The Frenchman trained his gun on the two Germans. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony put down his gun and begin to take the plastic explosives from his pack. Each console soon had its own lump of plastic moulded to it. Tony took out the pencil fuses, setting them to red, thirty minutes. Wishing there were shorter fuses available, he pushed them carefully into the putty-like mass of the explosive. Within minutes, all was ready. He turned back to Jean-Paul and the Germans.
"We'll have to tie them up, and keep them quiet for half an hour."
Jean-Paul nodded and was just about to move over to them when the door behind him opened. As Tony swung round, there was a sharp intake of breath from the young man who had entered with a tray bearing steaming mugs of coffee. He dropped the tray, turned and ran back into the hall.
"Resistance! Resistance!"
Tony followed closely behind him, instinctively pulling the trigger of the Sten gun. It burst into life, spitting out a lethal hail of bullets which tore into the back of the fleeing soldier, flinging him against the reception desk in a shower of blood and gore. As Tony turned back towards the room, he saw the two Germans lowering their hands from their heads and leaping forward. Jean-Paul’s gun roared into life, and the two soldiers were thrown back against the wall. As they slid down it, leaving a red trail of blood behind them, the two Resistance fighters quickly reloaded their Sten guns.
"Damn!" Tony pushed the ammunition clip into place as he spoke. "This place will soon be crawling with soldiers. They’ll have time to remove the charges before they go off." He was thinking swiftly. "Get down the hall and take cover behind the reception desk. Shoot anyone who tries to get in. I'll join you in a minute."
Jean-Paul ran to do Tony’s bidding. The young Englishman delved into his pack and removed four hand grenades. Placing two beneath each console, he put his pack on his back, then pulled the pins. Grabbing his gun, he ran from the room, closing the door behind him, and joined Jean-Paul behind the desk. The door to the street burst open. The guard who had been checking the rear of the building entered with his rifle held threateningly in front of him. He saw the young soldier lying dead in a pool of blood beside the reception desk. He had just become aware of the two men crouched behind it, when the grenades exploded. The door at the end of the hall was blown open by the force of the blast, emitting clouds of dust and smoke. Instinctively the soldier looked in that direction. By the time he had turned back to the threat behind the desk, it was too late. Tony was on his feet, firing the Sten gun as he raced towards the door.
"Come on, Jean-Paul! Run!"
The two men were out on the street before the soldier hit the ground. Shots were fired from their right. Tony turned to fire on the three approaching soldiers, and Jean-Paul sprinted for the bombed out building which had concealed them earlier. Tony saw one of the soldiers fall before Jean-Paul began his covering fire from behind a pile of bricks. He turned and ran, leaping what was left of a wall to fall beside his French companion. Swiftly reloading his weapon, he raised his head cautiously to look over the wall. Two of the soldiers lay unmoving, while the third was trying to crawl to the shelter of a nearby shop doorway. Jean-Paul lay with his back against the wall, fitting a new ammunition clip into his gun. Tony crouched down beside him.
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
The two men raced through the debris of the house and out into the street beyond. Behind them, they heard the roar of approaching vehicles and the occasional shout in German. But they had a head start, and Tony knew they could make it. Grinning broadly, the two men disappeared into the darkness.
Theresa made her way down the street with a shopping bag over her arm and Pax bounding along beside her on his lead. Jean-Paul had dropped her on the outskirts of the city, promising he would pick her up again later in the day. He and Tony had not been followed the night before. They felt relatively safe, but he did not want to go back into the city and run the chance of being recognised by the soldier they had left wounded in the road. Theresa approached Vincent’s bakery and joined the queue waiting for their daily bread rations. The line of people moved slowly. Theresa occupied herself with playing with her puppy. One or two people watched with smiles on their faces, but the majority seemed not to notice, as though the trials of the years of occupation had robbed them of their humour as well as their freedom. Gradually the queue moved on and Theresa found herself inside the shop at last. Moments later it was her turn to be served. Vincent smiled at the young girl and her dog.
"Yes? What can I get you?"
Theresa smiled.
"A loaf please." She looked behind her as she spoke. There were four other people waiting. Turning back to Vincent she took the proffered bread. "Thank you, Monsieur. Do you have a gateau?"
Vincent shook his head.
"Oh. I was hoping for one for a celebration tonight. It is Mamma’s birthday. Do you not have anything at all, Monsieur Vincent?"
Vincent frowned at the use of his name. He did not recognise the child, so how did she know who he was? She smiled innocently at him, but he detected a strange intensity in her eyes.
"Wait a moment. I’ll see what I can do. Angeline!" Vincent turned to call through the open doorway, and moments later a homely form appeared.
“Yes, Vincent?"
"Can you finish serving here? I have to see what I can do to help this child."
"Yes, of course."
Angeline watched Vincent lead the girl into the back room, then turned to serve the next customer. Vincent turned to Theresa and frowned.
"Who are you, and how do you know my name?"
"I’m Theresa Boues. Be at the cave at 9 p.m. tonight. It’s urgent."
Vincent’s eyes widened. "Jean-Paul’s daughter? Aren’t you a little young to run messages like this?"
"Papa trusts me. Don’t you?"
Vincent grinned. "Of course I do. I’ll be there." He turned to the table and picked up a small cake which he had baked for himself and Angeline. "Take this with you, just in case someone out there is curious." He put the cake into her basket, then led the way out into the shop. He smiled broadly.
"I hope your Mamma enjoys her birthday cake."
Theresa smiled and waved happily. "Thank you, Monsieur Vincent. I’m sure she will."
She turned and left the bakery, Pax pulling on his lead at her side, and made her way towards the far side of Saint Nazaire, where she was to deliver a similar message to Georges and Madeleine.
Tony smiled at the assembled members of his group, who were waiting expectantly to find out why he had called them together. He began without preamble.
"There was a message on the radio last night. The Allies will begin a Second Front, somewhere on the northern coast of France, sometime this month."
His words were met with looks of incredulity, then smiles of joy. Georges leaned over and kissed Madeleine happily, while Vincent leaned over and shook Tony by the hand.
"At last! We thought it would never come!"
"What can we do to help?"
Tony turned to Georges. "We’ll get a warning to say that the invasion will take place within the next forty-eight hours; that’s when we attack the docks. The idea is to worry the Germans into leaving as many men as possible to defend the port, so they won’t send reinforcements north until the beachheads are well established."
"Do we do it like the last time?"
“Well, Madeleine, yes and no. We will try to get in and plant some explosives. But instead of getting straight out of there, we’ll wait for the Germans to come and try to sort out the mess. Then we hit them. The idea is to make them think we’re a larger group than we actually are, or maybe even give them the impression that we are an Allied commando force. It's risky, but we have to keep them busy."
"How do we know when the invasion is coming?"
"Well Georges, the B.B.C. will broadcast a message in the evening to say that the landings will come in the next forty-eight hours. The message is 'Blessant mon coeur d'une languer mono
tone'." He looked at Georges thoughtfully. "Do you have access to a radio?"
George and Madeleine shook their heads.
“I know Vincent does. Vincent,” he turned to the oldest member of the group, "you must listen to the evening broadcasts. When you hear the code, you must let Georges and Madeleine know immediately. The attack will happen that night."
Vincent nodded. "No problem, Albert. I won’t let you down."
"Right." Tony took a sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it on the stony floor of the cave. "Here are the details of the attack. Pay close attention. Our lives depend on us getting this right."
The group leant forward and listened intently as Tony began to draw on the piece of paper and describe the contribution they would make to the liberation of France.
148
It was early evening, 5th June 1944. Tony and Jean-Paul listened to the radio, trying to keep their excitement under control. Each evening it was the same as they anticipated the message they were awaiting so eagerly and then were disappointed when it did not come. As usual, the BBC news from all corners of the world came first. Then the messages began.
"Blessant mon coeur d'une langueur monotone. Blessant mon coeur d'une langueur monotone."
Jean-Paul reached over in silence, and switched the radio off. His heart was thumping wildly, but his face showed no emotion as he looked across at Tony.
"This is it, then."
Tony nodded. He was feeling nervous and excited at the same time. His mind raced as he reviewed the plans for the attack on the docks. He hoped he had thought of everything and nothing would go wrong, but it was too late to worry about that now. He watched Jean-Paul put the radio away.
"Right. Let's get our equipment ready. We have four hours to reach the rendezvous point."
As Tony and Jean-Paul made their way out of the barn, Angeline was running excitedly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Vincent looked up as she burst into the room.
"Did you get the message?"
She nodded. "Yes. The invasion will come in the next forty-eight hours."
Vincent was beaming broadly as he rose to his feet. "Right. I’ll get across to Georges to let him and Madeleine know. Then I’ll come back here and get my things ready." He looked across at her. "Four hours. That gives me plenty of time."
He quickly left the room, picking up his coat to keep out the gentle rain which had begun to fall. It was overcast, which promised to be helpful to the saboteurs, and he was glad of that. He hurried through the streets to deliver his message, and was back home within the hour. He retrieved the plastic explosive and pencil fuses, incendiaries, Sten gun and ammunition from the false-bottomed flour barrel where they had been hidden. At the same time, Georges and Madeleine were removing their cache from beneath the kitchen floorboards. Everything was going to plan.
It was dark. A fine rain was still falling, but Tony did not mind. German sentries tended to be less observant in such conditions, seeking to keep warm and dry rather than patrol their routes. He looked at the group, gathered round him in the bombed out building.
"You all know what to do?"
The others nodded, their faces stony as each contemplated the danger they would be facing in the next few hours, but none of them considered not going ahead with the attack. The Allies were coming to fight for the liberation of France and, as patriotic French citizens, they wanted to strike their own blow for freedom. Tony looked at them, and felt a deep sense of pride. This was his group, these were his people, each willing to fight and to die for what they believed in. He wondered if all of them would survive the night, or if some of them would pay the ultimate price. He wanted to embrace them all, but instead he smiled encouragingly.
"I know that you will all do well tonight. Get in, set your charges for midnight, then get out again to set up your ambushes." He took one last long look at each one of them. "Be careful. I intend to share my victory dinner with all of you."
The others nodded in understanding. No one wanted to move. It was a moment of shared comradeship they would all remember for the rest of their lives. At last, Tony made the first move.
"Come on then, let's go."
The five people disappeared into the gentle rain.
Jean-Paul and Vincent slipped through the fence around to the docks, and began to work methodically. From time to time they saw Germans hurrying through the rain, but they had plenty of time to conceal themselves in the shadows of the darkened dockside, continuing to work when the danger had passed. They placed plastic explosives in a number of warehouses, and small incendiary devices amongst the pyramidal piles of fuel tanks. It took them little over an hour to complete the task. Then they slipped out of the docks and made their way to an empty building overlooking the approach road. This was their assigned position for the ambush on the relief forces, which would come once the explosions began. Making their way up to the second floor, Jean-Paul and Vincent positioned themselves by an open window. They carefully laid out the four gammon grenades Tony had given them, then checked their guns and settled down to wait.
Georges and Madeleine entered the docks at the opposite end to their two compatriots, and began their work in the transport pool. It took very little time to fix the small clam mines to cylinder blocks and axles, ensuring that the majority of vehicles would be put out of action. Then the young couple turned their attention to the nearby warehouses. Stocks of food and ammunition were piled in boxes in the huge darkened warehouses and they had soon set as many charges as they needed. It was while they were working their way back towards the fence that disaster struck.
George was crossing an open space when a cry came from the shadow to his left.
"Halt!"
The Frenchman stopped and turned slowly to see a German, rifle levelled at him, stepping out of the shadows.
"Put down your gun!"
Georges complied, conscious of a deeper shadow behind the soldier, and praying that Madeleine would stay out of sight. They had both seen what the SS had done to Tony, and he was determined to let nothing like that happen to his wife. If Madeleine was in danger, he would risk everything to save her. He stayed tense, ready to dive for his gun if necessary but hoping he would not have to use it and bring even more Germans running, alert to the fact that there were intruders in the docks. That would put the lives of the rest of the team in danger.
Suddenly the soldier half-turned, as though he heard a noise behind him. Georges reached down to pick up his gun. He ran towards the soldier, who had dropped his rifle and was clutching at his neck with both hands. As Georges drew to a halt, he saw the man slide to the ground, eyes wide with terror and blood pouring through fingers clutching at his severed jugular vein. His mouth was open as though screaming, but the only sound was an eerie bubbling noise. Slowly the light in his eyes dimmed. He fell forwards to lie still at Madeleine’s feet. Georges looked at his wife. The hand holding the knife was shaking violently.
"Are you all right?"
Madeleine nodded but said nothing. Georges took her by the arm and led her to a pile of boxes.
"Sit behind these while I hide the body." Madeleine watched as Georges first dragged the soldier against the wall, then fetched his gun and placed it beside him. Finally he moved some boxes into a position where they would hide the body from a casual observer. Satisfied that it was well concealed, he went back to Madeleine and knelt beside her.
"You should have stayed hidden and got away."
Madeleine shook her head and smiled weakly. "I couldn’t let him take you."
Georges smiled and embraced her. "I’m so lucky to have you. Now, let’s get out of here."
The young couple made their swift but careful way out of the dockyard and, into the house which was their assigned post for the ambush. They settled down to wait.
Tony lay once again in the bombed out building which overlooked the approach road to the docks. His mission of sabotage had gone without a hitch, his charges placed in fuel dumps and on the dock’s
petrol pump before he retreated out of the area, silent and unseen. Now he carefully checked the PIAT by his side: it was a long tube weighing a little over thirty-four pounds, which fired rockets weighing two-and-a-half pounds, with a hollow charge in the head. He checked the small pile of rockets first then the tube, slightly over three feet long, which he would use to launch them. The Projector, Infantry, Anti-Tank, or PIAT, was effective up to about fifty yards. The hollow charge, though small, had great penetrating power. A light tank hit by a PIAT was not likely to move again.
Tony checked his watch. Five minutes to midnight. He had barely settled himself prone on the ground, with the launch tube loaded and ready, when the first charges went off. From the position of the writhing column of black smoke, Tony judged them to have been planted by Jean-Paul or Vincent. They were a few minutes early, but not enough to affect his plans. Suddenly more and more explosions were heard. They sent clouds of smoke mushrooming into the air, causing fires which the light rain had no chance of dampening. Tony was looking in the direction of the petrol pump when his charges went off in a burning flash of light which spewed burning fuel in all directions. He closed his eyes, but continued to see the red after-image of the fire.
There was shouting and the sound of people running. Tony opened his eyes to see the dark silhouettes of German soldiers attempting to bring order to the chaos in the docks. The fire engine, which Tony had been unable to sabotage, was working on the fiercest fire. In the distance he could hear the sound of others approaching. The first relief fire engine roared round the corner, closely followed by an armoured personnel carrier. Tony levelled the PIAT. He fired the first rocket, which struck the fire engine, bringing it to a shuddering standstill. The driver of the following vehicle swerved wildly to avoid it, while Tony swiftly re-loaded the weapon and brought it to bear once more. As he fired and watched the armoured personnel carrier blown apart, his pulse was racing and the adrenalin flowed. He re-loaded, aware of the chatter of a machine gun over to his left, where Georges and Madeleine were shooting the few soldiers who emerged from the stricken vehicles. A lorry roared in from the opposite direction. Tony turned in time to see the dark shape of a gammon grenade arcing through a night lit by fires, to fall in amongst the soldiers in the transport. It erupted in a geyser of flames, human flesh and bones.
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