Fulcrum of Malice

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  “Félix? You’ve heard from him?”

  Erika’s expression said it all. “But as for us, we have no choice but to run. Soon the whole quarter will teem with Boches. They know you and your role in the botched raid and will hang you for it!”

  Erika was right, whether he wished it or not, and he finally muttered an exasperated, “I’ve never run from a fight!”

  “But we have a growing family now, so we live to fight another day, right? That’s always been our plan.”

  “They’ll be watching the water, as well.” He switched to German. “And why are these two here?”

  “A gift from Janine, same as this boat. Lisette’s one of the Mercier twins, and Georges has fished these waters with Félix for a couple of years. Face it, darling, you know river boats inside and out and how to navigate inland waters. But Georges here knows the Atlantic and how to guide us through the estuary to reach the ocean. It’s said to be very treacherous.”

  René wanted to express to the girl his sorrow at the loss of the girl’s father, but her gaze remained fixed on the youth. Georges pulled her closer in reassurance as they waited for René to determine their fate. “So we somehow evade both the harbor police and the shoals of the estuary, and then what?” He slumped against the cabin door.

  “England. Or Gibraltar, or maybe Spain or Portugal! We can decide once we reach the sea. Georges knows the immediate coast in both directions.” She reached over and lifted up his chin. “Don’t you see, love, we’ve no choice—we have to leave town now! Once someone or something leads them to this boat, we’re finished.”

  René turned to the youth and switched back to French. “Then it’s true? You know these waters and sea navigation?”

  Georges didn’t hesitate. “Like the back of my hand, sir. Just let me prove it!” He squeezed the girl to him again. “And did I mention Lisette can help with the kids?”

  “And you’re willing to abandon your family, your country?”

  “Not abandon, sir, just take a breather until Lisette’s safe. I plan to sign up with General DeGaulle’s Free French to win back our country.” The girl’s eyes remained downcast, and René understood. Having just lost her father to the partisan cause, her fiancé’s plan would soon put his life at risk, too.

  “That works for me, Georges.” René’s mind churned. “Perhaps we can make this work after all. What about provisions, fuel, charts? I presume we have a compass?”

  “Félix always kept the fuel topped up. As long as we stay close to the coast and avoid patrols, it should be smooth sailing. We fishermen support each other, and there’s no love lost for the Boches out there.” Georges gestured toward the open sea. “We run low on fuel, others will share, even if only a few liters at a time. And this boat can work the wind. We won’t rely solely on the engine.”

  Animated now, the youth slid open a flat drawer of charts. “Félix always kept everything on board, and he has friends in ports along the way. North or south, it doesn’t matter.” He took Lisette’s hand and addressed her: “Ça va, Chérie?” She nodded. “There’s another matter Madame wants you to know about us before you decide, sir—”

  “Call me René, since we seem to be in this together.”

  Leo, ever watchful, spoke up: “But Papa, you’re supposed to be ‘Rénard’ now!”

  “We’re back to René, Leo. Now let Georges speak his mind.”

  “It’s just…you see, sir…I mean René…Lisette carries my child.”

  “Verdammt nochmal!” His curse escaping with a will of its own, René turned abruptly to Erika. Had she already known this? “That’s all we really need now, right? A six-year-old kid—”

  Leo couldn’t let that pass: “Almost seven!”

  “Very well, a seven-year-old kid, a little girl still in diapers, and now a girl carrying this teenager’s child! Erika, how will this ever work?”

  She kissed his haggard cheek and whispered in his ear, “It’ll have to, for you see, darling—I’m carrying yours, as well!” Stunned by the revelation, he first found no words. Then astonishment and joy brightened his face and Erika kissed him again. “So if it’s all the same to you, let’s get to sea before the Boches show up. You can complain about it as much as you like once we’ve found a new home.”

  On the eastern horizon a narrow band of gold hinted at morning. Fog muted the rumble of the diesels as the motley fleet of trawlers left port in the pre-dawn hours. One by one the fishing smacks set out for the vast estuary and the Atlantic beyond. To the west lay Saint-Nazaire, shrouded in mist. Tiny blurs of light marked wharves to either side of the Normandie dock. The fishing boats rocked and bobbed as they met the main current of the river. The unseen shoals ahead made the river mouth treacherous to those unfamiliar with this vast expanse where Loire met the Bay of Biscay.

  The fishermen went about the business of preparing nets as hungry gulls squawked overhead. Closer to shore, harbor patrol boats scoured the waters, their searchlights sending ghostly shafts of light sweeping through the fog banks. The air smelled less of earth and foliage now and more of salt, but onboard the odor of old catches tinged every breath drawn.

  Their trawler was a relic from the 1890’s, once outfitted with a coal-fired steam boiler but converted in recent decades to diesel. René was pleased she could still rely on sails and was anxious to learn how she handled at sea. Fresh seafood was at a premium, and the fishing fleet received a modest priority for the limited civilian fuel supply. La Demoiselle would need every liter she carried. A long voyage lay ahead, and opportunities to replenish remained uncertain despite assurances from Georges. René and the young man hoisted the mainsail to take advantage of an offshore breeze.

  Inside the cabin Erika and Lisette sat with their backs braced to the walls. Wool blankets over their shoulders helped stave off the chill. As they compared notes on morning sickness, they worried about nausea once the trawler reached the open Atlantic. Leo recited one of his adventures to Sophie, who interrupted often with one-word responses or sentences unintelligible to anyone but her.

  Off to starboard René caught a quick glimpse of a larger vessel easing up the dredged channel of the Passe des Charpentiers. Likely a destroyer, though difficult to be certain through the shifting swaths of fog. The outbound submarines would have taken the same passage during the night and now be well off the coast, resuming their role of stealthy killers.

  The partisan attack had been a colossal waste of effort and lives. The hotheads had prevailed and the group had gone in half-cocked and ill-prepared. He should have held strong and waited for a better opportunity. The price of his weakness was dismal failure of the mission and many deaths.

  The swell and roll beneath his feet brought back memories of the Rhine, a welcome distraction after the night of aggravation, loss and disappointment. Moving around the deck he didn’t notice his limp, that lasting reminder of von Kredow’s first act of personal vengeance. René exhaled deeply. Erika had been right. He knew river craft, the Rhine currents, the mechanics of engines and lines. He’d sailed the Bodensee on a small one-master, knew how to work the winds and handle sudden squalls. But this was a fishing trawler, and the ocean would present unknown challenges. Thank God for that kid moving confidently about the deck, anxious to demonstrate his nautical skills as he showed him the ropes.

  They had reached the first chop of the open sea when trouble found them. The other fishing boats had drifted far afield, now mere tiny specks on the horizon. Some had surely already lowered their nets. The sky remained overcast as the fog lifted and the sky to the east brightened. A gunboat over a kilometer distant abruptly changed course and carved a broad radius across the swells, approaching head-on under the harsh wail of a klaxon.

  Having surrendered his jacket and sweater to the guard dogs, René now wore a fisherman’s smock and a woolen cap discovered in the cabin wardrobe. He reeked of sweat and fish, looking and smelling like an overworked boatman. As the launch approached, he assumed the slouch of a man beaten down by
years of hauling heavy nets.

  Georges was beside him, speaking under his breath. “These cops aren’t the typical bastards you meet on-shore—some of these guys even know our seagoing life. They rarely hassle us fishermen, but they’re Boches all the same. They may try to take us down a notch or two.”

  René nodded. “Get in the cabin and make sure everyone’s hidden. Things could get rough.” He felt the weight of the illegal handgun in his trouser pocket, a death sentence if found. Near the Avant Port the harbor police had been boarding a few trawlers. At René’s request, Georges fished out an old revolver hidden behind the steering console, a corroded relic unsuited to a salty environment. No way to know if the piece would fire till put to use. He had four cartridges. Four chances.

  The klaxon whooped again as the gunboat came alongside and the police tossed a line. The captain hailed them, demanding they cut their engine and prepare for boarding. René fastened the rope to a cleat and eased the vessels closer.

  “What can we do for you, captain?” He mimicked the local inflection and hoped the harbor police weren’t savvy enough to distinguish one dialect from another.

  “Prepare for boarding,” the officer repeated, “and get all your crew on deck!” His French correct but stilted.

  “Just me and the kid today, sir. We’re short one man this morning.” Georges was back topside. René prayed for silence from the cabin. “My other mate came down with a helluva head cold last night, the shirker.” René smiled and swept his left arm in a gesture of gracious welcome. “A bit early for fish, sir, so how about a brandy instead? Warms the bones.” He hoped that was Cognac on the rack in the cabin.

  The boats rocked side-by-side in the swell as the officers leapt onto La Demoiselle’s deck.. Two enlisted men remained on the gunboat, one with a rifle at his shoulder and the other at the helm. The lieutenant’s demand was brief: “Your papers, please.”

  Georges played ignorant and handed over the fishing permit issued by the Saint-Nazaire port authority. The junior officer scanned the document and handed it to his superior. “You this Mercier?”

  René thought quickly. If these cops had a two-way radio they might already have names of the partisans. “No, sir, Mercier’s the one back in port, likely nursing a Calvados. For his health, you understand.”

  “And your papers?” A look of impatience, perhaps revulsion at René’s odiferous outfit.

  He patted his pockets and shrugged. “The fish rarely ask for them, sir. Must be in my other trousers.” He buried both hands deep in his pockets, as if checking one last time, and shrugged in regret. He kept the revolver in his grip. If all cartridges fired, he could possibly drop the two officers before taking down the rifleman. By then he would also have the captain’s sidearm and guarantee himself the helmsmen.“As for the kid,” he looked over at Georges, “he’s got no papers. He’s barely seventeen.”

  Georges had stepped to the hold and dragged the hatch cover aside, keeping the peg of the lockdown in his hand. “Want to take a look, officers?”

  The stench of decades rose from the depths and the captain brought a handkerchief to his nose. “Not necessary, kid—no catch yet, right? But I will take a quick look in the cabin, just in case you’ve hidden away a little something for the black market.”

  “It’s all yours, captain.” René stepped aside, positioning himself to make every shot count. Georges acknowledged the unspoken plan with a nod. With luck, one officer might come down a serious headache from that wooden peg.

  The door abruptly swung open in the captain’s face. He jerked back as Leo emerged, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked up and politely asked, “Is that your boat, monsieur l’agent?” He pointed to the police launch.

  The captain nodded. “It is.”

  “Why are you tied to our boat?”

  “We’re seeing what you’re up to.” The captain exchanged grins with the lieutenant.

  “Well, monsieur—I was sleeping, but all the noise woke me up!”

  The officer made a fake bow: “So sorry, Your Majesty.” Now he’d begun to laugh.

  “That’s all right, monsieur l’agent. But I’ve a lot of fishing ahead and need all the sleep I can get!”

  The absurdity of a child’s reprimand brought both officers to laughter. Once he caught his breath, the captain demanded of René: “What’s the brat doing on your boat?”

  “Sorry, captain.” René did his best to appear contrite. “My wife’s also sick this morning, so I got stuck with the boy. He can be a handful.” He bent toward the captain to confide in a whisper, “The old lady’s probably shacking up with Mercier for the day. Sharing his misery, right?”

  Still chuckling, the captain made a deep, sarcastic bow to Leo while addressing the lieutenant, “Come on. Let’s get going. We can’t have His Majesty missing out on much needed sleep, now can we?”

  René slowly released his grip on the revolver once Georges had tossed the line back to the launch. As the boats drifted apart, René heard the captain shout to his lieutenant: “Even the French spawn believe they still own this world!” The gunboat engines thundered and the vessel quickly left the stubby trawler in its wake.

  Leo’s shout of “Bon voyage!” was lost to the offshore wind.

  René finally allowed himself to join Georges in laughter. He gave Leo a half-hearted scowl before entering the cabin. A pile of woolen blankets hid the two women, with Sophie cradled between them. On the opposite side lay the crumpled tarp which had briefly hidden Leo.

  At René’s encouragement, Erika threw back the covers. “Close one?”

  “Too close. But Leo came through with his typical charm.”

  “Once he opened the door it was too late to stop him. We couldn’t hear what was said out there.”

  “Best you didn’t. But one thing’s for sure—it’s time our son was back in school and learning a little discipline. That boy’s growing up too fast for his own good.” René returned the revolver to it hiding place, hoping it would never be needed. “Until then, let’s just leave him to his natural inclinations.”

  From the stern they watched Georges reef the sails. A line secured the wheel, keeping them on course. Leo observed every move with rapt attention and pestered the youth with incessant questions. Sophie had fallen asleep on Lisette’s lap. The waves were up now, the trawler bending to the wind, froth whipping across the bow. René steadied Erika, one arm wrapped around her with his hand on her belly. “It’s a baby for us, then?”

  She laughed. “Yes, definitely a baby. Yours and mine.”

  He nuzzled her neck and smiled.

  She returned his grin and leaned back into his embrace. “Yes, yours and mine.” At her insistence he’d shed the smelly fisherman’s gear, done a quick wash-up in the cabin, and agreed to regrow his beard. They’d rummaged around and found a passable bulky sweater. My seagoing pirate, she thought.

  He nodded, clearly considering their future. She knew choosing Spain or neutral Portugal would get them to safety faster, though with many risks along the way. But England was many more dangerous days to the north, and the waters potentially more hazardous. The Saint-Nazaire estuary had dropped below the horizon, but the sad memories of the town were sure to haunt their quiet hours. “How soon?” he asked.

  “Seven months is my guess. Mid-spring.”

  “Leo’s good with little ones. Keeps him out of trouble, right?”

  “He’s good all right.” She laughed quietly. The encounter with the harbor police could easily have gone sideways. “That boy can always find trouble but has luck on his side, just like Ryan.” The nagging worry surfaced. “Darling, do you suppose he got our message about Horst?”

  “If not, he will soon enough. His brother will see to that. One thing about Ryan, he’s tougher now, stronger. Think of him back in Marburg, always the bon vivant, expecting all to go his way.” She remembered well those simpler times before Horst had turned their lives into a living hell. “But he’s matured now, more careful, so he�
�ll be fine, trust me.” He lifted her collar to shield her face from the wind. “So what’ll it be, Liebling, port or starboard?”

  “Spain or England?”

  “Spain or England—time for a decision.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I say England. First, you won’t last more than a fortnight before you’re itching to knock a few Nazi heads again. More opportunities in that direction. Second, the Allies can certainly use your knowledge and talents. And third, life is rougher in Spain. We’ve quite a growing brood to consider, and besides, Leo needs to get back to school. I want him to learn English. He’s got a gift for languages. Best of all, Madame de Brassis’ posthumous generosity will keep us in food and baby clothes for some time to come.”

  “Perhaps the Allies can put your medical training to use.”

  Erika curbed her selfish desire to stay involved in the battle. She sighted up the distant coast toward Brest, singling out tiny trawlers scattered across the broad expanse. Suddenly she reached for the binoculars at his neck. “A conning tower!” She pointed anxiously.

  René’s brow furrowed as he took the field glasses, then grinned in obvious relief. “Nothing to worry about, love.” His smile broadened. “Just a coastal freighter topping the horizon.”

  He held her close. She closed her eyes and he kissed her forehead. “We’re going to be all right. England it is.” Their lips met. “I love you so,” he whispered, his words almost lost to the slap of the sail, but she knew it anyway.

  “Hey, you two!” Leo was looking back before entering the cabin. “Better keep your eyes on the ocean. Just ask Georges. This boat doesn’t sail itself, you know.”

  WIDERSTAND

  1941

  

  CHAPTER ONE

  Paris, Occupied France

  17 September 1941