Chapter 29

Retribution

H ubert was in Montlucon, making plans with another Maquis group. We had a list of targets we’d been instructed to take out once the Allied invasion was underway. Each group had their part to play. Den and I had been busy here, cleaning weapons, de-greasing them after the parachutage. Fournier was strutting around like a peacock, his men now equipped with new boots, and weapons. Each man had been issued one pair of British army boots and two pairs of socks. Word of our activities was spreading, and in the last week alone, around four hundred men had arrived.

My days were filled with weapons training, planning, and visiting other Maquis in the surrounding area of the Auvergne, assessing their needs. Den spent much of his time chained to the radio, listening to broadcasts, waiting for messages as we organised another drop. Nights were spent upon the plateau, soaked to the bone amidst sheet rain or freezing up on colder evenings while preparing drop zones, lugging containers from the parachutage before collapsing in a heap onto my forest bed, sleeping beneath fading stars. My body ached and grew heavier by the day; sleep was a distant memory, a much-desired luxury.

As I sat on a log, drinking my morning coffee, a slice of bread and jam in my other hand, a car approached, grinding to a halt. A hubbub of gruff voices erupted, and then someone called my name. ‘Madame Andrée.’ A young man, tall, with short brown hair strode towards me. I nodded, drank the last of the coffee and took a bite of my bread, sweet strawberry coating my tongue.

‘Bonjour, Madame Andrée. It is Gaspard who has sent me. We have captured a German spy.’

They had? I jumped to my feet. ‘Come on.’ I slapped him on the back, feeling the back of my trousers, my hand brushing over the hard metal of my Colt.45. We drove to Gaspard’s place in silence. As I hauled myself from the car, a blood-chilling cry echoed from the barn.

‘What the hell are they doing?’ I yanked open the barn door and, in a few seconds, scanned the scene, my eyes darting all around. The German, stripped to the waist, was tied face down over a bench, his defined, muscled torso glistening beneath a sheen of sweat. Blood trickled down one side of his face from a head wound, his white-blond hair coated reddish-brown. I spotted a bullet hole in his back. He was about to be branded by the look of things, as one of Gaspard’s men stood over him, brandishing a smouldering iron. Gaspard looked up. ‘Madame, have you anything you wish to ask this dog?’

I walked across to the man lying on the bench, held down by two men. My eyes flicked over his body, noting another gunshot wound on his thigh. The man’s blue eyes danced wildly, and I knew enough to realise he wouldn’t survive his wounds. ‘I’ve never seen him before,’ I said, glancing at Gaspard, who seemed to enjoy showing off his spoils.

‘He has denounced many good people. He says he is responsible for O’Leary’s arrest last year. I have a signed confession.’ Gaspard waved a piece of paper in front of my face, the confession signed by the prisoner.

The breath caught in my throat. O’Leary had saved my neck, and this was the bastard who’d brought him down. The one O’Leary had saved me from, the man who’d longed to meet me. I clenched my fists and jaw, anger bubbling up inside me, but I wanted no part in his torture.

‘Put the bastard out of his misery now, or I’ll do it myself.’ Gaspard stared at me, eyes narrowing, then he huffed out a breath.

‘This isn’t the way. I mean it.’ I reached for my revolver.

Gaspard shook his head. ‘Very well.’

I turned and left, glad of the fresh air as bile lurched up into my throat. Christ, I hated the Germans, but there was no need for torture. That was their game. A crack of gunshot rang out behind me, and a flock of black crows scattered and cawed as they took to the trees. I closed my eyes and leaned against the car, trying to suppress the nausea, but it was too late, and I bent forward and vomited. After a few deep breaths, I climbed in, leaned forward, and rested my head in my hands. The man’s face—eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, searching, desperate. An icy tingle graced my spine. Well, he wouldn’t spy any more. Footsteps crunched over stones—my driver. Without a word, he slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. I slammed the door and sat in silence as we drove back to camp, wondering how long it would be before the Germans came looking for their man. A dark feeling of foreboding crept over me, and I shuddered. Reprisals were on the rise.

* * *

It was four o’clock and the late afternoon sun beat down as I reached the drop site on the plateau. I jumped out of the truck, wiping beads of sweat from my brow, embracing the light breeze. The men were already at work, preparing the ground, making sure the lights were in position. I walked to the edge of the field, where the trees gathered in a dense cluster. Behind them, in the thicket, was a covered wooden hatch door concealed in the undergrowth. Beneath it lay a cavernous ditch. I opened the hatch and dragged out one container, my biceps straining, heart thumping. Our latest recruits needed boots and socks. After checking that everything would be ready for nightfall, I drove back to camp.

* * *

That night, the moon loomed large. Smoke vapour filled the air above the plateau, silver ribbons swirling as the men smoked their Gauloises, speaking in low murmurs. The lights were in place. Den and I stood beneath the trees, waiting, Sten guns slung over our shoulders.

‘It’s bloody chilly tonight.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his woollen gloves.

‘Here.’ I offered him my hip flask.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Wine.’

‘Ooh, lovely.’ His eyes lit up, and he swigged a generous mouthful.

‘You know, Den. We need someone else to help us train the recruits. In fact, to help us lick the entire group into shape. For a start, they haven’t got a clue about the new guns.’

‘Yes, I know. I was told someone would be coming, but I don’t know when. As ever it’s a case of waiting, luv.’

The men were becoming restless. The smoking had ceased, and a hip flask was making the rounds. The breeze puffed harder, chilly, nipping at my ears and neck. The cloudless sky revealed a myriad of silver stars. The grass, wet and dewy, forced us to remain standing. There was no place to rest, and I thought longingly of my bed and pillow. Sleep was the only respite in this damn war. Turning my face to the stars, I listened to the shush of the trees, a rhythmic song that rose and fell.

Another sound filtered through, and the men dispersed, taking up their positions. They were more in tune this time, and I smiled, pleasantly surprised by their organisation. The men stood in a line, equal distances apart, ready with the lights. The noise of engines grew until black silhouetted aircraft soared into view. The men switched on the lights. Aware of Den’s body close to mine, he whispered in my ear, his breath warm.

‘I wish I had a seat on that one, being ferried back to Blighty.’

It was no good wishing. A smattering of black containers expelled from the aircraft above, sailing down into the field beneath billowing silk parachutes. Engines roared overhead as the aircraft banked steeply, turning for one more pass. The last of the group released their cargo, and I stared up, watching as the formation droned away westward with a waggle of wings, a final farewell. The thrum of engines faded into the night, and as I glanced at Den, a wistful look set on his face.

The maquisards moved stealthily through the field, gathering up containers and hauling them to one side to unpack. The guns needed to be de-greased and reassembled, and we’d be working on through till late morning with the haul.

‘Oh well, that’s that,’ Den said.

‘Here.’ I held out my hip flask, and his face creased into a smile.

He took several mouthfuls, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then held out his arm. ‘Thanks, Ducks. You’re a lifesaver.’

We strolled back to the trucks, arm in arm. Den just needed a little cheering up, that was all. My thoughts turned to the Allied invasion. We were still waiting for the exact date, and then the fireworks could begin. And I couldn’t wait.