Liberation

  “Hardly think that’s likely. But I’ll try.” He rocked against her, his hands in his pockets. “I’d rather you didn’t die though.”

  “I’m touched.”

  She stood up and checked her watch. Time to get something to eat and maybe sleep for twenty minutes before drilling the men.

  “Nancy, how did you know the Spaniards would volunteer?” Denden asked, looking at her with his head on one side. “Tardivat was always going to. He seems to have adopted us, the funny old stick. Fournier would never stay here, he’d lose too much face. But the Spaniards?”

  She shrugged. “They owe me. But what are you getting at, Denden?”

  “I’m getting at the fact that you are, dear girl, something of a trick cyclist yourself. You are taking with you the only five men in this group who have some military experience, but you made it seem as if it all just happened by accident.”

  31

  Rain. Rain. Rain. Sometimes the Auvergne felt more like England than France given the weather, and this was only the start. As the daylight faded they could all see the thunderclouds forming above the extinct volcanoes like the memory of ash clouds, the flickers of lightning flashing the sunset. Water gurgled through the thin soil of the pine forests, and roared and plunged among the mixed sections of oak and beech.

  The men had learned the map and knew the plan. None of them had had much experience with explosives, other than Nancy back in Britain. She handed out the blocks of TNT and the time pencils to fire them, and took them through the basics. They were certainly paying attention this evening. Even Fournier—though as a sniper he didn’t get to play with the explosives—couldn’t resist shuffling closer to listen as she explained how to crush the tip of the pencil to set it going, and where to place the charge.

  The minute they were out of sight of the camp, something changed. A feeling in the air and in Nancy’s blood, that at first she couldn’t place, couldn’t recognize. She thought of that last night in Piccadilly, heading out with her makeup and best dress on, knowing she’d be spending the next hours with her friends, drinking champagne and causing as much trouble as she could manage. That was it—she was excited. And the men around her were too.

  The light had almost faded from the sky when they turned off the main path to make their way quietly through a dense patch of woodland. The compound was on the edge of the town, and there was always a chance of running into someone in the woods the nearer they got, though in this weather Nancy reckoned most people would stay home.

  The rain had soaked her hair and she could feel the chill kiss of it on her neck, but the forest floor was slick, not muddy, and the constant smatter of rain on the leaves covered the sound of their approach. The world smelled fresh, full of vegetable growth. Nancy lifted her hand as she spotted the lights of the compound through the trees. She had bicycled past here twice since her chat with Madame Hubert, both times in her disguise as an ordinary French housewife with her string bag over her handlebars, exchanging smiles with the guards.

  Her informant certainly had keen eyes. As she had said, there were six guards: two at the gate, two patrolling singly around the perimeter and two taking their ease inside the building. The tower itself, a lacework of steel bars needling into the sky, was anchored in three places with steel guy ropes fixed in reinforced concrete blocks. The single-story main building was roughly divided into three: the generator room, the main transmitter room and then a couple of offices with a garage round the back.

  The six of them stood in the rain, looking down on it.

  “Are you ready?” Nancy said.

  “Yes.” They each said it, no sarcasm, no rolling of the eyes. Like greyhounds straining at the leash.

  It was a simple plan. Fournier would take a position Nancy had scouted out for him a hundred yards down the road, splitting his role between watching their backs during the attack and disrupting any reinforcements coming from the barracks building in the town. If things went well, he’d just sit on his arse, wet and uncomfortable in the branches of an oak watching them take out the whole place. They’d be back into the woods before the Germans knew what was happening. A nice idea, but unlikely. Nancy’s instructors had drilled it into her head often enough: things never went that well.

  Mateo, Rodrigo and Juan were in charge of taking out the guards patrolling the perimeter and placing the charges on the three concrete blocks holding the transmitter tower in place. Nancy and Tardivat would take the guards on the gates silently, then either sneak into the building and plant charges or smash the windows of the transmitter and generator rooms and chuck in grenades to destroy the equipment. What could go wrong?

  Everything. But this—this was what she had trained for. This was what she wanted. She thought of that nameless Jew she’d seen whipped through the streets of Vienna; the boy, his brains scattered over the cobbles of the Old Quarter in Marseille. This was for them.

  “Get into position, Fournier,” she said.

  He slung his rifle over his shoulder and disappeared into the darkness. Five slow minutes passed, then they heard a low whistle—his signal he was in place. Nancy lifted her binoculars and watched the patrolling guards pass the main gates. You could tell their mood from their walk, rain capes hanging sodden round their shoulders, collars up, heads down, casting envious looks at their two colleagues protected from the thundering rain by their guard boxes either side of the gate. They walked slowly, bored, miserable and deafened by the rain. Good. They passed out of the lights at the main gate.

  “Mateo, go!”

  The three Spaniards melted into the darkness.

  Nancy waited. Five minutes she had told them. Five minutes to take them out, and cut the links of the chain fence. Then she and Tardivat would take the two guards out front. Her heart pulsed hard as a flash of lightning in the mountain behind her cast a wash of light over the compound. A long roll of thunder bounced off the hills behind them.

  “Time to go, Tardi,” she said.

  He headed to the north edge of the compound, she to the south. The storm was helping them. The darkness seemed even thicker after every flash of lightning. As the thunder crashed, she ran across the road, keeping low and keeping her eyes on the soldiers at the main gate. A cry, short and suddenly cut off from the west. No gunfire. The guards on the gate had heard it though; they raised their rifles, stepping out of their pillboxes. Nancy was at the very edge of the darkness now. She could see the face of the guard nearest to her, the rain running down his pale cheeks, the blond hair darkened with water just visible under his helmet.

  “What is happening?” he called into the night.

  Nothing answered him but the sound of the storm. He stared out into the darkness, blinking, and Nancy moved low and quick to get behind him, her knife in her hand.

  On the north side of the gate Tardivat reared out of the darkness, got his arm around the neck of the other guard and sliced his throat. Nancy came forward fast, but some instinct made the guard in front of her turn her way.

  She hesitated, staring into his dark blue eyes, then charged. He used the barrel of his rifle to block the knife blow, jarring her wrist. She used her left to punch him hard in his jaw, but he grabbed at her as she went down, dragging her under him. He had his weight on her, his hand grasped around her knife hand, forcing the blade toward her neck. He was winning, she could feel the blade beginning to press. Another flash of lightning and she looked straight into his eyes. She realized that he was more frightened than she was, registered his shock as he saw he had his knife to a woman’s throat.

  The thunder came again, and before she had even heard the crack of Fournier’s rifle she felt the German’s limbs go slack, and a spray of blood hit her full in the face.

  She shoved the body off her and was on her feet again before Tardivat reached her side. They ran through the gates and into the compound in a low crouch, heading toward the main building across the grass. The main door opened, they flattened themselves against the rough concrete wall.
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  A German officer stared blinking out into the rain, his hand on his holster. The lightning flashed, and Nancy saw him jerk forward as he saw the bodies of his guards. He turned back into the building.

  “We’re under attack! Call for reinforcements!”

  There was another crack from Fournier’s nest, not disguised by the thunder this time, and the German fell backward into the hallway. Nancy swung away from the wall, stepped over his body and through the door, going left into the generator room.

  Ugly thing. A mass of iron, painted dark green, bulging with thick tubing which looked like muscles, chuntering away to itself with a low chugging rhythm. She closed the door behind her and felt a twitch of pleasure. It stank of oil. They’d shown her exactly where to place the charges on beasts like these during training. She used three of her one-pound blocks of TNT, jamming them close to its soft underbelly, selected a time pencil that should give her four minutes to get clear and pinched the top of the tube to get it going.

  Just as she did, she heard a crump outside which no one could mistake for thunder. The percussive blast, the sounds of shattered concrete thrown up into the air and against the rear of the building, a deep metallic groan which shook the building as the huge transmitter tower shifted.

  On the other side of the door she could hear orders being screamed into telephones, and shots from inside the building. She lifted her head to glance at the entrance, dragged a chair over from the desk in the far corner and forced it under the door, then smashed the window.

  She still had three minutes.

  As soon as she broke the glass a bullet flew through the opening and ricocheted off the metal carcass of the generator. She ducked, covering her head, and heard the bullet bury itself in the wall above her.

  She switched off the lights in the room and took her chances, using the thick wool of her sleeves to protect her palms from the glass as she vaulted out of the window under the thin whine of another bullet.

  There was a second explosion outside, and that metallic groan again. Two of the three concrete anchors of the tower were gone. The lightning flashed as she twisted round to see the tower lurch forward, held now at only one point, to the rear of the building. Time to get going. She went south, heading for the gap Mateo was supposed to have cut through the fence.

  Two minutes.

  Lightning flashed. She saw the neat slice up the wire in front of her and raced toward it, but was tackled from behind and brought down full length. She kicked out, twisting. Another guard, older and heavier and all muscle by the feel of him.

  She reached for her knife, but he struck out hard and fast enough at her wrist to send it flying.

  One minute. Fuck.

  He sprawled on top of her, got his hands around her throat and reared out of reach as she tried to go for his eyes. The pressure on her throat increased. Black spots appeared in front of her eyes. Fight, Nancy. She tried to punch him in the stomach, but his heavy coat was protecting him.

  The block of TNT in the generator room exploded with a force that shook the ground under them.

  Nancy’s guard slackened his grip and the force of the blast made him bow over her. He was in reach. She did not hesitate this time.

  The side of her hand caught him exactly where it was supposed to, crushing his windpipe. He didn’t even have time to cry out, just a rattling gasp and a look of shock and hurt on his face. She pushed him off her. Another charge exploded—Tardi’s TNT in the main transmitter equipment room. Smoke poured from the shattered windows and she could see flames flickering through the remains of the roof.

  An engine roared behind her and she spun round to see an old army bus careening across the grass, straight at her. She pulled out her revolver.

  “Captain! Come on!” A Spanish accent.

  Arms reached out for her from the passenger side. She caught a glimpse of Tardivat in the driver’s seat. She didn’t need to be asked twice. She grabbed Mateo’s wrist, stepped up the wheel and let him haul her in.

  Tardivat ground the gears and swung out of the main gates heading north as bullets struck the sides of the bus. He flicked the headlights then switched them off and put his foot down.

  Another massive crump as the last charge exploded behind them. Nancy ran through the bus to the back window and watched as, with a final tear of metal, the transmitter tower fell forward, bursting apart the flaming ruin of the building and crashing across the road behind them.

  Tardi slowed the bus to a crawl and flicked on the headlights again in time to catch Fournier as he charged down the slope, his rifle held above his head, yelling with delight. They hauled him in, Tardivat sped up and they disappeared into the thunderclouds.

  32

  The bus had taken damage as they fled. It sighed, groaned and near the camp at the base of the upper slopes, it gave up completely. They shoved it off the road and cut brush to camouflage it, then hiked the rest of the way back to camp. The storm had passed and the men were waiting up under their dripping tarpaulin shelters like anxious parents.

  “We’re home, you fuckers!” Fournier said. “All of us!”

  They cheered. His excitement drove the damp and fear out of the place. Denden flung his arms around Nancy, nearly squeezing the life out of her. Handshakes, back slaps, punching the Spanish guys on the arm and mussing their hair. They looked happy. Then Fournier produced a crate of wine from some secret stock of his own, and under the dripping covers on the edge of the wood he told and retold the story of the raid, and the others sat goggle-eyed with excitement as they listened.

  Nancy drank and watched Fournier, his surging delight. He was a bloody good storyteller.

  “I saw her through my sights, boys. But too many trees, too much movement not a thing I could do about it.” He mimed peering through the dark, wiping the rain out of his eyes. “I’m there thinking, shit, she’s going to get throttled. Just when I thought I might be getting to like her, that fat kraut’s going to choke her to death.” Pause for laughter. “Then BOOM, right behind her the generator blows. Kraut’s a bit surprised, and BOOM. She strikes like a fucking cobra, I’m telling you. Right hand to his neck and he is DONE!” The men cheered. “She killed that big German bastard with one blow. I thought his head was going to pop off and just bounce along the ground… boing, boing… boing…”

  More laughter. Fournier put out his arms, bottle in one hand, and looked right to left. They all leaned forward and he lowered his voice.

  “I thought this was rough.” He pointed to the burn scar on his cheek, then lifted his voice to a roar like a music hall comedian. “Turns out it’s just her version of a little kiss!”

  The men hollered now, started twisting round toward Nancy.

  Fournier lifted his bottle toward her.

  “So do your homework, boys! Captain Wake!”

  They all raised their mugs and mess tins and Nancy lifted her half-empty bottle in acknowledgment.

  “Hey, Denden. Think we’ll be able to get Radio Londres a bit more clearly now?” she asked.

  “Oh, I should think so!”

  He switched on the set. Crystal clear. And God bless ’em, they were playing the new anthem of the Maquis. Half of the lads sprang to their feet linking arms and spinning each other around. Nancy couldn’t tell if they were dancing or wrestling. They probably couldn’t either.

  She watched for a minute or two, then ducked out from under the tarpaulin back into the peace outside. The thunderstorm had left the air cool and fresh and the moon hung above them, a thickening crescent. She looked down at her hands.

  “That was your first kill, no?” It was Tardivat, like her, pulling away from the crowd.

  No point in lying to him. And she owed him. He brought her here after all, lied to Gaspard to save her neck, volunteered for the mission.

  “Yes, it was. You know, when I was in Marseille my husband used to take me to get my nails done every Monday. He wouldn’t even recognize these hands.”

  Tardi blew a cloud of smoke
into the pale moonlight.

  “Were you afraid?”

  She had to think about it. “No. Not even when I thought I was going to die. I was glad somehow… to be actually fighting. It all happened so fast, and I was angry at myself. Angry for dropping the knife, for hesitating with the first guard. But not scared. Thrilled.” Yes, that was the right word. Jesus. “It was thrilling. That’s not normal, is it, Tardi?”

  Another of those shrugs. “We are at war. Nothing is normal. Normal will get you killed. Normal will make a man a collaborator. Normal is no use to anyone.” He seemed to catch himself and took a long breath. “Your plan was good. Setting the charges on the blocks like that so they would draw the guards out of the building, then the last charge dropping the tower across the road. A good plan. We should all be grateful you enjoy your work.”

  She wanted to protest. Yes, planning and executing the mission was… great, no doubt, but the killing… she wanted to tell him she did not like the killing at all. She was glad to survive, yes, and it had been exciting, but what sort of person takes pleasure in killing? Only the sort of person she wanted to wipe off the face of the earth. Her head spun.

  “NanCYYY!” Denden stumbled out into the darkness, a bottle in his hand, and Tardivat melted off into the forest before Nancy had a chance to say anything at all. “NanCYYYY!!”

  She stepped forward. “I’m here, you idiot. No need to bring the whole bloody German army down on us.”

  He came toward her stumbling a bit and giggling.

  “A total victory, darling.” He put his arm around her. “Want to do something foolish?”

  She had to trust him, but up on the promontory west of the camp, with a length of rope wrapped around her forearms, the other end tied around a chestnut tree twenty feet back from the edge, the idea looked not just foolish but completely insane.

  “You want us to lean out over the edge of the cliff?” Nancy said.