Chapter 34

Back To The Fray

A week later, having recuperated, we were on the move again. Tardi had found us a new camp in the department of Allier, not far from his own. Ambushes were his speciality, and he planned his missions meticulously, like a general. He was a natural-born leader. If I hadn’t been in love already, I could have fallen for him, but as it was, I loved him like a brother.

The drive to the new camp was glorious. After days of being confined, I revelled in the freedom of movement. I’d had enough of reading and staring at walls, feeling useless. The village doctor had ordered me to stay off my feet, but now that I was free, my heart skipped with joy. The sky had never been bluer, nor the sun more golden.

That morning, Den had stood in the doorway, beaming like a Cheshire cat. ‘I’ve got a lovely surprise for you.’

‘Hmm, let me guess,’ I mused. ‘A radio?’

‘Ha! Better than a mere radio, Gertie.’ With that, he ushered a tall, young man into the room. ‘Meet Roger, your new radio op, all the way from Ohio.’

Roger was young and good-looking, with fair hair and a Marine’s bearing. He smiled, a charming, soft drawl in his voice. ‘It’s an honour, ma’am.’

With Roger on board, we were ready to get back to work. I looked forward to being close to Tardi again, even if it meant camping out in the forest. If only we could trade the forest for a house.

* * *

‘Madame Andrée. My men need Bren guns. Can you get them?’

Tardi loomed over me as I sat beneath an ancient oak tree, seeking shade from the fierce midday sun. I squinted up at him, his outline traced in golden light. His request wasn’t surprising—we all needed fresh supplies after the recent battles.

I paused, letting my thoughts wander to our current situation. ‘On one condition,’ I said, amused by the boyish smirk flickering across his lips. ‘I’m tired of living beneath the stars, Tardi. Sleeping on a lumpy, damp forest floor with a carpet of pine needles has taken its toll. I need walls, a roof, a mattress.’

He looked away, gazing up into the burning blue sky. ‘I have an idea. My men will see to it,’ he said, a wide grin creasing his face. ‘And you can get the Bren guns?’

I nodded. ‘Oui.’ Whatever he had in mind, I didn’t care—just as long as I didn’t have to sleep outdoors again.

Only two days after our move, thirty young Frenchmen wandered into our camp, all evading the relève, the German compulsory labor force. I welcomed them all, of course.

* * *

The next evening when I returned to our little camp, I came face-to-face with a bus, Tardi leaning against it, a huge grin stretched across his face.

‘What the heck?’

Tardi laughed. ‘Welcome to your new home. We acquired it two hours ago. The passengers were not pleased with having to walk the rest of their journey on foot, but as I told them, it was a great service they were doing for France.’

I laughed. A whole bus for me. What a hoot. I followed him inside and there, at the back, were two seats facing each other, and a mattress placed on top. Pure luxury.

‘Try it.’ He patted the mattress. ‘A local shopkeeper supplied it.’

Touched by the kindness of others, I wasted no time scrambling onto my new bed. It felt like heaven—soft, comfy, and the complete opposite of the forest floor. ‘Oh, Tardi, you’re a marvel. Thank you so much.’ I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly.

‘You are most welcome.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Now, about those Bren guns?’

I smiled. ‘I’ll get a message to London. You’ll have them on the next drop, my friend.’ As I sank into the mattress, my thoughts turned to bedding, and I remembered the old parachute I had stowed away. The silk would make perfect sheets. It was a blessing when a plan came together. Despite the war, our dire situation, and my separation from Henri, I felt a surge of happiness. You have to make the best of things, day by day.

‘I take it we can drive this?’

‘Of course. It’ll be useful when we have to move on—plenty of space for all sorts of things.’

‘Hmm, useful indeed,’ I agreed. Nothing dirty, though, I thought to myself. This is my sanctuary.

* * *

It was reassuring being close to Tardi, and I intended to stay that way. We made a good team, I thought. The night air was cool and fresh, the moon large in the sky. Tonight’s drop was different—I was collecting men this time—two American weapons instructors.

One of my maquisards offered me his hip flask. I took a mouthful. Brandy. ‘Merci.’

The silhouettes of aircraft grew closer, and then, beneath the stars, white silk chutes blossomed in the velvet darkness. Seconds later, another appeared. I watched as they drifted down, disappearing behind trees and hedgerows to land in the adjacent field. Three of my men set off to retrieve them.

We also received a batch of containers, even though I hadn’t requested anything. One of the men pried open the first container and pulled out a weapon—bazookas. The men gathered around, joy lighting up their faces, though it was clear none of them had the faintest idea how to use the new toys. Thank goodness for the weapons instructors.

Captain Reeve Schley and Captain John Alsop landed without a hitch. We shook hands. ‘Great to meet you.’

‘Likewise, ma’am. Gee, I’m glad you speak English because neither one of us speaks any French.’

I assured them it wasn’t a problem, though I couldn’t help but wonder how they’d communicate with the men. Leaving the maquisards to handle the cargo, I drove our new recruits to a barn near the camp, where I’d arranged for them to stay. Earlier, Den had helped me make up the beds. We’d put an old wooden crate between them, and I’d placed a bunch of wildflowers in a jam jar on top.

‘That’s more homely,’ I’d said, laughing as Den gave me a puzzled look. How odd life was, doing such things amidst a brutal war. What would my brother Stanley think of me? He’d probably be horrified if he knew what I was doing, but I hoped he’d be proud of his little sister.

* * *

That evening, after we’d eaten, Schley and Alsop joined me for a drink on the bus. The maquisards in this camp were excited about the weapons training, especially the chance to use bazookas.

‘So, have you had any attacks by the Germans here?’ Alsop asked, leaning back in his seat, a cigar in one hand and a brandy in the other.

‘A few. The latest was just this morning.’

‘Do you think they’ll be back soon?’

I didn’t think they’d return tomorrow, so I said so. It wasn’t their style, though the Germans were anything but predictable. I was trusting my gut.

As more drinks flowed, I got to know a little more about our new men. Both captains in the US Army, they’d seen active service and had been based in England for a while. I pulled a bottle of whisky from my stash, which went down well. Schley handed me a cigar. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s been ages since I had one of these.’ It had been too—I was with Henri then, during one of our cosy evenings at home.

I poured myself a generous whisky and downed it quickly, letting the warm glow in my gut chase away the icy memories. I poured another. ‘Come on, boys,’ I teased. ‘You’re lagging.’

‘I hope you’re right about those Germans,’ Alsop said, taking a slow drag from his cigar.

‘I’m usually right,’ I replied, resting my head against the window. For the first time in a while, I felt relaxed. Maybe it was the cigar, the whisky, or both. I had sounded confident just then—maybe too confident, almost smug. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Perhaps that’s my weakness, I thought.

* * *

The next morning, I woke with a pounding headache, or was it something pounding outside? I lay dazed for a moment, trying to focus. No birdsong. Footsteps thudded around outside. I looked up from my bed—Schley and Alsop were dozing on seats near the front of the bus. Strewth, that had been some drinking session, bleeding into the small hours. My mouth felt like sandpaper.

The ground beneath the bus shook, causing the water in my glass to slosh around. Then a shout cut through the air: ‘The Germans are coming!’

I sprang out of bed. Luckily, I’d slept in my clothes. Rushing through the bus, I shook the men awake as I passed and flung open the door. Birds were darting in every direction, and a mortar shell exploded close by—too close. ‘Jesus, hurry up, lads! We’re under attack!’ I shouted, my mind racing.

We had roughly two hundred men here, along with Den and the rest of us. ‘Bloody hell.’ I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to focus. ‘Pack up, quick! We’re shipping out now. Spread the word!’

Den appeared at the door, looking ready. ‘Put your stuff in the bus, Den,’ I ordered, glancing around the camp. Our two-hundred-strong army was already rushing off, weapons in hand, to face the enemy.

‘You can ride in the bus with me, Den, and whoever else wants to jump in.’ Some of our new recruits piled in, while the rest hopped into a spare truck. I stood outside for a moment, listening to the uncertain birdsong filtering through the branches. Above, the sun peeked into a flawless sky, a stark contrast to the chaos below. A mighty crump echoed in the distance, followed by the rat-a-tat of machine-gun fire.

Suddenly, Den realised we’d left the bicycle behind. He sprinted out to grab it, only to let out a bone-chilling cry. I turned to see him beneath the trees, leaping around with the cycle at his feet, eyes wide and face growing rosier by the second. Then it hit me—he’d snagged his shirt on the electric wires.

Fortunately, he fell to the ground, freeing himself in the process. He lay there for a few seconds, breathing hard. Poor Den. That must have hurt, but the entire episode was so absurd that I couldn’t help it—I pressed my lips together, trying to stifle a snigger, but it was too much. I burst out laughing, wiping tears from my eyes, while Schley and Alsop stood watching, their faces a mix of shock and disbelief.

‘Come on, Den,’ I called, still laughing. He picked up the cycle, heaving it inside the bus, and shot me a dazed look as I tried to compose myself.

I jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. ‘To pastures new.’

‘Every day’s an adventure, Ducks.’ Den hurled himself onto the seat behind me, still dazed and breathing hard.

‘We’ll drive down near the men and get stuck in.’ That way, we’d have the bus close for our retreat, and then we’d move to Tardi’s camp.

One of our scouts, a young maquisard, sprinted back to camp, breathless. ‘Around six thousand Germans are coming this way.’

Strewth. We were barely two hundred strong, facing an army of thousands. ‘Right.’ I turned to Schley and Alsop. ‘We don’t have much manpower. Let’s use the bazookas.’

‘But the men haven’t been trained,’ Schley said, concern in his voice. ‘And neither of us speaks French.’

‘You instruct, and I’ll translate.’

I quickly organised the recruits and led the way to the front line where the others were already fighting. We needed a good position to retaliate. Machine-gun fire ricocheted all around, punctuated by the peppering of grenades. I decided it was safer to use the cover of the thick woods rather than the track as we moved closer to the front. Unfortunately, some of the younger boys wandered off and took the track despite my warnings.

We lugged the bazookas with us, along with rifles slung over our shoulders, grenades, and ammunition. Suddenly, sustained machine-gun fire erupted—loud and close—followed by screams. A sickening, sinking feeling twisted in my gut. I knew what had happened. The Germans had opened fire on the boys who had taken the track.

One of the maquisards yelled, ‘Madame Andrée! They’ve cut them down in the road!’

‘There’s nothing we can do for them now. We have to press on, or they’ll have all of us.’ I gritted my teeth and surged forward, glancing occasionally at the men around me. Their eyes were stern, jaws set. They were ready for the enemy.

As we neared the battle, anti-tank fire exploded nearby, and the ground trembled beneath my boots, a dust cloud billowing into the blue.

‘We can fire from this range,’ Schley said, pointing toward a ridge in the distance. ‘The Germans are just over there.’

Just then, two of our men limped toward us from their front-line position, bloodstained and struggling, one supporting the other who was more badly injured.

I turned to Schley. ‘Form a line.’

He quickly organised the men, showing them how to hold the bazookas while I beckoned the injured men to take shelter deeper in the woods. As Schley instructed, I translated, telling the men how to aim and fire. Alsop moved along the line with Schley, correcting their aim where needed.

‘Fire!’ Schley commanded.

For a brief moment, there was silence—then the Germans returned fire. A grenade sailed overhead, and I dove for cover. The ground shook, and the scream of the explosion filled my head. I sprang up, adrenaline surging, and hurled a grenade back in retaliation. More men brought the wounded from the front lines, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.

‘Den, you’re in charge of the wounded,’ I shouted, tossing him my rucksack. ‘There are dressings and a gallon of alcohol in there.’

He winced. ‘I can’t stand the sight of blood, Gertie.’ But he scooped up the bag anyway.

‘You’ll manage,’ I replied, rushing back to the bazooka squad. I was surprised at how quickly the men had mastered the weapons. The return fire from the enemy was less intense now, and from our higher position, I could see many Germans lying crumpled on the ground. My thoughts drifted to the recruits who had fallen on the road. We’d retrieve them later.

More bazooka fire. We’d be out of ammo soon. I turned to Schley. ‘I need to get a message to Tardi. There’s another camp nearby with Spanish maquisards. If I can reach them, they’ll get the word to Tardi. We need his men to hold off the Germans while we escape.’

Schley nodded, focused on the battle. I spotted Jacques, a young maquisard, crouched by the roadside, aiming his rifle. ‘Jacques, come with me. I need to get a message to Tardi.’

We slipped away into the trees, cutting through to the fields, crawling like snakes from one side to the other. German machine-gun fire rained down around us, but we kept moving. My ears rang with the deafening crumps of explosions. Finally, drenched in sweat, we surfaced two fields away from the German position and made our way into the woods.

The Spanish sentry looked surprised to see us. I quickly explained the situation and asked him to send our SOS to Tardivat.

‘I will send word,’ he said, nodding.

We returned to the battle, and it seemed to me that the Germans were no longer pressing forward. Perhaps we’d surprised them with our aggressive firepower. The men used the last of their ammunition, launching a final barrage from the bazookas, and the ensuing lull gave us a chance to retreat to camp. Hopefully, Tardi would arrive soon and distract the Boches. At least we’d made an impact, taking out several German posts.

‘Withdraw!’ I yelled, and the maquisards echoed my order down the line.

We headed back through the woods, but my heart ached for the young boys lying on the road. We needed to get the wounded out, but it was too dangerous to break cover.

‘I’ve got a box of quality cigars in my stuff,’ Schley said. ‘A gift from my father. I’d hate to see the Germans get their hands on them.’

‘Go grab them. You’d better get your things from the farm too—you can load it all on the bus,’ I said. I left Schley and Alsop to it, scanning the men around me. Some were injured, but not badly. ‘We’ll need the doctor, Jacques,’ I said. ‘Let’s get ready to go. Get the wounded on board.’

Then I spotted Den, carbine over his shoulder, ammunition belt bulging with grenades around his waist, his eyes dazed and a comical grin on his face. He staggered from one patient to the next, bent down to dress a shoulder wound, then took a swig from the bottle of alcohol. Lord, he was drinking it. He was bloody drunk.

I quickly unclipped his ammo belt. ‘Bloody idiot. You’ll blow us all to smithereens.’

‘Sorry, Gertie. Dutch courage.’ He grinned impishly.

I moved to another man with a nasty thigh wound. ‘Lucky. The bullet missed the artery—could’ve been far worse.’ But he wasn’t fazed. Hard as nails, most of them. ‘Get the wounded into the trucks,’ I said. ‘Be ready to move out.’

Schley and Alsop dumped their kit in the bus, and Schley offered me a cigar. ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking one. I sat down, lit it with my lighter, and the three of us puffed away in silence. It was casual, almost pleasant, yet complete madness knowing the enemy was probably closing in. Had Tardi received our call for help? Gunfire echoed in the distance. Rifle shots.

‘Tardi!’ I clenched the cigar between my teeth and yelled to the rest of the men, ‘Fall back!’ I jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Tardi had probably come just in time.

* * *

That evening, after regrouping, Tardi arrived with his men, all unscathed.

‘Aren’t you glad you gave me all those Bren guns?’ he said, a boyish grin creasing his face.

I couldn’t help but smile, albeit briefly. ‘Thanks, Tardi.’ Relief washed over me, but before we could move forward, there was a pressing matter that weighed on my mind—the dead.