling willingly in the company of a German officer. She had even begun to doubt and question her own judgement in trusting Marne
r, in having fallen into partnership with him. Whatever her instinct as a human being and her duty as a police officer, he was after all her enemy and yet she was helping him. How could she have been so stupid?
----
When she was escorted to the major’s tent late the following morning it was with a feeling of dread, that was not lightened when she saw that he was with a soldier whom she had not seen before. This officer was very tall and powerful, holding a fearsome looking gun in his huge hands. Both of them watched her with blank unsmiling faces as she approached, flanked by the two stern-faced soldiers who had been sent to fetch her.
She stood nervously before them, glancing around in surprise when the two soldiers were dismissed, now more concerned than ever that she would be turned over to the Maquis and their cruel vengeance.
“Tell me more about this mysterious submarine of yours,” demanded the tall soldier. He was French and spoke in a soft voice that was entirely at odds with his build and appearance.
“I have told you all that we know!” she insisted, her heart sinking.
The French paratrooper and the major exchanged looks and shrugs. The major continued, “Well, it seems that your submarine and this chap Graf that you are chasing have stirred up a lot of interest back home. A lot of interest!” he frowned.
Lemele interpreted this to mean that somehow the story had been verified, although she was amazed that anyone in England would have heard of the U-180 or Graf. Despite this, the major was far from being pleased; he had now been presented with a new problem. “I have been ordered to send a detachment to catch your errant sailor and even to try to attack the sub’ if we can get close enough to it,” he laughed, without humour. “Although what they think we are supposed to attack it with, equipped with only small arms is beyond me.” The soldiers exchanged another shrug.
Lemele flinched as a volley of gunfire sounded from close by. They had been woken by the sound of gunfire in the forest, which had continued sporadically all morning. She had tried to draw Loic into speculation of who it was and what it meant but he still remained mute and closed off from her. She could see that the level of activity in the camp was very much greater than the previous day when they had arrived. There were no soldiers resting under the makeshift shelters, not that they were needed now that the rain had ceased. Instead the troops were busy packing rucksacks with equipment and food, ammunition and grenades. She had watched as they had shrugged these bulging loads onto their backs, swaying under the immense weight of what they planned to carry, even the more solid and strongly built soldiers having to lean forward to balance against their burdens.
“Yes, we are now under attack,” explained the major. “So we have to rapidly close this camp and disperse. Captain Delaune here has the task of taking you and your Nazi friend with him to intercept Graf, and then to hand both of you over for further questioning. If Delaune and his team get the opportunity to damage or disable the submarine, then they will do that too.”
Lemele looked at Delaune, trying to discern what he thought about this mission. Delaune’s face was inscrutable. “We will be leaving in one hour, so go and collect whatever you absolutely need and can carry in this.” He handed her an olive drab rucksack. “And be ready to move quickly.”
“What about our guide?”
“He is being turned loose and is free to take his horses and go as soon as he can. Fortunately for him he is heading east, away from the direction of the German attack.”
Lemele nodded, trying to give voice to the many questions that were turning in her head, including where it was they would be taken to for ‘further questioning’. But she realised that none of them were important to these soldiers or would help the situation. She could only follow this giant, Delaune, and trust her wellbeing to his care and skills.
----
Lemele found Marner slumped against a tree, rubbing his chafed wrists that had just been untied. Standing beside him was a small, wiry soldier; this was Sergeant Dubus and he explained that he was one of Delaune’s team. “I will be responsible for making sure that Fritz here behaves,” he grinned, but there was no humour in his eyes. She ignored the man’s malice and squatted beside Marner, who did not acknowledge her presence.
After nearly twenty fours of separation, Lemele looked at him with new, objective eyes and was shocked at what she saw. He was no longer the vision of the handsome German officer in a crisp uniform that she had met a few weeks ago, no longer the proud and capable policeman. Now he was just an exhausted and lost mortal. More, he was a captive, a cornered and defeated animal. His hollow eyes were circled by dark rings, sunken into a face that was grey skin and beard stubble. Even his neat blond hair was now dark, dank and greasy. She heard his ragged breathing, something bubbling in his chest and remembered that he was still suffering from an infection; she would find a medic and ask for some antibiotics.
“Dieter.” No response. “Dieter!” she repeated louder, angry with him for his defeatism. He looked up, took a moment to recognise her. “Good news Dieter. I told them about Graf and the U-180 and they believe me. Not only that, they are going to go with us, help us catch Graf and maybe even stop the submarine.”
Marner only stared at her. Did he not understand? Was he delirious or more seriously ill than he appeared, she wondered? She had tried to inject her voice with enthusiasm for his sake, but now she was growing frustrated that he had lost all motivation, just as they had been given this lucky break.
And then realisation did dawn in his face, but it was not the response that she had anticipated, “You told them where the U-180 will be?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, “You told them the rendezvous date and location?”
Lemele nodded, not trusting her voice. She was now confused, could not understand what she had done wrong. The rendezvous was where Graf would be. The fact that the submarine would be there was almost a coincidence, could he not see that?
Marner’s eyes suddenly blazed, he snarled at her, “I thought that we were working together on this, that you supported me. Now you’ve simply made me an accessory to the betrayal, to the killing of my countrymen.”
Lemele rocked back as if slapped. “Wake up you fool! You are still wearing a German uniform, this is still my country and these people right here,” she gestured to Dubus, who was leaning against a tree and openly enjoying the exchange, “are my countrymen. Under German occupation and oppression. They are my allies, not you. I am doing this to catch a criminal who killed an innocent Frenchman.”
Marner tried to butt in but she suddenly stood up, leant over and hurled into his upturned face, “I respect you as a policeman, and behind that uniform I can see that you are a good man. But whilst you wear that uniform and as long as you and your countrymen remain here, you are my enemy!”
Lemele pivoted and strode away, crashing through a group of Maquis who had begun to congregate around the crates waiting to be issued with weapons, to join the new revolution. Several of them gawped and jeered at the figure of Marner and the other prisoners, joking that the captives would be a great opportunity to try out their new weapons.
----
It took the still fuming Lemele only a minute to transfer the few clothes that she wanted to keep from the bags that Loic had collected from the horses into her new rucksack. She discarded a delicate lace chemise with regret. It had been a first anniversary present from her husband; now it was tainted by damp mildew that she knew would leave a permanent stain.
She suddenly realised that she had not seen Loic since she had been summoned to the major’s tent. She presumed that he would be preparing the horses for the return journey but when she went in search of him there was only a clearing of bare trampled earth, hoof prints in the soft damp mud and piles of manure.
“He left ten minutes ago. In a very big hurry,” said a voice from behind and she whirled around, startled; she had not heard anyone approach.
He looked the same as most of the other soldiers; young and fit, bright eyed. L
ike a child on a weekend camping adventure that would end when he caught the train back to his home town; a tale for his friends at school on Monday. This one had a slightly Slavic look to his lean face and a distinct accent to his excellent French. “I am sorry if I frightened you. I am Slowikowski, assigned to protect you,” he smiled.
He probably thought that his phrase and his smarmy smile were going to charm her. She would put him right on that. “You don’t look old enough to be shaving. How could a boy like you possibly protect me?” she mocked him, not unkindly.
He showed no offence, “I am a paratrooper, a weapons specialist. Guns, explosives, unarmed combat. It is what I am, what I do.”
Lemele resisted the urge to laugh at his boasting; instead she switched tack, “What nationality are you? Your French is very good.”
“I am Polish, Jewish. I also speak fluent English and good German.”
His beaming smile and deliberately struck pose relaxing against a tree trunk was irritating her intensely. “Well Monsieur Slowikowski, I have managed to get this far in one piece, so I don’t really think that your protection will be necessary. But thank you all the same,” she finished mock-polite and walked past him, heading back to the camp.
