Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  112

  The rescue team sat in the car just half a mile from the SS Headquarters. Jean-Paul perused his companions. Georges had been able to get hold of another German uniform for Vincent, who now sat in the front, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

  "Do you know where to take us when we get Albert out?"

  Vincent nodded at Jean-Paul’s question. "Yes. We cycled out there this afternoon. You don’t need to worry about that, just make sure you get Albert out safely."

  Jean-Paul, looking strange in the uniform of a Werhmacht Sergeant, grinned nervously. He glanced across at Georges, who had managed to get the uniforms out of the laundry. He would be their guide once they were inside the building, the success of their mission would depend a great deal on him.

  "You know where they’re holding him, Georges?"

  The young Frenchman nodded. "Yes. There has been a lot of gossip amongst the Germans. It appears that they know that Albert is English, but he’s told them nothing about us. At least that was the rumour in the offices today."

  "How do you know this?"

  Georges smiled at Madeleine. "As far as the Germans are concerned we French don’t exist. As long as I look as though I'm working, it's not too difficult to listen in to conversations."

  "Will they recognise you when we go in? It could give the whole game away."

  "I’ve thought about that,” Georges countered, "I don’t think it’s a problem. They might think my face is familiar, but they will probably assume that I’ve recently been posted here. I doubt if they will link a vaguely familiar face in German uniform to an obscure French cleaner. Anyway, it’s a risk we have to take. I’m the only one who can speak German."

  "Georges is right,” concurred Jean-Paul, “it’s a risk we must take. Are we all ready?" His three companions nodded. “Good, then let’s get going. We’re working on a tight schedule."

  As Jean-Paul finished speaking, Vincent turned the ignition key, and the engine roared into life. With swastikas flying in the gentle breeze, the car with its three German soldiers and their companion slipped into the main road, and made its way towards the headquarters of the dreaded SS.

  The atmosphere in the car was electric. Its occupants were all aware of the danger into which they travelled, and the consequences to themselves and their families if their plan failed. Yet they were all determined to carry on. The driving force behind them was not only the fear of what would happen if Tony was forced to talk, but also their concern for his safety. Most of them had only known Tony for a short time. Only Jean-Paul had known him before the war and knew his true identity, but they all admired him and the way he had led them to so many successes. He had given them back their self-respect in a country occupied by a brutish force, and given them hope that the occupation would not continue overlong. He had brought out the courage and strength hidden deep in each one of them, and focussed it so that they had been able to help their country, albeit in a small way. With their leader taken, they could do no less than to utilise the qualities which he had brought out in them, to free him or die in the attempt. As the car made its way towards its destination, its occupants were silent, each coping with their fear and trepidation in their own way. As they rounded the final corner the faces of each of them were calm, grim, determined.

  Vincent drew the car to a halt in front of the steps which led up to the entrance, the black, white and red of the huge swastika billowing above it. Jean-Paul leaned forward and spoke softly to the driver.

  "Wait here and keep the engine running. We won’t be long."

  Jean-Paul climbed down from the car, closely followed by Madeleine and finally Georges. The two men posing as German soldiers held their rifles in their hands as they flanked the young woman and escorted her up the steps, into the huge imposing building. As they passed the sentries at the door, their hearts were in their mouths, but no one said anything as they walked confidently past, as though on their way to an important meeting. Once in the entrance hall, Georges whispered to his colleagues.

  "We turn right here, then go on until we reach the stairs that go down to the cellars. That’s where they’re keeping him."

  Jean-Paul nodded and followed as Georges led the way. There were not many people about. Although some of the soldiers looked curiously at them, they were not challenged until they reached the stairs. The young soldier on duty blocked their way, and looked them up and down questioningly.

  "Where do you think you’re going?"

  "To the cells."

  The soldier glared at Georges. "You know that’s forbidden."

  "We’re under orders from Major Steinhauser. He thinks this woman can identify the prisoner."

  "Then why isn’t he with you?" The soldier glared at Madeleine, then looked back at Georges. "I’ll have to check with the Herr Major before I let you down."

  "Of course." Georges forced a smile as he spoke. "I’ll come with you."

  The guard nodded and turned towards the entrance hall. Jean-Paul clamped a hand over his mouth and put his other arm around his neck. Madeleine grabbed the German’s gun as he struggled with his attacker, while Gorges slipped his knife from its sheath and thrust it hard into the soldier’s chest. The blade slid in between two ribs and found the heart. Georges gave it a twist to free it and pulled back. He heard the metal grate against bone. A gush of blood flooded the front of the sentry’s uniform. A groan, muffled by Jean-Paul’s hand, escaped the young man. He slumped into his attacker’s arms, lifeless eyes staring.

  "Get him down the stairs. Quick." Jean-Paul began to drag the body down the stairs, and was closely followed by his companions.

  "We must hurry." Madeleine’s voice was little more than a whisper. "Once they notice that the guard is missing, we won’t stand a chance of getting out of here."

  Georges nodded. He fumbled with a bunch of keys attached to the dead German’s belt.

  "Albert is the only prisoner down here at present so he’ll be in the only room that’s locked."

  Jean-Paul began trying all the doors flanking the underground corridor. The third one on the right resisted his efforts to open it. He motioned his companion forward.

  "Get this one open, Georges."

  Georges struggled with the keys for a moment until he found the right one. As the key grated in the lock, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  "Mon Dieu!" His face lost all its colour and his hand on the door began to shake. Madeleine wondered what had caused such a reaction and pushed past him to see. The sight which greeted her caused her to stop in her tracks and she felt nauseous. In the far corner of the room was a huddled form. The torso was black and blue from bruising. Huge blisters covered the skin where something had burned him. The feet of the figure lay in a pool of blood, the toes blackened, the nails shattered.

  "Albert?" Madeleine’s voice was little more than a whisper. She could not believe what her eyes were seeing, did not want to believe it. How could anyone stand up to such punishment and live? She took a hesitant step into the room, then rushed across to the still form. Her two companions in the doorway stood silently for a moment before joining her. They had not known what to expect, but none of them had anticipated anything like this.

  "We should have got him out sooner." Jean-Paul crossed the room quickly, his vision blurred by tears. Kneeling down, he forced a smile to his anguished face as he gazed down into the pain -filled eyes.

  "Jean-Paul?"

  “Yes, Tony. I'm here." In the heat of the moment he used Tony’s real name, and the others looked at him.

  "You know who he really is?"

  Jean-Paul’s eyes opened in surprise at Madeleine’s question, then he cursed himself.

  "You keep it a secret from the Germans, even after they’ve done this to you, then I have to let it slip."

  Tony forced a smile. "Don’t worry Jean-Paul, it won’t make any difference now. I’m just so glad to see you all."

  Jean-Paul helped the Englishman to sit up, and looke
d down at his tortured feet.

  "How are we going to get you out of here? I’d thought you’d be able to walk with us, and we’d just have to bluff our way out."

  "I won’t be walking for quite a while, Jean-Paul. You can't carry me. We'd never get out like that." He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He looked deep into his old friend’s eyes, and reached out to grasp his hand. "Thank you for coming, all of you, it was a very courageous thing to do. But as you can see, it’s hopeless. If you try to get me out of here, you’ll all be taken. Kill me, Jean-Paul, and then get out of here."

  "No. Tony, I can’t do that."

  "You must, Jean-Paul. If you leave me here they'll make me talk eventually. You must kill me. It's the only way."

  "We’ll find another way, Tony. I’m not leaving you here, and I’m not going to kill you. How would I explain that to your family?"

  "There might be another way." Georges found it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. "There’s a first aid post not far from where the sentry stood at the top of the stairs. I could get a stretcher from there and we could carry Albert...Tony out."

  Tony’s face creased into a pain-wracked semblance of a grin.

  "Continue to call me Albert, Georges, Tony is a name best forgotten. Do you think your plan could work?"

  "It must." Madeleine spoke for the first time since she had rushed to Tony’s side. She took his free hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “We’re not going to leave you here to these animals. We knew the risks when we came to get you and we’ll not back out now. There’s a plane coming for you tonight, and we’re going to make sure you're on it."

  "A plane?"

  Jean-Paul nodded as Georges slipped from the cell to find the stretcher.

  "Angeline. We have to get moving if we’re to meet her on time."

  "How do we get past the guards?"

  "Bluff. We’ll just say that Steinhauser has ordered you to be taken to hospital. If the Germans don’t believe us, we’ll just have to kill them."

  Tony smiled weakly. "I certainly came to the right man when I came to you, Jean-Paul. Thanks."

  There were footsteps in the corridor. Madeleine leapt to her feet, gun in hand. She relaxed visibly as Georges entered with the stretcher and a folded blanket.

  "No one has noticed that the guard is missing yet, but I don’t suppose it will be long before they do. We had better hurry.”

  "The guard?"

  "No time to explain now." Jean-Paul gently lifted Tony onto the stretcher, noticing the grimace of pain which clouded his friend’s features.

  "I’m sorry, Albert, but I must cover you." Madeleine gently laid the blanket over his tortured body as she spoke. "I know it must hurt, but if we cover you the Germans might not know who is on the stretcher."

  Tony felt dizzy with pain. Nausea threatened to overcome him as the blanket brushed his shattered feet. He closed his eyes and fought to control his breathing as the two Frenchmen lifted the stretcher, each movement bringing renewed pain to his abused body.

  "Wait." Madeleine slipped the slain guard’s gun beneath the blanket so that Tony’s hand rested on the butt. "You might need this."

  Tony nodded his thanks as Jean-Paul and Georges carried him out of the cell and along the stone passageway. His eyes fell on the bloodied body of the sentry but he said nothing as the small party began to make its way up the stairs, each step a jarring agony for the man on the stretcher. As they reached the top of the stairs, Jean-Paul let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

  "No one around. They’ve not noticed the missing guard yet."

  The group made their way along the passageway and into the entrance hall, where a sentry stopped them.

  "Who is on the stretcher?"

  "A clerk. This woman is a nurse. She thinks he has appendicitis. We’re taking him to hospital."

  The sentry nodded and waved them on. "Good luck to him."

  Moments later Jean-Paul and Georges lifted Tony from the stretcher into the back of the car, where he sat flanked by Madeleine and Georges. Jean-Paul climbed into the front next to Vincent.

  "Go."

  The car roared away and as it turned the first corner its occupants heaved a collective sigh of relief.

  "I don’t believe it!"

  "We did it!"

  "It’s a miracle!"

  Vincent didn’t join in the self-congratulation. "How is he?"

  "In a bad way." Jean-Paul glanced over his shoulder as he replied. There was no sign of pursuit. "If he’d been there much longer, he would have either told them everything or died." He looked at the young Englishman. The jolting of the car had increased his pain, and he had slipped into merciful unconsciousness. "Get to the rendezvous as fast as you can, Vincent. They’re bound to discover the dead guard and missing prisoner soon. Then the whole German army will be on our tails."

  Vincent took the road north to the outskirts of the city, then slowed the car.

  "Roadblock."

  Jean-Paul frowned. "They know we’ve been there. They must have radioed ahead to have all roads out of the city sealed off." He laid his gun unobtrusively on his lap. "Slow down and stop, Vincent. The rest of you get your weapons ready. We must kill everyone at the barrier, or pursuit will be so close that we won’t be able to meet the plane."

  The others nodded, releasing the safety catches on their guns. Vincent slowed the car, and stopped at the barrier as six soldiers approached. They were relaxed, as though expecting no trouble from a car flying the swastika and carrying three German soldiers.

  "The SS have lost a prisoner," called the closest of the approaching soldiers. "Have you seen anything?"

  "Yes!" Jean-Paul leapt to his feet and opened fire. A fusillade of shots came from either side of the rear of the car. The Germans fell before they even had time to bring their weapons to bear on their attackers. Vincent pressed his foot to the floor and the car leapt forward, throwing Jean-Paul back into his seat.

  "On to Montoir!"

  The car sped into the night and towards its rendezvous with the English plane five miles away.

  Angeline was busy by the small lake outside Montoir. Between the water and the woods was a narrow patch of meadowland. It was ideal as a runway for the Lysander which was due to arrive within the next half hour. It was Angeline’s job to make sure that the ground drill was carried out correctly, so that the plane could land and take off safely in as short a time as possible. The plane was unarmed. The only weapon was the pistol which the pilot carried. The pickup would be dangerous ,and the pilot would want to spend no more than two or three minutes on the ground.

  Angeline checked the direction of the wind and began to set up the landing lights. With the wind in her face, she placed a bicycle lamp on the ground and began to pace out the grass in front of her. After four hundred yards she put down another lamp, turned to her right and paced out a further fifty yards. Then she placed the third and final lamp on the short turf. All she had to do now was wait until she heard the sound of the approaching plane and then switch on the lamps. Although they were small they would be easily seen by the pilot, as all of the surrounding land was obsidian in the blackout. The plane would come down into the wind, landing as close as possible to the first light. Then it would taxi to the second light. It would turn in the space designated by the second and third lights, before taxiing back to its landing point. The passenger would be picked up there, and the plane would take off into the wind, in the direction of the second light. Angeline would then only need to retrieve the lights and make her way back to Saint Nazaire.

  Once the lights were all in position, Angeline waited anxiously, surveying first the sky and then the road. Time was running out and the plane would not be able to wait. Where was the car? Had they managed to get Tony out of the hands of the SS? Had they been caught en route to the rendezvous point? Angeline paced nervously back and forth across the springy turf. If they did not come soon, it would be too late.

&nbs
p; It was 10.41 when Angeline heard the sound of the approaching car. She let out a sigh of relief. Right on time. The plane was due in four minutes. The car pulled onto the meadow and drew to a halt, as she ran across to it.

  "Keep the engine running, Vincent, we'll want to get away as quickly as possible." Jean-Paul climbed out of the car. "It’s good to see you, Angeline. Is everything ready?"

  The young Englishwoman nodded. "Yes. Where's Albert?"

  Jean-Paul’s face creased with worry.

  "In the back of the car. He’s in a bad way, Angeline, and we don’t know what he might have told them."

  Angeline moved to the rear of the car where her compatriot was propped up between Madeleine and Georges, who eyed her curiously. Tony had not regained consciousness. The lack of food and water, compounded with the pain and injuries kept him in a blissful state where he could feel no more hurt. Angeline frowned. Tony was wrapped in a blanket with only his face showing. That appeared to be uninjured, so what had the Germans done? As though reading her thoughts, Madeleine gently removed the blanket and Angeline gasped. The injuries to his body and feet looked appalling, even in the dark. She wondered if he could possibly have sustained so much damage without betraying her and the remainder of the group. But there was no time to think about that now. The plane was due any moment.

  "What are you going to do, Angeline?"

  The young woman gazed questioningly at Vincent.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He may have given them your name. Do you want to end up like him?"

  Angeline shivered with fear but said nothing.

  "You should go back with him."

  "I can't. I have no orders to return."

  "You have no orders because this situation was not foreseen,” said Jean-Paul. "It would be safer for you, and for us all, if you were to return to England. If they wish to send you back, you can always parachute in again. Besides, Albert will probably need you during the flight."