Chapter 30

June 1944

T he car sped along the rough track, leaving a cherry-red dust cloud in our wake, hanging in the humid late afternoon air like smoke. ‘Strewth, slow down, can’t you? You’ll have us both killed!’ I glared at Jacques, my driver.

‘It’s not that fast. It just seems that way because the road is winding and narrow.’ He laughed, dragging a hand through his dark hair, thin slivers of grey streaking across the top of his head.

Montlucon stretched out in the distance, sweating beneath a flawless azure sky. The drive from Chaudes-Aigues had taken almost four hours. I reached into the footwell for the canteen of water and took a swig. I hoped I had the right address. Since Hector’s arrest, I’d had to do a little digging on contacts.

‘Jacques, remember to stop outside the town. I’ll have to cycle in.’ A bicycle lay in readiness on the back seat. I wore flat shoes for the mission and a pale blue printed dress with a white cardigan. ‘Right, when I collect Anselm, we’ll leave on bicycles and meet you back by the car. If anything happens and you have to leave, we’ll cycle out on this road and catch you further on. Okay?’

‘Oui.’ He turned off the lane and pulled up by a small, wooded spot. He dragged the bicycle from the back seat and held it while I smoothed down my dress and checked my face in my compact. ‘How do I look?’

Jacques shrugged. ‘Like every other woman in France.’

‘Great. What a compliment!’ I frowned. ‘You’ll never get a girl if that’s the best you can do.’

He laughed, taking out a cigarette and lighting up. ‘Be careful. The place is swarming with Germans.’

‘Thanks. Wish me luck.’ I wasn’t afraid of the Germans. And soon we’d have them on the run. I could feel it in my soul. I longed for the day, impatience simmering inside me.

‘Merde!’ Jacques called after me. Since arriving in France, I’d barely ridden a bicycle, and almost as soon as I sat on it, my backside protested. The saddle felt more like a wooden pommel, and in a short time, my derrière throbbed. As I pedalled into town, I passed another cyclist and noticed two German soldiers at a checkpoint, checking a citizen’s papers. I cycled past, not daring to look, turning into Rue Saint-Jean, scanning every door for number 40. I sailed past 36, then slowed to a halt and dismounted, shocked by how badly my legs ached.

Number 40 stood before me, a white-painted house with a pale blue front door and shutters. I leaned my cycle against blue-painted railings, climbed the steps to the front door, and knocked. Within seconds, I heard footsteps, and the door creaked open.

‘Madame Renard?’ The aroma of fresh baking drifted out into the street. I recalled the password. ‘You have a cake for me.’ The woman put a hand up to her white hair, stepped back, and beckoned me inside.

‘Bonjour. Through here, Madame.’

I followed her along a dark, narrow hallway to the kitchen at the rear of the house. She coughed. ‘It is all right. You can come out now.’

I peered around and noticed a cupboard door opening. Out stepped Anselm, brandishing a .45 revolver. I recognised him immediately—we’d met during SOE training.

‘You’re Anselm.’ I hugged him tightly, kissing him on each cheek.

‘Ah, Chérie. We meet again.’

‘I had no idea it was going to be you. Well, you took your time getting here. We could have used you at least two weeks ago. Have you got a cycle?’

‘Oui, outside.’

Madame Renard brought food and coffee, then served us her homemade Rum Baba, the aroma sending my tummy into a frenzy of gurgles. It was delicious.

‘Well, we’d better get going. We’ll cycle just outside the town. I’ve got a car waiting to take us back to Chaudes-Aigues.’

‘A car?’

‘Believe me, it’s much safer and quicker than cycling everywhere. You won’t get far without one.’ I glanced at Anselm briefly, happy to see another friend. ‘Come on.’

‘You’ve got papers, haven’t you?’ Now that we were two, the chance of being stopped was greater.

‘Yes, I have everything.’ He grinned, his brown eyes softening. He looked exactly as I remembered: slim, chiselled face, neat pencil moustache, and slicked-back dark brown hair. I rode ahead. At the end of the road, a black Citro?n passed us, probably headed for German HQ just streets away. Up ahead, German soldiers stood in the road, so we turned off and made a detour. Fortunately, lady luck was on our side, and we had a clear run out of town and back to Jacques.

‘You made it in good time. I will put the cycle on the roof. There is not enough room for two,’ Jacques said.

‘Just take mine.’ I jumped into the front seat.

Anselm threw his bicycle into the long grass and got in the car, holding his Colt .45 revolver. ‘This isn’t a gazogene. How do they get petrol?’

‘They steal it from the plant.’ I laughed. ‘They’d steal anything if I let them.’

The drive back was long and humid. The only breeze was the rush of the slipstream through the open windows, and even that was warm. ‘Don’t worry. If we get stopped by the Germans, I came prepared.’ I picked up one of the Sten guns and a grenade from the stash of ammunition stowed in the footwell.

‘I might have known.’ His tanned face creased into a wide grin. ‘You were probably the best shot in training. Hopeless at running, but you know your way around a gun.’

Cheek. I thumped him softly on the arm. We arrived back late in the evening. The men at the camp were drinking—heavily, by the looks of it—and laughing. Den was there, his face rosy, glassy-eyed, with a bottle of something in his hand.

‘What’s going on?’ I grabbed the bottle from him and took a swig. Rum.

‘It’s happened, Gertie. It’s finally happened.’ He threw his arms around me and kissed my cheeks.

I stood open-mouthed. ‘The invasion. The Allies are here.’ I smiled, took another drink, then punched the air. A wave of relief washed through me, mixed with a tinge of disappointment, especially as Den then proceeded to tell me about their exploits over the last twenty-four hours—planting explosives like daisies, he said, blowing up targets as requested by London. And I’d missed it all. Oh well, never mind, I thought. ‘Den, say hello to our old friend, Anselm.’

‘Well, well, fancy seeing you here.’ Den’s face lit up, and the two men shook hands. ‘You made it just in time. Big job ahead of you.’ He dragged a packet of fags from his shirt pocket. ‘The BBC broadcast at nine-thirty this morning. They said, ‘Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.’ Yes, I’ll never forget that. So exciting.’ Den sank down at the foot of a tree, slumped back against the trunk, and puffed on his cigarette.

They’d sabotaged railway lines, underground telephone cables used by the Germans, bridges, a factory in Clermont-Ferrand, and a railway junction at Moulins.

‘What about the petrol plant at St Hilaire?’ That one had been an issue of debate since it was the source of our petrol.

‘No, we left it, Duckie,’ Den said. ‘We’d be screwed otherwise.’

I slumped down next to him. There was so much to do. I had drops scheduled almost every night over the coming week, provided nothing went wrong. Then there were local Resistance groups to visit, and I’d have to introduce Anselm.

‘Some of the men are at the drop site. Why don’t you stay here for once? Have a rest.’ Den poured me a glass of wine.

‘I know you wanted to be here when the Allies landed, but I’m afraid they couldn’t wait for you, Ducks.’

‘No, suppose not.’ I drained my glass.

‘Steady on, old girl. There’s only so much of this.’

‘What? I’m just warming up. Fill her up.’ The Allies were on their way. The Germans would soon be retreating—a sight I couldn’t wait to see. The tide was turning, and soon there would be a Nazi wave rolling back to Germany. ‘Are you going up there tonight, Den?’

‘Yes, my love, if it helps you.’ He smiled. ‘I meant what I said. You have a rest and an early night.’

‘Thanks, you’re a darling. Oh, will you check the containers for my things?’

‘Oh, Lord, help us. The great cosmetic treasure hunt again. Yes, I’ll save them from those hairy gorillas.’

‘And hands off the silk stockings. I don’t want any runs in ‘em before I’ve had a chance to wear them.’ I sipped my wine and looked up as Anselm joined us. ‘Have a glass of red.’

‘Thank you.’ He grinned and sat down. ‘I hadn’t realised we’d be living in such luxury.’ He gazed around the camp.

‘We do all right.’ I’d grown used to sleeping rough, my bed a carpet of leaves and dust, rain or shine.

‘I guess I’ll make a start in the morning with the men.’ He ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired.

‘Well, a number of them think themselves experts, so best of luck.’ I drained my glass. ‘And some of them are still drunk the morning after, so watch out for that. Come on, keep up.’

‘Oh no, I’m not playing that game with you. You could drink anyone under the table and still walk away.’

‘And shoot straight,’ I added. He obviously remembered our heavy drinking sessions during training. It was wonderful to be reunited with friends. The evening passed in a heartbeat, and dusk drew the men away to the plateau. With a slightly fuzzy head, I took myself off to bed, settling down with my sleeping bag beneath an old oak tree, plumping up my red satin cushion. Morning would come soon enough, and it would all begin again.

* * *

I found Den by his wireless, sitting on an upturned wooden crate. On the far side of our camp, I glimpsed Anselm through the trees, a Bren gun at his side. He’d made an early start.

‘Morning, Gertie. Don’t say I never get you anything.’ Denis thrust a small box into my hands.

‘My things.’ I opened the lid and peered inside. ‘Lizzie Arden. Silk stockings. What a beaut! And lipstick. How do they do it?’

‘Beats me, love. And what do I get? Sweet bugger all.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Den. I’ll share my face cream with you. You know how you like to take care of your skin.’ I giggled, glad of the grin spreading across his face, but the sudden sound of an explosion in the distance shattered the silence. ‘Strewth, what now?’

The men looked across to the hills behind us. Another explosion boomed, and a grey dust cloud billowed into the distant sky.

‘It’s coming from Mont Mouchet.’ I called one of the men over and asked him to go and take a look. ‘The Germans are attacking Gaspard.’

‘There’s nothing we can do.’ Den lit up a cigarette. ‘We told him not to keep his men all in one place. If only he’d listened to you. Let’s hope they can get out of that.’ He shook his head. ‘What about the parachutage tonight?’

I huffed out a breath. Damn! ‘You’d better radio London and tell them it’s off.’ We couldn’t take the risk, not now. I went in search of coffee and food. Gaspard was a stubborn fool. The first rule of warfare—don’t keep all your troops in one place. They’d made themselves easy pickings for Jerry. As I cut a thick slice of bread and spread on a layer of raspberry jam, a droning sound filtered in from above. Turning my face to the sky, I glimpsed the grey shape of an aircraft, sunlight glinting on the fuselage. The enemy had launched aerial attacks too. God help you, Gaspard. An icy shiver rippled over my shoulders, slipping down my back. Well, I had lists to trawl through and supplies to arrange, so I found myself a shaded spot beneath a pine tree, sat down with my mug of coffee, and began to work.

An hour later, the young Frenchman I’d sent out as a scout to check on Gaspard returned. ‘Madame Andrée, the Germans have launched a huge attack on Gaspard’s men. There are hundreds of them, probably fifteen hundred at least. The battle is raging across the plateau above us. They have tanks and aircraft.’

‘Strewth. The man’s a fool. How are they holding up?’

‘They are heavily outnumbered. Some of the men are scattering, but the Germans have them virtually surrounded.’

‘Damn it.’ They had to come through. He had around three thousand men up there, and I needed them.

I got on with my work as best I could, my concentration interrupted by the boom of exploding grenades and tank cannon fire against a background of machine-gun fire in the distance. Reports filtered in throughout the afternoon and early evening, and then Fournier turned up with the news that Gaspard’s men had captured an armoured car and two cannons. They had sustained some injuries and deaths, but the losses on the German’s side was far greater. ‘This is payback for killing their man, Roger the spy.’

‘Well, Gaspard’s men are holding their own for now, but they will not last much longer.’ Fournier stared at me, the frustration evident in his eyes, and I felt it too. Our fellow Frenchmen fighting a battle they would not win, and we couldn’t help.

‘We can’t get involved. The men aren’t ready, and besides, we can’t risk losses on our side. Just pray that Gaspard and his men can get away.’ And assuming they did, they’d be certain to join us, and fresh arms and ammunition would be needed more urgently than ever.

* * *

During the night and the early morning, Gaspard’s men arrived in waves, amidst explosions and gunfire. They brought with them weapons and ammunition they’d managed to salvage. At the same time, new recruits streamed in from all directions, young and old, desperate to escape the Germans, desperate to eradicate France of an occupying force. Amidst the chaos, Hubert turned up and found himself having to organise our growing band, while I armed the recruits and passed them over to Anselm for weapons training. It was as if the sound of the raging battle had lured them in, igniting the fire in their bellies.

Before long, I realised our supplies were dwindling. We were almost out of boots and socks, and so I ventured up to the plateau and opened the remaining containers. I took a few of the men with me, and we quickly grabbed our supplies and returned to camp. The men were happy to receive the luxuries of good footwear and fresh socks, but all too soon, I was swamped with fresh recruits and out of supplies once more.

‘Don’t fret, Gertie,’ Den said. ‘The drop’s on for tomorrow. One hundred and fifty aircraft dropping fifteen containers each.’ He grinned.

‘Can’t come soon enough.’ We were relying on a daylight parachutage for the first time. That would be more than two thousand containers with fresh supplies. It was an exciting prospect.

A day later, Gaspard arrived with the last of his men, waltzing into our camp with a smug and authoritative look etched upon his tanned face. ‘Madame Andrée, I see you have been helping my men. We will not trouble you for long. I plan to camp out up on the plateau above here. The hills make a good sanctuary.’

‘Gaspard, I’m glad to see you’re alive. Your men fought well, but perhaps now you might consider splitting into smaller groups.’

He stared at me for what seemed like ages, his brown eyes hard, and then they softened as his face creased into a smile. ‘The winds are changing, Madame, and so we will talk.’ He sat down in the clearing at the edge of our camp, where a small fire burned, hot water boiling for coffee. ‘My men fought well. We have lost about one hundred or so, but the Germans have lost far more.’ He looked down at his muddy boots, a pensive look on his face.

I could see how it wounded him to have lost good men. ‘Gaspard, your men are safe here, and you can re-group. Join us. Together we will achieve far more.’