Operation Kingfisher

by Hilary Green

  Here, the broad current was busy with river traffic of various sorts. They moored up for lunch within sight of the towers of Auxerre cathedral, and there was a valedictory mood which seemed to have settled on all of them. When the meal was over, the barge chugged on towards Auxerre until, upon rounding a curve in the river, they found that the way ahead was jammed with stationary boats.

  Pasquier edged the Madeleine up to another barge and shouted across, ‘Hey, Jacques! What’s going on?’

  ‘Search me,’ was the reply. ‘The Boche have closed the canal ahead for some reason. I’ve heard it’s only temporary, but who knows?’

  ‘I’ll walk up and see if I can find out,’ Rollo offered.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Luke said.

  ‘You will not!’ Christine and Pasquier spoke simultaneously.

  ‘Do you want to get us all arrested?’ Pasquier asked. ‘The place will be swarming with Gestapo and Milice. You go nosing around and someone is bound to want to see your papers.’

  Luke stepped back with a sigh. ‘Damn papers! Why was I such a fool?’

  ‘I’ll go with Rollo,’ Christine said. ‘I’ve got the right papers, if anyone asks.’

  They jumped across to the other barge, and from there to the bank. Men and women from other boats were already making their way along the towpath towards the city, and they mingled with the crowd.

  Finally, they found their way blocked again by a solid wall of backs, while those in front of them craned their necks to see what was going on ahead.

  ‘Good God! It’s incredible!’

  ‘What on earth are they playing at?’

  ‘What fools! Trust the Boche!’

  Comments like these only served to increase Christine’s frustration. Even standing on tiptoe, she could not see over the heads of those in front of her.

  ‘Here!’ Rollo grasped her arm, and pulled her to one side where a fence bordered the path. By climbing onto it, they could finally see what was happening and it was easy to understand the incredulity of the people in the crowd. On the side of the river opposite the cathedral there was a slipway, and at that moment a huge, grey-painted vessel was being slowly hauled up it.

  ‘Mon Dieu! It’s some kind of warship!’ Rollo exclaimed.

  ‘But what are they doing with it?’ Christine asked. ‘Do you think it’s being hauled out for repairs?’

  ‘They’d take it to a naval base for work like that,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, what’s it doing here? That’s a sea-going vessel. It must have come all the way up the Yonne from the Atlantic. But where are they trying to take it now?’

  ‘The Saône,’ said a voice from the other side of the fence.

  Looking over, Christine saw a boy a few years younger than herself whose face had the satisfied expression of one ‘in the know’ and eager to communicate the information.

  ‘You’re joking!’ said Rollo.

  ‘No, I’m not. Everyone round here is talking about it. The Boche have been knocking down houses and rebuilding roads for weeks, right the way from here to Avallon and beyond. No one knew why of course, until this lot started arriving.’

  ‘This lot?’ Rollo queried. ‘You mean there’s more than one?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve seen six and there are still more queuing up in the river.’

  ‘But why are they hauling them out?’ Christine asked.

  ‘I can guess the answer to that,’ Rollo responded. ‘They must have thought initially they could take them through the Canal de Bourgogne, but they are far too big. That thing must be sixty metres long at least. It would never fit into the locks on the Bourgogne.’

  ‘But imagine hauling it across country!’ she said. ‘How on earth do they do it?’

  ‘They’ve got two huge wheeled bogeys under it. Look, you can see now it’s clear of the water. And there is a tractor lorry pulling it.’

  ‘Not one lorry,’ the boy said. ‘It takes three of them in line, with four behind to stop it if it runs away on the hills. I’ve watched them going by.’

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ Rollo repeated with a whistle. ‘But I still don’t get it. Why do they want to get them into the Saône?’

  ‘Because the Saône runs into the Mediterranean,’ Christine said. ‘The Germans obviously wanted to move them from the Atlantic to the Med for some reason, and this must have seemed the best way to do it.’

  The huge vessel was now clear of the water and inching its way up the slipway to the road. Rollo jumped down from the fence.

  ‘It looks as though things might start moving now. We’d better get back.’

  Reaching the Madeleine, they found Pasquier and Luke waiting impatiently for news. When Rollo told them what they had seen, his father’s face took on an expression of scornful incredulity.

  ‘Someone’s been pulling your leg. Even the Boche wouldn’t be that crazy.’

  ‘No, it’s true!’ Christine said. ‘We saw the ship with our own eyes. It’s a gunboat of some sort and they are obviously taking it across country somewhere. So I don’t think the boy was lying. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.’

  ‘And you reckon it’s heading for the Mediterranean?’

  ‘Where else could it be going?’

  ‘But why?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I think I can guess,’ Pasquier said. ‘The Yanks are in control in North Africa now. I reckon the Germans are afraid of an invasion on the south coast. They are reinforcing their defences.’

  ‘And there are several of these boats being moved?’ Luke said.

  ‘The boy said he’d seen six himself, and there were others waiting up river,’ Rollo told him.

  ‘If only the RAF knew what was going on,’ Luke murmured. ‘They’d be sitting targets.’

  ‘If someone could get a message to London…’ Christine said, and stopped short, looking at her brother.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke but both knew what was in the other’s mind.

  ‘How long will you be in Auxerre?’ Luke asked, turning to Pasquier.

  ‘Hard to say. A day to unload cargo, then we have to find out where the Boche want us to go next. Another day to load. Could be as short as three days, or we could be hanging around here for a week or more. Why?’

  ‘How long would it take us to cycle back to Corbigny?’

  ‘It must be about seventy kilometres by road. You could do it in a day. What are you thinking?’

  ‘If we could get a message to Cyrano, he could tell London what we’ve seen.’

  ‘He’s probably up in the Morvan hills by now. You won’t find him in Corbigny.’

  ‘But I know where I left him. That was where his contact was. They must be able to get in touch with him.’

  ‘Luke,’ Christine interrupted, ‘it’s not safe for you to go. Suppose you were stopped on the way?’

  ‘It’s the only chance.’

  ‘No. I could go. It’s different for me.’

  ‘You can’t go alone.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘I won’t let you.’

  ‘You can’t stop me.’

  ‘But suppose … suppose something happened and we … we were separated. We have to stick together, Sis.’

  ‘I could go with her,’ Rollo said.

  ‘No!’ Luke spoke more sharply than he intended, and both Rollo and his sister looked surprised.

  ‘You are not going anywhere,’ Pasquier growled. ‘I need you here.’

  ‘Chris, we have to do this,’ Luke said. ‘It’s a chance to help the Allies. We can’t just ignore what we’ve seen. And after all, we cycled from Decize to Blaye without any problems.’

  She looked at him, biting her lips in indecision. Her mother had asked her not to let Luke go off on some romantic escapade, and she knew that she should try to dissuade him. But on the other hand, she could not dismiss the thought that Cyrano would approve. He would certainly be told who had brought the message and he was bound to be impressed. He might even pass the information to the wom
an she was supposed to report to when she got back to England, and that must enhance her chances of being accepted into the mysterious organisation to which he belonged. Better still, and this was the prospect that clinched the matter, they might be taken to meet him, to tell him in person what they had seen.

  She caught her breath and nodded. ‘OK, you’re right. We’ll do it.’

  Luke looked at Pasquier.

  ‘We’ll need a day each way and probably one in between. Will you wait for us?’

  ‘There’s no chance I’ll be ready to move in less than three days,’ was the curt answer. ‘And there’s no guarantee that I’ll be going in the right direction for you when I do, but provided you are not longer than that, we’ll be here.’

  ‘Right!’ Luke said. ‘That’s decided then.’

  Chapter 11

  Next morning, Luke and Christine untied their bikes from where they had been lashed to the wall of the wheelhouse, and wheeled them down the gangplank and onto the wharf. The traffic jam on the river outside the town had cleared eventually and the Madeleine had been able to tie up in the appointed place.

  Christine had already been ashore to buy bread, and breakfast had been a hasty, rather tense occasion. Now, as at Decize, they had waited until the morning rush hour when the quaysides and the roads were crowded with people, many of them on bicycles, either heading out to work in the fields or going to the various factories and workshops along the river frontage. Rollo came ashore with them. He was more subdued that usual and when they shook hands, Luke saw that he was genuinely reluctant to see them go.

  ‘I’d come with you, if the old man would let me,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll be back in three days,’ Luke promised. ‘Even if it’s only to say goodbye.’

  There were German soldiers patrolling the quay, but there were too many people heading in both directions for them to check everyone and Luke and his sister were just two more faces in the crowd as they pedalled away along the towpath. Nevertheless, they both let out a breath of relief when they were safely out of sight.

  The going was easy for the first thirty kilometres, as they retraced the route they had just followed along the canal, and they were both amazed at how quickly they were able to cover a distance that had taken more than a day in the boat. At Mailly-la-Ville, with the castle towering above them on the far bank, they paused to draw breath and drink from the water bottles they had brought with them. Here, the canal veered away to the west so they left the towpath and took a minor road that climbed through thick forest, until Christine’s legs were aching.

  ‘Phew! I haven’t had as much exercise as this since … I can’t remember when,’ she said when they stopped again to eat their sandwiches.

  ‘Cheer up,’ her brother answered. ‘It’ll be downhill all the way now, until we reach the canal again.’

  They approached the main road between Clamecy and Vézelay with caution, having been warned that it often carried German convoys, but it was clear in both directions and once they were clear of the little village of Clamoux, they felt the worst danger was past. Shortly afterwards, they came to a corner and saw the road ahead of them dropping away through the trees in a series of tight bends.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Luke pushed off, pedalling to pick up speed and then free wheeling. ‘Tallyho…!’

  Christine raced after him until her front wheel was level with his rear wheel, both of them laughing with the exhilaration of their speed.

  The German roadblock was so close to the bend, that they were on it before they had time to react. They were at the entrance to a small village, where a bridge crossed a little stream, and a temporary barrier had been erected across half the width of the road. A battered gazogène-powered van was drawn up, facing in the opposite direction, while its driver was being questioned by a soldier in German field-grey. A second man stepped forward and raised a hand as they skidded to a stop.

  ‘Papers!’

  Luke was panting, dizzy with shock, but he tried to sound casual.

  ‘What’s going on? Why are you stopping us?’

  ‘Papers,’ the soldier repeated, as if it was the only word of French he knew.

  Christine was already digging in her pocket. She held out her identity card and gave the man what she hoped was a seductive smile.

  ‘Here you are. My name’s Christine Beauchamps. We’re not from round here. We’re on a cycling holiday.’

  Luke was making a show of searching his pockets. The soldier scrutinized Christine’s card, glanced up at her face to check that it tallied with the photograph, and handed it back with a grunt.

  She chattered on, ‘Isn’t it a lovely day? Do you like it here? It’s very pretty, isn’t it? But it’s prettier where we live. We come from the Auvergne. My family own a vineyard. Perhaps you’ve tasted some of our wine? It’s called Caves des Volcans….’

  ‘Papers! Schnell! Quickly!’ The soldier was not to be diverted.

  ‘I … I can’t find them,’ Luke said breathlessly. ‘I think I must have left them behind in the last place we stayed.…’

  ‘Oh, he’s so forgetful!’ Christine forced a laugh. ‘Honestly, he’d forget his head.…’

  There seemed to be some kind of dispute going on around the stationary van. The guard was trying to open the rear doors and the driver was trying to stop him.

  ‘Come!’ The German reached out and gripped Luke’s arm, pulling him towards a small hut where a third man was lolling on a stool beside a motorbike.

  Luke instinctively resisted, and the man’s free hand went to the rifle that hung from his shoulder.

  ‘Luke, don’t!’ Christine shouted.

  At that instant, the other guard succeeded in tugging open the van doors. There was a cacophony of shouts and squeals as a dozen piglets spilled out into the road, running between the legs of the driver and the two guards. The soldier who had hold of Luke let go, and made a dive at one of them, while another ran under his feet and tripped him so that he measured his length on the road. The second guard and the driver of the van were engaged in a futile attempt to grab the others.

  ‘Come on!’ Luke jumped onto his bike and tore across the bridge and into the village street, with Christine close behind.

  As they pedalled frantically down the street, which was mercifully empty as it was le midi, they heard the motorbike being kicked into life behind them. The village was tiny and within a minute or two, they were out on the open road again and among the trees. The way was still downhill and they picked up speed, but they could both hear the motorbike gaining on them. They rounded a bend and Christine skidded to a stop.

  ‘In here! Hide in the trees.’

  They heaved their bikes over a small ditch and dragged them behind some bushes, then lay panting as the sound of the bike came closer.

  ‘He can’t see round the next bend,’ Christine breathed. ‘He’ll think we’re still ahead of him.’

  She was right. The bike rounded the bend, one of the guards riding pillion behind the driver, and sped past them without stopping.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Christine gasped.

  ‘Wait. It can’t be long before he gets to the bottom of the hill and realizes he’s missed us,’ Luke said.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Lie low and hope they don’t search too thoroughly. Pray they haven’t got dogs with them.’

  Very soon, they heard the sound of the bike returning. It passed their hiding place and they heard the engine die away and then cut out.

  ‘He’s gone back to the guard post to report,’ Luke said. ‘Come on. Let’s see how far we can get before they start looking again.’

  They dragged their bikes back onto the road and pedalled away as fast as they could. Outside the next village, they veered off to the left along a tiny lane which led them deeper into the forest and finally petered out into an unmetalled forestry track.

  ‘I can’t hear any sound of the motorbike,’ Christine said breathlessly. ‘What do we do n
ow?’

  Luke studied the map.

  ‘If we’re where I think we are, this track will bring us down to the road again at Nuars. From there, it’s a maze of minor roads until Corbigny. Unless they’ve got road blocks on all of them, they haven’t a chance of catching us.’

  He spoke with more confidence than he felt and for a moment they looked at each other, reading the same thought in each other’s eyes.

  What fools we were to abandon the Madeleine for this crazy adventure!

  Christine peered over her brother’s shoulder at the map.

  ‘First we have to get through Nuars. I don’t see any way around.’

  ‘We’ll just have to go very carefully and hope for the best,’ he said.

  They rode on, bumping along the rutted track until they came out of the trees and saw the village ahead of them. It was mid-afternoon by now, but the place seemed to be only just recovering from its lunchtime siesta. A few elderly women were sitting outside their front doors, gossiping with neighbours; some men were drinking outside the café in the square; a horse-drawn wagon loaded with timber rumbled out of a side road.

  Luke and Christine dismounted and wheeled their bikes behind it, until they crossed a bridge and found themselves once again in open country.

  ‘No sign of the Boche there,’ Christine said. ‘Perhaps they’ve given up looking for us.’

  ‘Well, we won’t take any chances,’ her brother responded. ‘Let’s take this road. It goes across country.’

  It was early evening by the time they reached Corbigny and they were both weary, hot, and hungry. Luke found the street where the pharmacy was located without difficulty, but as they parked their bikes outside Christine said, ‘Who do we need to speak to?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Luke replied. ‘Cyrano wouldn’t let me go into the shop. He said it was a matter of security – better if I couldn’t recognize anyone.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea whether we have to ask the owner or one of the assistants?’ She stared at him in dismay. ‘We can’t just walk in and say “anyone here know Cyrano?”’