by Ian Lindsey
“Before the war I would never have taken the tube.” Simone admitted guiltily.
“The war has changed us all, henceforth and forevermore.” Jack mumbled in reply as if he were repeating something someone else had said.
“Two years ago I was contentedly studying art history.” Anne said. “Now I think I’ll go back to school and change to medicine. I see its power to heal now, the opposite of this bloody war. Funny, I just thought of that.” She laughed slightly at herself. “And here I am, walking towards Buckingham Palace with a fantastic art collection. I just can’t bring myself to care. We didn’t get to see much of it when we saw the king and I don’t mind so much now.”
“You saw the king?” Jack asked, incredulously.
“Yes, with the boys.” Clara responded somewhat sheepishly. It was amazing, but it also made her long for Dylan.
“Well, I would have thought that’s a story you would have shared earlier.” Jack said as he looked at his sister with a reproving frown.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t long ago, but it feels like ages. The king greeted us warmly and clearly felt strongly about the information the twins gave him. He’s as worried as we are, and hopefully he can do something about it.” Anne answered.
“Well, if you’ve been to Buckingham Palace, then let's move along to Westminster.” Jack suggested. All agreed and they kept walking past the guards in their tall black fur hats and red uniforms.
“Simone!” The quartet heard from behind. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” As they turned all saw Maggie waving happily in their direction. “What on earth are you doing down here?” She finished.
“We were headed to Parliament to have a look around.” Simone answered. “This is Clara, Timothy’s sister. This is another friend of ours, from Canada, Anne Fields and her brother Jack.” Simone continued by way of introductions.
“A pleasure to meet you all.” Maggie replied, with a sideways glance at Jack admiring either his uniform or the man inside it. “I’m just coming from the war department. Father is doing some job there and he’s asked me to fill in for his secretary this morning while her husband is home on leave.”
“How very kind of you.” Jack returned the glance and comment charmingly. “What does your father do for the war department?”
“He works for a department on Baker Street, but I can’t tell you much other than that.” Maggie answered.
“Ah, excellent. I know of the group. The Baker Street Irregulars. We fed them information while I was in France and they gave us back very useful information as well.” Jack replied in a way that implied he knew the function of the department without letting his mouth runaway with itself. In fact, Baker Street was the headquarters of the Special Operations Executive, or the SOE. The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare was in charge of espionage, sabotage, and raiding parties. There was precious little they could do now to stop the Luftwaffe as it flew overhead, but any network of informants tipping off bombers taking off or saboteurs disabling ground equipment or airfields could help tilt the odds on any given day.
“Father just pops in on them. He keeps an eye on the group as a member of the House of Lords for Uncle Winston.”
“Uncle Winston?” Anne asked.
“She does mean Churchill.” Simone giggled. “Their families are old friends.”
“It does seem odd, we’ve known him since we were little girls.” Maggie said.
“Nothing surprises me anymore.” Jack laughed. “First the king and now the Prime Minister. Anne, we are out of our league here. We’re used to running around a ranch!”
Anne and Clara exchanged glances, as they had for most of the morning. They’d enjoyed the distraction, but every time they glanced at each other both thought a variation on the same thing: I’d rather be with my love.
***
As they drew closer, the coastal town of Carentan seemed almost deserted. With no one to ask for directions in their dead giveaway English, and only a smattering of German and no French, the two followed a wide canal further south and west from the coast until they found a main thoroughfare. The twins slouched in to town as inconspicuously as they could, and managed to avoid arousing any suspicion mostly because they only saw a group of school girls and an older couple walking through the square as they made their way to what they hoped was the center of town and the town square. As soon as they crossed the canal (which they had no idea the name, all the signs had been removed to slow the Germans, and not replaced to slow any future British invasion) Payton spotted the spire towering over the flat brick buildings that constituted the urban core of Carentan.
As they shambled down the road they hoped led to the church, the twins passed a monument about 20 feet high. On the top of the pedestal stood a winged goddess wearing a helmet and wrapped in traditional robes. She reached forward with her right hand as if urging the twins on in their journey.
“Perhaps that is lady liberty herself. Place de La République, Carentan it says.” Dylan muttered lightheartedly.
“I don’t think so.” Payton answered quietly in case anyone was within earshot. “The only part I can make out on the statue base is ‘La France, 1916-1918.’ That means it must have something to do with the Great War. I think she’s raising her hand in victory.” He observed as they continued on without stopping.
A few minutes after they passed the monument they came upon a massive stone church. Romanesque arches and peaked windows nearly covered the front façade as the spire stretched out to the sky from the middle of the building. Built in the 11th century, Notre Dame de Carentan still left the twins awestruck as an exquisite piece of architecture. Columns and carvings ornately decorated nearly every inch of the church and the roofline was magnificently decorated in front of several smaller arched peaks coming off the main roofline like freshly dug rows in a field waiting to be planted. At the main peak above a stunning large window which must have shed light on the main nave of the church, stood a statue of an angel, a cherub really, so small and innocent that it surely hadn’t noticed the war around it. The conical shaped spire stood maybe four stories high at the peak, but still stood high above the rest of the mostly squat coastal town. Without saying a word the twins agreed that it was indeed a magnificent piece of medieval architecture, and the perfect place to celebrate Jesus Christ. They took a moment of prayer, without interrupting each other. They prayed that the other would make it out alive, and that they would make it both back to England for their beloveds, but also someday back to Oregon in a world at peace. A sense of calm settled over them, and as if on cue, they headed for the west door, the main entry to the church.
At best, they sought a friendly, English speaking priest. At worst, they hoped no one was inside, but of course it could be much worse if Wehrmacht soldiers took the time to seek communion or confession. As they approached the door, Dylan stopped momentarily
“Should we both go in, or should one of us keep a lookout here in case something goes wrong?” he queried his brother.
“We are in France, so the Musketeer motto shall rule, All for one and one for all.” Payton replied glibly. “In we go, and pray for the best.”
Payton pushed open the massive church door and walked in as naturally as he could muster. At first, the church was quiet and dark. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light and their ears adjusted out of the wind they could see the large nave, and the door to a small vestry off the side, but still no one to be seen or heard. Not wanting to rouse anyone for any reason, the twins remained silent. Payton thought about the layout of the church they observed from outside and took a guess at the general location of the stairs to the central spire. After motioning Dylan to follow, he strode down the right side of the pews and found a small door where he’d expected. Out of sheer luck, he found after opening the door quietly, Payton did indeed find the stairs leading skyward.
Dylan followed his brother through the door and closed it quietly behind him, not at all impressed that his brother found the stairs so quickly
. Taking the stairs two at a time the boys reached the landing atop the church before the spire began to narrow. They could go no higher. Feeling relatively sure no one could hear him, Dylan took his turn in charge.
“You look west out over the town, and I’ll look east. Stay low so we aren’t spotted, and then circle round clockwise back to the door. I’ll go the opposite to minimize our exposure.” Dylan instructed. Without hesitation Payton nodded agreement and followed his brother out on to the landing. Dylan followed his circuit quickly, keeping his head down and noting anything of interest. As he scanned down near the statue they’d passed his heart sank. What appeared to be company of Wehrmacht soldiers marched in their direction and began to spread out in search of something. He hoped it wasn’t them.
With only his eyes over the parapet, Payton quickly scanned out towards the ocean, and then worked his way around his side of the spire. He didn’t see the soldier that Dylan spotted, but he stopped, nearly frozen and dumbstruck for a moment before as he followed a small road out towards the sea and a small truck bumping up the road towards the town. He quickly pulled out the Zeiss binoculars to confirm his first intuition about the redhead in the truck. With only a moment to recover he scurried back to door and met Dylan.
“I think we’re in trouble.” Dylan reported first. “There’s a company of soldiers headed directly to the church.”
Still a little dazed from his discovery, Payton answered “I think I saw Timothy in a truck coming up the road from the beach.
Chapter 29
July 18th, 1940
“Thank you, Monsieur Henri, for the ride in to town.” Timothy said in nearly flawless French to his host driving the truck. The man was not much older than Timothy, but his hard blue eyes indicated the daily strain of fighting the Germans. He was tall and lean with wavy dark brown hair offsetting the blue eyes.
“You are most welcome, Monsieur O’Ryan. The Parisians would never say so, but your French is excellent. Where did you learn it?” his host asked.
“Mostly from pirates and thieves, sir, but also a little bit at Trinity College.”
Timothy joked.
“Funny thing about languages, one learns to speak them best out of school, and please call me Joseph.” Monsieur Henri replied in perfectly clipped public school English.
“The pleasure is mine, Joseph. Please call me Timothy. Where did you learn your
English?” Timothy inquired.
“Oxford. Papa was determined to give us all a worldly education. My sister,
thankfully and Bless the Lord for it, is studying safely in Canada at the moment, at McGill.” Joseph answered.
“I just met someone from McGill. Ann Fields, she’s the girl of one of my
American mates flying spitfires.” Timothy thought out loud, wondering at the connection.
“I know that name!” Joseph nearly shouted, his heard eyes softening with a bit of
glitter behind them. “She’s friends with my sister. They study together. At least that’s what the letters home say.”
“Small world, and getting smaller.” Timothy answered before looking ahead on the road.
Several German soldiers stood in their path, erecting a crude roadblock.
“No trouble, I’m sure.” Joseph said without conviction.
As they slowed to a halt next to a Wehrmacht corporal he motioned for them to turn off the engine and get out of the car.
“Papers, please.” The Coporal demanded imperiously. Joseph handed his papers over easily, as they were authentic German issued papers showing him to be a resident and farmer who occasionally brought his produce in to town for sale or use by the Germans.
Timothy, just as casually handed his papers over as well. Joseph Henri admired the nonchalance with which Timothy handed over his surely forged papers. Of course, Joseph didn’t know that Timothy had been dealing in forged papers for his whole life, or that these papers were the very best available. Timothy’s papers probably looked more authentic than Joseph’s. Whether German identity papers, or forged shipment manifests for their wine, or even officially stamped customs papers for whiskey delivered across the English Channel, Timothy had seen them all and knew he would have no trouble with this German conscript.
However, Timothy occasionally took a sideways glance and warily eyed the fat sergeant sitting to the side of the road on a tree stump. Timothy fervently hoped the red nose on the man meant his hangover could be counted on to keep him from rising off his stump to search the back of the truck. If he opened the flap and looked more than two boxed deep the load of Enfield Rifles, hand grenades, and two radio sets might get them shot immediately, or worse yet taken to the SS for interrogation.
Both the actual Frenchman and the masquerading Frenchman showed just the right amount of deference and irritation to the Corporal as he handed both of their papers back to them and waved them on.
Just down the road, Timothy sighed in French “Monsieur, we had a bit o luck there. Best get in to town and rid ourselves of this cargo. I’ve never seen a roadblock there before. Any idea as to why?”
“I heard two soldiers were shot up in Le Havre a couple of days ago, and the culprits escaped. The search may have expanded to here if they are still on the loose.” Joseph guessed.
“Interesting.” Timothy answered. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Anyone who shot a German must be on our side.”
“Yes, perhaps.” Joseph answered without another thought to the subject. “Carentan is ahead. We are almost there. You can see the church spire in the distance. Our destination is up the block from there.”
***
“Who gets here first, Timothy or the soldiers?” Dylan asked immediately.
“Let’s hope Timothy, but for now we need to get out of this tower and out of sight.” Payton answered as we slipped back through the door to the stairs. Dylan never hesitated and followed his brother as they bounded down the stairs twice as fast as they had climbed them. The ruckus caused an elderly priest to investigate, and he nearly ran in to the twins as they opened the door in to the nave. Both boys grinned awkwardly at the kindly looking grey haired man and prayed hard that he would not raise any sort of alarm. The priest simply raised his hand, and made the sign of the cross blessing both boys without a word. Using their limited French, both boys mumbled “Merci.” and quickly marched to the front of the church. After clearing his throat to get their attention, the priest pointed toward the vestry, indicating a better way to exit.
The twins followed his instructions and exited in to a small side court fenced off from the ally. The gate door provided access to the ally, so the twins took a moment to listen for any telltale noises before slowly easing the gate open. They resumed their casual saunter up the ally, hoping no one noticed two workmen out strolling in the middle of the work day. As they neared the end of the ally they began to hear sounds that reminded them of their days at Westpoint: marching boots.
“Back up the alley?” Payton asked.
“Maybe they are a block over, let me peak around the corner to see.” Dylan answered, and began to edge around the corner. Peering ever so briefly around the corner, Dylan saw an empty street. “Come on.” He said to Payton before fully turning the corner and moving off with his head down.
Half way down the block Payton muttered “Might not have been our best choice, the boots sound like they are getting closer.”
At just that moment, salvation appeared. The truck that Payton had seen from the church rounded the corner just in front of them. Payton recognized Timothy in the front seat as easily as he would recognize is brother. He grabbed Dylan and ordered a touch too loudly “Run!” but it came out as more of a grunt than anything.
Understanding his brother, and seeing the opportunity, Dylan scrambled to get even with his brother’s head start as they ran for the back of the truck that began accelerating out of the corner. This was their only opportunity to catch the truck. If it pulled away they’d be stranded.
Payt
on jumped on to the bumper with one hand firmly on the bar holding up the canvas cover while he held out his other hand to drag his brother up. Their hands clasped and the combined momentum catapulted Dylan in to the tiny gap between the tailgate and the false front of produce. Payton quickly occupied the rest of the opening and pulled the flap shut over him.
Dylan snuck a look outside the flap to see that their escape had indeed been by the skin of their teeth. He saw the first of the soldiers appear around the corner opposite from where the truck had come. The soldiers began to spread out over the street and quickly made their way up the ally and in to the church.
To the twins dismay, the truck stopped not much more than a couple blocks from the church. They heard the driver downshift, and felt him pull in to another ally before hearing a large door open and the echo of a garage before the engine shut off.
“Best get out before we surprise poor Timothy and get ourselves shot.” Dylan surmised as soon as the engine had died. “Hold your hands up and go to the passenger side, in case the driver is jumpy.” He finished.
The twins hustled out of their cramped, short lived escape truck and turned the back corner of the truck just as Timothy stepped down from the cab of the truck.
“Hello Timothy, good to see you again!” Payton said as casually as if in the bar of the Savoy.
“Oh Bloody hell! What are you doing here?” Timothy asked, flabbergasted, before regaining his composure. “It is nice to see you, but better circumstances might have been nice. How on earth did you get here?”
“We might ask you the same, but I’m guessing there are more than groceries in the back of the truck, so that might explain you.” Payton offered.
“True, guns and such in the back.” Timothy answered.
As Timothy finished Joseph stuck a pistol in Payton’s back. “Keep your hands in the air, both of you.” He said in his perfect English.
“You can put the gun away, Joseph. May I present to you the chaps I spoke of earlier, Messrs. Anders. Your gun is in the back of Payton and Dylan, over there inching toward you to try and knock you unconscious with whatever implement is up his sleeve, is his brother. Gents, this is Monsieur Joseph Henri.”