Operation Kingfisher

by Hilary Green

  ‘I should like that,’ she answered huskily. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Good. Now, you haven’t forgotten that address I gave you?’

  ‘64 Baker Street and ask for Mrs Bingham,’ she repeated.

  ‘And tell her that you know Morse and can use a Morse key,’ he said.

  She managed a smile. ‘I’ll tell her.’

  He reached into his pocket. ‘There’s something I should like you to have. A little keepsake. Here.’ It was a gold signet ring. ‘It’s French, so it won’t compromise you if you should happen to be searched. That’s why I was allowed to bring it with me. It was given to me by my professor when I left the Conservatoire.’

  ‘But it must be precious to you,’ she protested. ‘I can’t take it.’

  ‘Yes, you can. I never wear it. I’d like you to have it.’

  ‘If you’re sure….’

  ‘I’m sure.’ He put the ring into her hand and closed her fingers over it.

  The Mercedes drove into the compound with Gregoire at the wheel and his two bodyguards riding pillion as usual. It was followed by a jeep containing four men, and with a Bren gun mounted at the rear.

  ‘Come on,’ Gregoire called. ‘Time to get going.’

  Cyrano took hold of Christine’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

  ‘Au revoir, chérie. We’ll meet again when all this is over.’

  Tears were choking her but she managed to whisper, ‘Goodbye, dear Cyrano.’ Then as a sudden thought struck her. ‘I shan’t know how to find you. I don’t even know your real name.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Phyllis Bingham will know how to contact me. Off you go, now. Good luck.’

  The men gathered round them. Xavier kissed them both on both cheeks; the others shook their hands and slapped Luke on the back. Cyrano took him by the shoulders.

  ‘I think we’re both French enough to do this, don’t you?’ he said, and embraced him.

  Amid a chorus of ‘Au revoir, bonne chance!’ they climbed into the back of the Mercedes. One of the bodyguards squeezed in beside them and the other got into the front beside Gregoire. With the jeep going ahead, they bounced down the rough track leading to the road. Luke twisted in his seat, waving until the last minute; but Christine kept her eyes down, gripping the signet ring so tightly that it left an imprint on her palm.

  They drove east, across country, keeping to the minor roads. Whenever they had to cross a major route, Gregoire ordered them to stop and wait, while he went forward with one of his men to check the area for German roadblocks. Once, a convoy of enemy vehicles passed within forty metres of the junction where they were standing, but paid no attention to them.

  As they approached Saumur, they were waved down by a girl on a bicycle. After a brief exchange of passwords with Gregoire, she led them by back roads around the town, where a German garrison had taken up residence. At Pouilly, they crossed the main road leading south to Chalon then, as they entered the forest above the valley of the Ouche, they were brought to an abrupt standstill by a barrier of tree trunks, and saw that they were being covered by a dozen automatic weapons. Gregoire got out and three men, all heavily armed, appeared from the trees beside the road. Gregoire conferred briefly with the leader, a tall man with a heavy dark beard, and then he opened the rear door of the Mercedes.

  ‘This is where we part company, I’m afraid. From here, you will be the responsibility of the Maquis Valmy. This is Renard, the leader. He will see you safely to Longvie.’

  They climbed out and shook hands with the tall man, and then there was only time for brief handclasps with Gregoire and mutual wishes of ‘Bonne chance!’ before they were led away round the barrier. There, a pick-up truck was waiting with six men carrying Schmeisser automatics in the back.

  Renard indicated that they should get into the cab and climbed in behind the wheel. By contrast with Gregoire’s cautious approach, it seemed he preferred to rely on speed and the element of surprise and they careered along the forest tracks and down into the Côte d’Or, catching glimpses of signposts to towns whose names had been a familiar background to their childhoods; Clos de Vougeot; Nuits St Georges; Aloxe Corton.

  Crossing the main road from Dijon to Beaune, they almost ran into another German convoy, but Renard put his foot down and roared across the path of the leading vehicle, while his men jeered and shouted obscenities at its occupants. Apparently, the convoy’s escort had more important things to do than pursue a solitary maverick, and no one followed them as they plunged into the woods again.

  It was almost sunset when they reached their destination. In the village of Ouges, on the banks of the Canal de Bourgogne, Renard stopped the truck.

  ‘The airfield is on the other side of the canal. The basin where the barges unload is about half a kilometre north of here, but the Boche probably patrol the towpath. Wait until dark, and then go carefully. Good luck!’

  They were hardly out of the cab, before he was reversing to turn around and a minute later he and his men had disappeared in the direction from which they had come.

  ‘Well, he wasn’t going to hang about, was he,’ Luke remarked.

  Christine shrugged. ‘Let’s hope Rollo and his father are here somewhere. Otherwise we’re on our own.’

  Luke picked up his rucksack. ‘It’ll look suspicious if we hang about here. We’d better find somewhere to hide out until dark.’

  They took refuge in the church porch and ate the last of their provisions, watching the darkness draw in. It was a damp night and mist lay low over the canal.

  ‘We’re in luck,’ Luke murmured as they set off. ‘There’s less chance of being spotted.’

  On the far side of the canal, they could just make out the high fence surrounding the airfield but the towpath seemed deserted, until Luke came to a sudden halt.

  ‘Down here!’ he whispered, dragging his sister into the ditch that ran alongside the path.

  They were just in time. Two German guards passed within a few feet of them, talking together in low voices. When they were well away, Luke straightened up and pulled Christine with him. ‘Come on. It can’t be far now.’

  A few minutes later, they came to the point where the path skirted a wide basin. Several barges were moored there and they crept from one to another, searching for the Madeleine.

  ‘Here she is!’ Christine whispered. ‘Thank heaven!’

  She stepped aboard and tapped softly at the door of the cabin. For a moment, there was no response, then the door opened and Rollo stood outlined against the light from inside.

  ‘It’s you! You made it! Salut! It’s good to see you. Come in! Quickly.’

  As the door closed behind them, Pasquier got up from the table.

  ‘Well, so you’re still here! I thought you’d be long gone over the frontier by now – or else in prison. Sit down, then. Rollo, bring some glasses.’

  When they had drunk each other’s health, Luke said, ‘What brought you here? I thought the Boche had commandeered the Madeleine.’

  ‘So they have,’ Rollo said. ‘We’ve been all over the place since you left, up to the Seine, back to Paris, then Auxerre again. But then we were ordered to bring some crates of replacement parts for the airfield here and I thought if you could get here there was a chance we could help you on your way.’

  ‘Does that mean you are going to Montbéliard?’ Christine asked.

  Pasquier shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. We’re ordered back to Auxerre. But we shall start by going down to Saint-Jean-de-Losne to see if we can pick up a cargo going that way. That’s the junction with the Saône. There’s a big depot there and it’s a meeting place for barges from all over the country. It’s very likely that we shall be able to find someone going up the Doubs who will take you.’

  Christine bit her lip; this was a disappointment. For a few moments, she had felt safe, on familiar ground. Now everything was uncertain again.

  Rollo was saying, ‘So what have you been doing all these months? What ha
ppened to your arm, Luke?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Luke said and Pasquier got to his feet. ‘In that case, it can keep until morning. We have to make an early start. You know where you sleep. Goodnight.’

  As the sun rose next day, the Madeleine slipped her moorings and chugged south. By noon, the next day they were in Saint-Jean-de-Losne, which was, as Pasquier had predicted, crowded with boats from all over France. As they threaded their way through the throng, greetings were shouted from deck to deck and it was obvious that they were among a close community of friends. As soon as they were moored, Pasquier left them and it was evening before he returned, slightly drunk and very pleased with himself.

  ‘It’s all settled. Ton-ton will take you to Montbéliard.’

  ‘Ton-ton?’ Luke queried and Rollo laughed.

  ‘His real name is Antoine, but he’s always called Ton-ton. He’s some kind of second cousin. It’s like that here. Almost everyone is related in some way. Ton-ton’s all right. You’ll be safe with him.’

  They were introduced to their new host the following morning. Antoine was a younger man, thick-set and with a mop of curly reddish hair. With him on the barge were his wife Josie, and their 3-year-old son. When Luke tried to thank them for offering their help, Ton-ton brushed his words aside with a brief ‘Il n’y a pas de quoi, mon brave,’ and Josie smiled shyly and asked if they had had breakfast. Pasquier and Roland had come with them, but Antoine was ready to cast off and there was time only for a quick handshake and repeated thanks, before the bows swung out into the current and the two were left waving on the quay.

  The Alouette, as their new temporary home was called, threaded her way through the throng of boats and out onto the broad reaches of the Saône. Here, she turned north-east for a short distance before turning right to join the Canal du Rhône au Rhin. At the pretty town of Dole, where scarlet geraniums in window boxes overhanging the canal seemed to signal defiance, both to the austerity of war and the coming winter, the canal met the River Doubs. After the comparative calm of the canal, they found themselves buffeted by a fierce current.

  ‘The river is in flood,’ Ton-ton shouted above the noise of the water. ‘It’s always bad at this time of year. We must hope that the locks are not under water and impassable.’

  At Besançon, where the grim medieval castle loomed above them on its crag, a swastika flag fluttering from its battlements, they entered a tunnel carved out of the rock.

  ‘The river makes a loop round the town,’ Ton-ton explained. ‘This saves us three kilometres.’

  They came at last, late one afternoon, to the big industrial city of Montbéliard, its factories and huge car plants a stark contrast to the pretty countryside they had passed through. As they entered the suburbs, Antoine cut the engine and drew the barge into the side of the canal.

  ‘The Boche will probably be waiting for us when we get to the wharves. You’d better nip off here.’

  There was another sudden parting, another rapid exchange of handclasps, and then they were on the bank, with their rucksacks containing their few possessions at their feet, and the Alouette was already pulling away.

  They stood watching her for a few moments as she dwindled into the shadows, then Luke picked up his rucksack and said, ‘Come on. I’m not sure where we are, but it must be a fair way to the city centre. It’ll be dark soon.’

  They had been to the city many times before to visit their godfather, but they had always arrived by train and this area down by the canal was unknown territory. They set out along back streets, unsure of the best route.

  ‘The castle makes a good landmark,’ Christine pointed out, indicating the conical towers rising above the surrounding trees on a hilltop. ‘Uncle Marcel’s shop is in the Rue du Château, so it must be that way.’

  By the time they found themselves in the right street, the sun had set. Luke caught hold of his sister’s hand and smiled at her. He was already imagining a warm welcome, a comfortable chair, and hopefully something to eat.

  ‘Nearly there! Uncle Marcel is in for a big surprise.’

  They hurried along the road, ignored by passers-by hastening home before the beginning of the curfew. When they reached the shop, the shutters were down.

  ‘He’s closed, of course,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll try the door to the flat.’

  He led the way into the alley that ran alongside the shop and rang the bell at a side door. They waited, but there was no sign of movement inside. Christine craned her neck to look up at the windows, but with strict blackout orders in force, no chink of light could be seen from any of the houses around. Luke rang again, and then knocked loudly. The ensuing silence left them in no doubt.

  ‘He’s not there,’ Christine said.

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone to visit friends, or made a last minute dash to the shops,’ Luke suggested.

  ‘He’ll have to be quick, then,’ she replied, ‘or he’ll be caught by the curfew, unless.…’

  ‘Unless he’s staying the night somewhere,’ Luke finished for her.

  ‘I suppose he could have gone up to the chalet,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a bit early in the season. And there won’t be any skiing, will there?’

  ‘He might just have felt like getting away for a few days. We could try telephoning.’

  ‘The trouble with that is, I’ve no idea where the nearest phone box is. If we’re caught wandering about after curfew looking for one, we’ll be in trouble.’

  Christine shivered. The day had been clear and sunny, but at this altitude, the nights were already cold. She had put on her good coat, the one she had been wearing when they left home, but she still felt chilled.

  ‘We can’t stand around here all night.’

  ‘No, that’s true,’ her brother agreed, ‘but what else do you suggest? We dare not try to check into a hotel. They would be bound to ask for our papers.’

  Christine thought. ‘We’re not far from the railway station, if I remember rightly. Perhaps we could shelter in a waiting room overnight.’

  ‘It’s an idea,’ Luke agreed. ‘Anyway, there’s no point in standing here. Let’s give it a try.’

  The station, to their dismay, was dark and silent, the entrance closed by a heavy gate.

  ‘So much for that idea,’ Luke said. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Goodness knows.’ Christine peered despondently along the platform. Then she said, ‘See those goods trains in the sidings over there? If we could get into one of the box cars, that would give us shelter and hide us till morning.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Luke said. ‘But there’s no way of getting to them from here.’

  ‘Perhaps from the other side of the tracks?’ she suggested. ‘There’s some kind of embankment under the trees. Maybe there’s a way down?’

  ‘OK. Let’s try,’ her brother agreed, without much confidence. ‘At least if there isn’t, we can hide up among the trees till the curfew is lifted.’

  They made their way back to where a level crossing gave access to the far side of the rails. The moon was rising, huge and amber-coloured, and above them, the fairy-tale turrets of the castle glimmered in its light. A narrow road led around the bottom of the hill, between the woods and the railway embankment, but it was bounded by a tall fence of wire mesh. They trailed along it, hoping for a way in but finding none.

  Christine stopped suddenly. ‘Luke, look down there, on those flat-bed wagons. Aren’t those tanks?’

  Luke peered down. A long line of wagons each bore an identical shrouded shape, but the barrel of a gun protruding from each made identification easy. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  ‘I bet they’re destined for the south,’ Christine said. ‘Now that Italy has capitulated, the Germans must be desperate to reinforce their defences down there.’

  Luke sighed wistfully. ‘If only we had some plastique and a few detonators.’

  ‘If only,’ she agreed. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not among the things I carry in my coat pockets.’

  It was the
nearest she had come to making a joke since they left the Morvan and Luke gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Never mind. Come on.’

  They walked on, until Christine stopped again. ‘Hang on a minute.’ She went back a few steps and bent to examine the fence. ‘Look here! The fence has been cut. It doesn’t show unless you happen to be looking, but there’s a flap here, like a small gateway.’

  Luke squatted beside her. ‘You’re right. I bet it’s the work of the Resistance. Maybe they are planning some sabotage.’

  ‘Good for them!’ she responded. ‘Meanwhile, here’s our way in.’

  ‘Chris.…’ he said doubtfully, but she was already tugging the flap of wire open and wriggling through it. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed, pulling the wire back into position so that the gap would be almost invisible to the casual eye.

  They slid down the embankment and found their progress checked by a heap of sand, some sacks of cement, and other builders’ materials. Picking their way through them, they came alongside the train carrying the tanks. When they reached the engine, Christine stopped.

  ‘There must be a way of disabling one of these monsters,’ she murmured. ‘If it was a car it would be easy – cut the brake cables, drain the oil….’

  ‘Well, it’s not a car,’ Luke said. ‘Come on.’

  She seemed not to hear him.

  ‘Oil…. These wheels must need lubrication, and this crank shaft that drives them.’ She squatted down, peering at the wheels of the engine. ‘Look here. These little cup-shaped things on top of the block that connects the rods… I wonder….’ She ran a finger around the top of one of the brass cylinders and sniffed it. ‘That’s oil, all right. If one could introduce some kind of abrasive, that would do the trick. Do the tops of these come off?’ She twisted one experimentally. ‘Yes! They do!’

  Luke looked around him uneasily. He had a feeling that someone must be watching.

  ‘Leave it alone, Chris. Let’s get out of sight.’

  She straightened up. ‘Sand! Of course. Come on.’