Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  Tony studied the message Georges had left for him in the hollow log, and felt the excitement building inside him. This would be a wonderful opportunity to impede the build-up of defences on the north coast of France. Everyone knew that the invasion of Europe would come that way sometime in the future, and the Germans were obviously doing their utmost to strengthen their defences. According to the message, a train carrying tanks would be moving north to be deployed along the Brittany coast. Tony intended to destroy it. According to the communiqué which Georges had read, there would be two carriages of soldiers travelling as guards to the thirty tanks. But forewarned is forearmed as they say, and Tony was sure that they would be able to neutralise them. His mind working overtime, he called Jean-Paul and asked him to arrange a meeting of the group. This was an opportunity not to be missed.

  Tony lay concealed behind some bushes and glanced to his right where Madeleine and Georges were also trying to hide in their appointed places. The cover was sparse but sufficient; he turned to his left, where Jean-Paul, Charles and Alain were lying. Each of the group was well prepared, grenades laid out in front of them and Sten guns at the ready. Tony had already laid the explosives on the tracks and he glanced at the detonator box beside his right hand. The wires were attached and ready. In the distance, Tony heard the first sound of the approaching train and peered along the tracks to his left. A smudge of smoke appeared above the horizon, closely followed by the black bulk of the engine. Tony gave the plunger of the detonator a half turn, arming it in readiness. The train approached slowly, the weight of thirty tanks on their open flatcars holding the engine back.

  All along the line the group of saboteurs checked their weapons. They watched eagerly as their target approached. Alain, on the far left, glanced across at Charles on his right. He was surprised that his friend was fit enough to take part in the attack. But knowing Charles as he did, he realised that he would have allowed nothing to stand in the way of him attacking the hated Germans. Charles glanced at Alain and waved a hand, before ducking back down as the huge bulk of the train approached. To his right, Jean-Paul frowned. He knew that Charles' wound had healed well, but he still doubted the wisdom of allowing him to fight again so soon. What if the wounds opened again with the activity? He shrugged. It was too late to worry about that now. On Tony’s right, Madeleine was aware of Georges’ eyes on her but did not turn to look at him. Instead she continued to watch the approaching train. Georges was also aware of the train drawing closer, but found it difficult to keep his eyes from the beautiful young woman lying prone on the ground ten feet away from him. It still amazed him that she could be dressed in trousers and shirt for ease of mobility, with a gun in her hand and grenades at her side, yet still look so feminine. He was proud to be able to fight at her side. The sound of the engine grew louder, and Georges turned his attention back to the track as Tony’s hand gripped the plunger tightly.

  The train reached the point where Tony had concealed the explosives, and he forced the plunger down. The ground beneath the engine rose up, lifting the behemoth with it and throwing it to one side. As it slid along the ground on its side, wheels still turning, the engine dragged the carriage behind it from the tracks, throwing the soldiers inside into a jumble of broken arms and legs. The leading flatcar came after it; the tank broke free from its moorings and rolled forward onto the carriage, crushing the soldiers beneath its heavy tracks. While they were still moving, Tony leapt to his feet and began to throw his grenades with studied accuracy at the tanks which slid past him, carried forward by their own momentum. On either side of him, the other members of his group were also standing, beginning to throw grenades. They created havoc among the tanks, whose broken and buckled shells littered the sides of the track. For a moment the Sten guns which the group possessed remained unused. The mangled soldiers in the first carriage offered no threat. The few who were not already dead were in no position to retaliate. Trapped, bleeding and broken, they felt the life oozing from their bodies as the grinding, crashing, screeching of the derailed train continued all around them.

  As the grenades continued to fall amongst the shattered tanks the huge mass of the moving train finally came to rest. The flatcars carrying the last two tanks and the carriage behind them were derailed but still upright, while all in front of them were crushed and broken. Tony smiled. It had gone better than he had expected.

  "Come on! Let's get out of here!"

  The shrill chatter of a machine gun rent the air. Turning in surprise, he saw a flood of soldiers leaping down from the rear carriage, their rifles raised. They began to fire at Alain and Charles, the two who were closest to them. Alain fired again, the sound of his Sten gun a counter-point to the single shots of the German rifles. Charles turned towards Tony and cupped his hand to his mouth.

  "Get back to the trees, Albert! We’ll cover you!"

  Before Tony could reply Charles had turned to face the Germans and was firing once more. Tony stood undecided for a moment. There must have been fifty soldiers climbing down from the carriage, too many for them to defeat. They must retreat to the trees where they would have better cover, then cover Alain and Charles as they retreated. Tony waved the others on.

  "Come on! Run!"

  His three companions followed him at a run towards the trees. As their feet thudded on the dry summer grass and their hearts pounded with exertion the sound of gunfire continued behind them. Tony reached the trees first and turned to survey the scene of the attack. The destruction of the train was total. Tony would have been well satisfied with the afternoon’s work, if it were not for the skirmish taking place at the rear of the train. At least ten of the Germans lay still upon the ground, their blood soaking into the dry earth. Others sat holding their wounds, but the remainder were advancing relentlessly. Alain and Charles stood side by side, retreating one step at a time, and Tony felt frustrated and angry. There was little he could do to help from where he stood, and he contemplated going back to help them.

  Georges and Madeleine reached the trees beside him just as Tony saw Alain throw up his arms in pain and fall back, the Sten gun falling from his hands. Tony’s face was grim. He clutched his gun tightly as he stepped forward once again. He had to do something to help them. A hand gripped his arm.

  "Hold it, Albert. There’s nothing we can do for them now."

  Tony recognised the truth of Jean-Paul’s words, but it did not help. He and his companions watched the Germans slowly surround Charles. From where they stood it appeared that Charles had been hit; he was standing awkwardly as he fired into the ranks of the approaching soldiers. As his ammunition ran out, he knelt down to pick up Alain’s gun. But before he could raise it to fire at his attackers, two bullets caught him almost simultaneously and he slid to the earth. The Germans approached at a run. They began firing into the two bodies on the ground.

  "Animals!"

  Georges turned towards Madeleine as she spoke. His heart went out to her as he watched the tears fall. Laying his hand gently on her arm, he turned her away from the scene.

  "Come on." His voice was gentle, comforting, and Madeleine saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. Georges had grown up with Alain and Charles yet even in his grief he could spare sympathy for her. It helped her to get a firm hold on her feelings, and she nodded weakly.

  "Yes. There’s nothing we can do here now." Tony turned his back on the brutal scene. "We must get back to the car and out of here, before the Germans get on our trail."

  "They’re coming now." Jean-Paul had continued to watch the scene. He saw twenty of the Germans head towards their cover at a run. "We must go, Albert."

  Tony ran, leading the diminished group towards the hidden car. But he left part of his soul back on the battlefield.

  99

  Major Steinhauser sat across the dinner table from Sergeant Dresner and poured a glass of cognac for each of them.

  "You know, Karl, one of the few good things about the French is their cognac." He put the bottle down and picked up his
glass, holding it to his nose to breath in the bouquet. He took a sip from the glass then set it down on the table. His face was serious. "That attack on the train caused a great deal of damage but, for once, we have managed to make them pay for their audacity." He sighed. "If only the soldiers had not been so quick to finish off the two they shot, we might already know where this group is hiding out. As it is, I have a feeling that things are beginning to go our way at last."

  Karl nodded. "Yes. Their group can’t be very big. Two deaths will be a serious blow to them." He frowned. "The weapons we found on them were British. I wonder if one of them was the spy who led this group?"

  Steinhauser shrugged. "I don’t suppose we will ever know. But just to be on the safe side, I want you to assume that the group leader was not amongst them. We’ll keep looking." He smiled. "You know, Karl, I have a good feeling about this now. I think we’ll have our hands on this group before long."

  Dresner nodded, but said nothing. He hoped they would wipe out the Resistance group soon; Steinhauser’s temper had been on an unusually short rein since the attacks had begun, and he could not wait to get back to normality.

  100

  The deaths had a salutary effect on the group. It hit Georges hard. To stand and watch as his two oldest friends had been killed in front of him had not been easy. It had taken all of his strength of will not to go rushing back, gun blazing, to help them. But he knew it would have been useless. He would have been left in a pool of blood with them. With fierce determination he had held back, swearing that he would live to avenge the deaths of Charles and Alain.

  As Madeleine watched the Germans shooting down her comrades, her mind slipped back into the past. She imagined herself back at the beginning of the war and, instead of Charles, she saw her husband gunned down during the invasion. She had never known how he died, but guessed that it must have been like this. As the group retreated from the railway leaving their dead behind them, the old familiar pain and loss hit her again, as though a dam holding back her feelings had been breached. She was truly able to mourn her husband, without her anger and hatred of the Germans getting in the way. The hatred was by no means diminished, but she had it under control now. It was swamped in the wave of grief at the loss of her husband and her friends. Awash with her feelings she was glad of Georges’ guiding hand at her elbow.

  Tony decided that the group should lie low for a while, until the German search died down again and they had their feelings under control, so they did nothing rash to avenge the deaths. He had hardly known Alain, but as leader of the group he felt responsible for his death. They were all well aware of the risks they ran as members of a Resistance group, but to see the Germans finishing off their helpless comrades in cold blood as they lay wounded on the ground nauseated him. His hatred of the Germans reached a depth he had experienced only twice before, on the road to Dunkirk, and on hearing of the David’s death. He felt the loss of Alain as any commander would feel the loss of one of his men, but the loss of Charles was the loss of a dear friend. Charles had been so like himself in his eagerness to fight and, after one or two early shows of over-zealousness, had proved a reliable comrade. Tony did not doubt that he would have died at the submarine pens if Charles had not risked his life to save him. It cut him deeply to stand and watch the young Frenchman killed, unable to do anything to help, and having to put the needs of the whole group ahead of the needs of one comrade and friend.

  Although no one was aware of it, Theresa was the one who suffered most on hearing of the deaths. Jean-Paul told her that Charles had been shot, unaware of the conflicting emotions which his simple statement was to cause his daughter. She knew that she was only a child, even though she helped the Resistance group with the calmness and courage of an adult, the adult which she had wanted Charles to see in her. If she had spoken to her mother about her feelings, Marie would have offered her comfort by telling her that she did not really love Charles, it was just the childish infatuation for an older man that all girls experienced as they approached adolescence. Even so, Theresa would not have listened. To her, Charles was all that was wonderful and brave and worthy in her countrymen. She was sure that if Charles had waited for her to grow up, he would have come to love her as she loved him. But now that would never happen. Instead he would remain forever youthful, while she grew older, reaching his age and passing it. When she died and saw him once again, he would still be the same handsome young man whom she had loved, while she would be an old woman, though still with the heart and spirit of the young girl who now mourned his death. Theresa felt a depth of loss such as she had never felt before, had never even imagined. She knew that the only way to overcome it was to fight, and maybe to die, to avenge Charles. Children grew up quickly in occupied France.

  101

  Four days after the attack on the train transporting the tanks, Angeline received her first message from London. Each night at 9.45, she set up her radio in her room and listened. Any message for her would be transmitted between 9.49 and 9.54 pm, but so far she had listened in vain. Angeline sat on her bed, headset on, and listened. Suddenly, the beep beep sound of a message in Morse code jolted her. She grasped her pencil, writing swiftly as the message came through. It was coded, as she had expected, but it would not take her long to decode it after she had hidden her transmitter. The message came to an end. She tapped out one word, 'received', on her key, then signed off. Lifting the earphones from her head, she turned towards the door and froze.

  Vincent stood in the doorway, his mouth agape and eyes wide in amazement. With a sinking heart she realised that her cover had been broken, and she was well aware of what that could mean to her. Laying the earphones down with a pretence of calmness she did not feel, Angeline rose to her feet.

  "So now you know."

  With an effort, Vincent pulled himself together. "Who were you speaking to?"

  "England." Vincent, still overcome by surprise, said nothing. Angeline realised that she was going to have to take the initiative. "I'm a British agent. Are you going to turn me in?"

  Vincent shook his head in disbelief. Then, as her words finally registered, he held up a hand in protest.

  "No! Of course not! You know my feelings about the Germans!” He shook his head again. "I had no idea."

  Angeline forced a grim smile. "That was how it should be." She frowned. "Do you want me to leave? It will be dangerous for you to knowingly harbour an enemy agent in your home."

  ""Of course not! You must stay here as long as you wish." Vincent was beginning to recover his senses. "Can I help in your work? Surely you can use me? After all, I’m no more unlikely a candidate to be a spy than you!"

  Angeline smiled. Her non-descript appearance had obviously fooled Vincent, as intended. Turning her back on him, she thought swiftly. She believed he was safe, but her cover was still blown. She would have to tell Tony, and let him decide what had to be done. Composing herself she turned back to Vincent.

  "I’ll see what can be done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do." Vincent raised a quizzical eyebrow, and she smiled. "I have a transmitter to hide and a message to decode."

  Vincent turned and left the room while Angeline quickly packed away the transmitter and sat with her pad, expertly juggling letters to decode the message. The completed transcript was soon lying on the bed beside her.

  'High ranking General to visit S.S. 31st July. Attempt assassination.'

  It was brief and to the point. Angeline frowned for a moment then added a message of her own.

  'Cover blown. Vincent Artois, baker and landlord, caught me using set.

  Offered help. Believe him to be safe. Please advise.'

  She looked at it for a moment, aware that Tony might choose to eliminate Vincent to protect the safety of the group. She had grown fond of Vincent during her months with him, and regretted that she should be the one to endanger his life. But this was war. Decisively, she re-encoded, then folded the paper and hid it, ready to drop the following morning.
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  Tony and Jean-Paul watched the bakery from the cover of the shop opposite. Tony had retrieved Angeline’s message from the drop site, and his frayed nerves had taken another battering. Far from being able to lie low as he had planned, he was now ordered to try to assassinate a German General. He had no misconceptions as to how dangerous this would be. To make matters worse, Angeline had informed him that her cover had been blown. Marshalling his scattered thoughts, Tony swiftly formulated a plan. That was why he and Jean-Paul were watching the bakery. It was almost two o'clock, and Tony expected Angeline to leave at any moment to check the post-box at the church. Right on cue she wheeled her bicycle out of the yard, clambered aboard and set off down the road. Tony nodded at Jean-Paul.

  "Right. Let's go."

  The two men left the shop, sauntered nonchalantly across the street and into the bakers. Vincent was wiping down a counter empty of goods, and looked up as the two men entered his shop.

  "Can I help you? I’m afraid we don’t have any bread left."

  Tony perused the man. He looked harmless enough. The skin on his face was loose as though he had lost weight, but that was normal at a time when rationing gave people only the bare essentials to survive. His eyes were wary but not hard, and Tony detected a hint of sadness in them. He turned to look at Jean-Paul who nodded, then faced Vincent as they began the planned questioning.

  "Monsieur Artois. We are French patriots. Can you say the same?"

  Vincent nodded. "Of course, Monsieur. My country is vitally important to me."