Operation Kingfisher

by Hilary Green

  ‘You should have thought of that before you fed those bandits up in the hills.’

  Some of the farmers tried to turn back and take their animals home, but they met a line of soldiers with bayonets fixed. A cordon had been drawn around the field and there was no escape.

  Christine threaded her way between the furious men and the distraught women, plucking at sleeves, trying to get someone to listen to her; but they were too angry to pay attention to a slip of a girl. Desperately she sought for a familiar face and finally found a man she remembered from an earlier expedition.

  ‘Monsieur! Do you remember me? I came with Jean Claude. I have a message from Xavier.’

  ‘Xavier?’ His lip curled. ‘I don’t want to hear about him. If we hadn’t helped the Maquis, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

  ‘But that’s the message,’ she said urgently. ‘You helped the Maquis, now they will help you. If you go to Chevigny in an hour from now your animals will be returned to you.’

  He stared at her. ‘Returned, how? You mean the Maquis intend to ambush the convoy? Is it true?’

  ‘It’s true. You must help me spread the word. Everyone is to go to Chevigny, but not all at once. The Boche mustn’t suspect.’

  ‘It will never work.’

  ‘It will! You must have faith. Tell the others.’

  The cattle trucks were loaded and the men and their wives began to turn away, defeated. Christine and her new ally went from one group to another and slowly, a few at a time, they left the town and set off, along forest paths unknown to the occupiers, towards Chevigny.

  Luke, in the uniform of a German despatch rider, stood beside Hans’ motorbike in the narrow lane leading from the main road towards the village of Chevigny. Gregoire and Hans were with him and beyond them, concealed in the trees on either side of the lane, were all the men of the Maquis Xavier and the Maquis Vincent. Luke’s mouth was parched and he felt sick, but there was no turning back now.

  Gregoire was holding a walkie-talkie radio.

  ‘Jules is waiting a mile up the main road. As soon as the head of the convoy passes him, he will let me know. That will be your cue. All you have to do is ride up to the officer in charge and hand over the letter. Then come back up here, ride as far as the barricade, then get yourself and the bike off the road out of sight. The rest is up to us.’

  ‘You remember the words I taught you?’ Hans asked. ‘Repeat them for me.’

  Luke spoke the German phrase, which had been going round in his head all night and Hans nodded.

  ‘Very good!’

  ‘Oh, in case you’re worried,’ Gregoire said, ‘I have told the men that the first German they see will be you, and they are not to shoot you.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Luke muttered. The danger of being shot by his own side was something that had not occurred to him.

  The radio in Gregoire’s hand crackled.

  ‘They are coming,’ said a disembodied voice.

  ‘Understood. Over and out.’ Gregoire put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘Go! Good luck!’

  Luke mounted the bike, kicked the engine into life, and rode out of the lane and into the main road. As he rounded the first bend, he saw the convoy coming towards him. There were two motorcycle outriders at the front, then a jeep, which he guessed was carrying the officer in charge. As he rode towards them, he expected to be challenged at any moment, but the outriders did not seem surprised by his sudden appearance. The jeep slowed to a standstill and he passed it, then swung round in a circle to come alongside it facing the direction of his escape. Heart pounding, he dismounted, came to attention and gave the Nazi salute.

  ‘Heil Hitler!’ Then the phrase he had learnt from Hans. ‘A message from the colonel, Herr Major.’ He held out the envelope and as soon as the officer had taken it he jumped back onto the bike and gunned the engine.

  As he roared away towards the turning to Chevigny, his spine crawled with the anticipation of a bullet but there was no attempt to stop him. He rounded the corner and glanced behind him in time to see the head of the convoy following in his tracks. There was no sign of Gregoire or Hans now, of course. They would be hidden somewhere in the trees. He rode on, catching great gulps of air, until he came in sight of the barricade. There was a narrow track into the woods just before it; that was where he intended to leave the road and hide.

  As he approached, he let out a whoop of triumph and raised his arms in a gesture of victory. Then the bike seemed to explode beneath him and he was hurtling through the air and into oblivion.

  Gregoire, perched in the branches of a tree above the road, saw Luke go past. He waited until the last vehicle of the convoy and the troop carrier which brought up the rear were beneath him, then he fired a Verey pistol. As the flare rose into the sky, a cacophony of shots broke out. The Bren gun positioned below him chattered, and several men in the troop carrier screamed and fell. The rest vaulted out onto the road and flung themselves flat, firing blind into the trees. All along the road, rifles cracked and three hundred yards further on, the Bren on the barricade opened up. A random shot blew off the catch that held the door at the back of one of the cattle trucks and a stream of terrified sheep and goats poured down the road and disappeared into the forest.

  For five minutes, chaos reigned and then the firing stopped as suddenly as it had begun. There was a moment of eerie silence and then a cheer rose from the trees and the men of the Maquis broke cover. A blood-drenched face appeared from the troop carrier, followed by the muzzle of a rifle, and a shot rang out. One of the Maquis cried out and fell to his knees. Xavier shouted an order, there was another shot and the face disappeared. Xavier and six of his men began to work their way along the convoy, peering into the cabs of the trucks and searching the ditches. Occasionally another shot was fired.

  Cyrano was standing with Gregoire at a vantage point a little above the road.

  ‘They are shooting the wounded!’ he exclaimed, aghast.

  Gregoire shrugged grimly. ‘What do you expect? We have no facilities for keeping prisoners.’

  At length, the firing ceased and Xavier joined them, grinning broadly.

  ‘We showed them, yes?’

  ‘Oh yes, we showed them,’ Gregoire returned, unsmiling. ‘Come on, let’s get these trucks up to Chevigny.’

  As they approached the village, they found the street lined with cheering men and women. The trucks were drawn up in the square and then the process began of returning the animals in them to their rightful owners.

  It was no easy task. Many of them were not marked with any kind of brand, each farmer relying on recognising his own beasts. Inevitably, disputes broke out and it took all Gregoire’s abilities as a diplomat to resolve them. And there was still the question of the whereabouts of the sheep and goats that had escaped during the fight.

  The day was drawing to a close by the time all the farmers had departed with their flocks and herds. It was only then that someone had the time to say:

  ‘Where’s Luke?’

  The men were called together and a roll call taken. Three had been killed in the firing, and five others wounded, but Luke was not there and apparently no one had seen him. Vincent’s men seemed puzzled.

  ‘Who is he?’ one asked. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘You must have seen him,’ Gregoire said. ‘He rode right past you on his motorbike, just before the convoy reached us.’

  A stocky peasant boy seemed to wake from a daydream.

  ‘Oh, you mean the German despatch rider? I shot him.’

  ‘You shot him! What do you mean? Did you hit him?’

  The boy lifted his shoulders. ‘I dunno. I might have hit the bike instead. He crashed into the ditch.’

  Gregoire turned furiously to Vincent.

  ‘I told you to warn your men! You were supposed to tell them that the despatch rider was one of ours and was not to be harmed.’

  Vincent shrugged. ‘I told them, but that one there…’ he indicated the peasant
boy, ‘he is stupid. Half the time he doesn’t take in anything he is told.’

  ‘So a brave young man gets shot!’ Gregoire ground out. ‘Well, we’ll take that up later. Right now, we need everyone back to the site of the ambush to search. And let’s pray the Boche haven’t got there before us.’

  His prayers were not answered. Before they reached the section of the lane where the ambush had taken place, they could hear the noise of engines and shouted commands. Gregoire stopped and raised his hand to halt the men behind him.

  ‘Too late! They must have raised the alarm at Château-Chinon when the convoy failed to arrive, and it wouldn’t take a search party long to find the remains. There’s nothing more we can do. If Luke’s alive, he’s a prisoner by now.’

  Cyrano clenched his hands so that the nails dug into his palms.

  ‘We should never have let him do it!’

  Gregoire turned on him. ‘He took no more risk than any of the others. Three men are dead! If Vincent had made sure all his men understood….’ He stopped and softened his tone. ‘I’m sorry, Cyrano. I know you feel a special responsibility for the two of them.’ He hesitated. ‘Christine will have to be told.’

  ‘I know,’ Cyrano said dully.

  ‘Can you arrange a meeting?’

  ‘Yes, I.…’ He looked at his watch. ‘Christ! I’m supposed to be seeing her now, at the church! She’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and talk to her? It is my responsibility, in the long run.’

  ‘No.’ Cyrano took a long breath. ‘No, I’ll do it. You need to get the men back to camp. I’ll see you there later.’

  When Cyrano entered the church, Christine was waiting for him. Before he could speak, she hurried to him, her face alight with excitement.

  ‘I’ve heard! It was a great success. Some men came into the bar at the hotel, talking about it. Of course, I didn’t let on I knew anything about it, but they were laughing, saying it was one in the eye for the Boche. So all the farmers have got their animals back. I’m so glad!’ Something in his face stopped her. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

  He took both her hands in his. ‘Chris, it’s bad news, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Luke?’ She felt as if she had suddenly lost the ability to breathe.

  ‘He’s missing. We don’t know what happened exactly. It’s possible he’s been taken prisoner.’

  ‘How?’ The words were choking her. ‘How could it happen?’

  ‘Come and sit down.’ He led her to a pew and sat beside her. As briefly as he could, he explained the deception they had played and Luke’s crucial part in it. ‘He didn’t have to accept the idea, but he agreed, and he must have played his part perfectly because the convoy followed him into the side road, just as planned. It was one of our own men, well, one of Vincent’s men. He’d been told the man dressed as a despatch rider was one of ours, but it seems he didn’t take it in. He … took a pot shot at him. That’s all we know. By the time we realized Luke was missing, the Germans were searching the area. There was nothing we could do.’

  Christine sat frozen, her hands clenched in front of her.

  ‘If … if he’s a prisoner, how will we know?’

  ‘We’ll … we’ll make enquiries. Gregoire has contacts. Word will get out, somehow.’

  ‘They will know, won’t they – the Germans. They will realize he must be with the Maquis. They will interrogate him.’ Her voice cracked.

  Cyrano gripped her hand. ‘If he’s being held locally we will find out and somehow, somehow we will get him out!’

  She shook her head. ‘You won’t be able to. Perhaps … perhaps it would be better if he was killed outright.’

  He put his arm round her. ‘Oh, my dear child! I wish I could say something comforting. I blame myself. If it wasn’t for me, neither of you would be here.’

  ‘That’s not true. We came of our own accord. It isn’t your fault.’ Her voice was toneless but he could feel her shaking.

  ‘You mustn’t give up hope. He may just have been wounded. The Boche may not have found him. He could be hiding out, waiting for dark. Tomorrow we will search the area again. Nothing is certain, yet.’

  She looked at him and nodded dumbly.

  ‘Do you want to come back with me? Back to the camp?’

  She shook her head. Somewhere at the back of her mind, through the numbness of shock, a plan was forming: Gregoire might have his contacts; so did she.

  She stood up. ‘I need to get back. It’s almost curfew.’

  He rose too and took her by the shoulders. ‘Chris? Are you all right? Why don’t you come back with me?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Then meet me here again tomorrow night. I need to know you’re OK. And there may be news.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’

  He looked at her, dry-eyed, pale as death, resolute. He took her in his arms and for a moment she nestled against him. Then she drew back.

  ‘Must go now. Curfew. ’Night.’

  The door opened and closed behind her.

  Isabelle was washing dishes in the kitchen at Cave des Volcans and humming softly. As the summer weeks had passed, the burden of anxiety seemed to have lifted from her. There had been another message on the BBC, telling her that ‘Michou’s pups’ were still safe. She had no idea where they were, or whether they had reached England or not; but all that mattered was that someone was obviously looking after them. There had been no further requests from the local Maquis for her to store arms or explosives, and her father had finally reconciled himself to the presence of the two Germans in the house.

  She turned her head as she heard her two lodgers coming in. As she dried her hands, there was a tap on the door to the kitchen and Hoffmann appeared, followed by Schulz. Something in the Leutnant’s face told her that something had changed.

  She smiled at him. ‘Good evening. How are you today?’

  He smiled back. ‘Better than usual, Madame. I have good news. From tomorrow you will be relieved of the intrusion into your privacy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She frowned. ‘Are you being posted away again.’

  ‘Yes, but this time it is not for active duty. The powers that be have finally come to the conclusion that I am not much use to them as a fighting soldier. I have been given a desk job in Berlin.’

  She caught her breath. ‘Oh, my dear boy, I am so glad! Glad for you, that is. You will be out of danger. And you, Fritz? Will you be going with the Leutnant?’

  ‘Oh yes, Madame. Where he goes, I go.’

  ‘Did you say from tomorrow? That is very sudden.’

  ‘That is the way the army works, Madame. Those most concerned are always the last to know.’

  She felt a sudden sense of loss. ‘I shall miss you, both of you.’

  ‘You are very kind to say so. And we shall miss your generous hospitality. Living here has been a bright interlude in this horrible war.’

  For a moment no one said anything. Then Isabelle turned aside to take a bottle from the cupboard under the dresser.

  ‘We must have a glass of wine, to celebrate your release. Sit, please.’ She set glasses on the table and drew the cork. ‘This is one of our best wines. I have been keeping it for a special occasion.’

  She poured the wine and sat opposite her two uninvited guests.

  ‘What shall we drink to?’

  ‘To a time when we can meet as friends, not as people divided by the stupidity of war.’

  ‘I shall always think of you as friends, war or no war.’

  ‘Then let us drink to the end of the war. To peace.’

  ‘Yes, let’s drink to that!’

  The three glasses met and touched. ‘Peace!’

  ‘Peace!’

  ‘Peace!’

  Chapter 21

  Luke regained consciousness to a sense of total dislocation. A moment ago, he had been sitting by the campfire, listening to Cyrano playing his flut
e, and now he was lying somewhere cold and extremely uncomfortable with no recollection of how he had got there. Boots rattled on stone not far away from his head, and a German voice barked an order. Luke had started to struggle into a sitting position but at the sound he dropped back. Had the Germans overrun the camp? Why could he not remember any fighting? He began to lever himself up again. A shaft of pain stabbed up his left arm and he passed out.

  Next time he came to, everything was quiet. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying in some kind of ditch, overhung with brambles and ferns, through which he could see the last streaks of sunset in the sky. Or was it the first streaks of dawn? He ought to get up. There was something he had to do; words he had to remember.

  He lifted his head and was seized by a wave of nausea. He twisted on to his side and vomited. Slowly, the memory of the last twenty-four hours reassembled itself; he had ridden the motorbike, delivered the letter. It had all gone according to plan; but now he was here with a throbbing head and an excruciating pain in his arm. He still had no idea how that had happened. Gregoire must be looking for him, he reasoned. He must find him and report.

  Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself out of the ditch and staggered out onto the road. Opposite him, was the burnt-out remains of a jeep and to one side, the tree trunks that had been used to build the barricade. The verges on either side of the road were churned up by vehicle tracks. But there was no sign of human beings, either dead or alive. Luke turned downhill and began to walk.

  ‘Hände hoch!’ The words were German but the voice was young, almost childlike.

  Luke turned slowly, raising his right arm. His left hung by his side and any attempt to lift it sent pain shooting through him. A boy of about twelve, in rough peasant dress, was facing him. In one hand he held a German pistol and in the other the end of a rope, to which were attached two goats.

  Luke attempted a smile. ‘It’s all right. I’m French, like you.’

  ‘Liar! You’re a filthy Boche.’ He raised his voice. ‘Papa! Come here! Come and see what I’ve found.’

  A man appeared from the trees, leading three more goats. ‘Have you got them all?’ He stopped short and stared. ‘What’s this?’