by Lee Jackson
A man approached him. “I am Phillippe,” he said. “Two people here are anxious to see you.”
Phillippe stepped aside, and there, with shining, tearful eyes and broken smiles, stood Amélie and Chantal. They rushed to their father and flung their arms around his neck. Phillippe and the rest of the group moved quietly to another part of the cellar to allow the Bouliers a private visit.
After the initial shock of seeing his daughters, Ferrand stood back to look at them. “You’re both maturing so fast. Chantal, look at you. You’re becoming a young woman.” He drew her head close to his chest while his eyes searched Amélie. “And you,” he said, his voice wavering. “I can see in your eyes that you’ve aged—too much.”
He wiped his eyes and hugged her again with his free arm. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. “It’s too dangerous.”
“None of us should be here,” Chantal said, looking up at her father’s face while holding his embrace. “We should be in our homes, safe and living our lives.”
“But you’re still a child.”
“She’s grown up, Papa,” Amélie interjected. “Faster than we would have liked, but as she points out, that’s the reality of this war.”
“I’m going to fight, Papa,” Chantal said. “I told them that if they wouldn’t let me come that I would join another Resistance group.”
“You should hear about the things she’s been doing,” Amélie said. She related all that Maurice had taught Chantal and the surveillance she had carried out.
Ferrand put both arms around Chantal and swayed back and forth with her. “This is not right,” he said, “this is not right. You should be in school. You’re still my little girl.”
He turned to Amélie. “What are you doing here? Neither of you should have come.”
“Papa, I have some things to tell you.” When Amélie had finished describing her previous trip to Dinard to establish contact with Jeannie and then her training with SOE and MI-9, he once again held her close. “I’m so proud of both of you,” he whispered, “and so scared for you.” He pulled back to look at them again, rubbing moist eyes with the back of his fist. “And I could not ask for a better Christmas.”
Everyone slept on cots in the cellar that night. The next morning, they ate breakfast brought to them by an old man and his wife who lived in the house above them. The couple greeted each person, and then returned upstairs.
Nicolas cautioned the group to enter and exit from the barn and to go into the house only for food and personal hygiene. “Our hosts are determined to help the Resistance,” he said as they ate, “but there’s not much they can do besides let us use this space. We contacted them through our Boulier network, and they’re tied into a local group that’s pulling security around the farm. The location’s good because it’s not far from Dinard, and the area has been in decline for several years, so les Boches don’t pay it much attention.
“When coming or leaving through the barn, we have good concealment into the woods. From there we can make it to roads unobtrusively.”
“Let’s be clear,” Phillippe said when they had removed the breakfast dishes. “We have three primary things to do. The first is to extract Jeannie. Secondly, to do that, we will have to dispose of Bergmann one way or another, and we’ll have to do it in a way that does not start an investigation. And finally, we want to find out if Meier is approachable. Is there a German resistance, and is he working with it?”
Startled, Ferrand snapped toward him. “Could there be such a thing?”
Phillippe shrugged. “We don’t know for sure, but there is friction between Hitler and his generals. They can’t be happy with where he is taking Germany. They might not see working against him as a betrayal of their country.” He paused. “We can hope.”
Ferrand contemplated the thought. “Do we have a timetable?”
Phillippe shook his head. “I’ll visit Jeannie this afternoon and find out how things are now. The latest word from London is that she’s under increased threat from this man, Bergmann.” He spat out the name. “She confirmed that to me a week ago.”
“The threat is real,” Ferrand growled. “The bastard is relentless, and he likes taking down innocent people to get what he wants. If he’s after her—” He gestured toward Amélie and Chantal. “He’s the one who drove us from our home.”
“I heard the story,” Phillippe said.
“Are we going to kill Bergmann?” Chantal blurted.
All eyes swung to her, and she was suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. That popped into my head.” She squirmed and giggled nervously. “I just don’t see any other way of stopping him.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about these things in front of one so young,” Ferrand protested. “Can’t she go somewhere else while we have these discussions?”
“No!” Chantal’s voice rang fiercely, and she half-rose to her feet. She turned to her father. “You must stop thinking of me as a child. What happens if some or all of you are killed? Will the Nazis go away? You know they won’t, and the war will go on, and young, untrained people will have to fight it.” She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “You don’t like it, and I don’t like it either, but we’re in it, and I need to know what’s going on. I’m staying.” She leaned over and kissed Ferrand’s cheek. “And I love you.”
He heaved a sigh and nodded with eyes closed. “I just dislike planning a murder in front of my daughters.”
“It’s not a murder, Papa,” Amélie broke in. “If he gets his hands on Jeannie, he’ll torture her, and many other people could die. She can’t count on Meier’s protection indefinitely. I don’t see that we have a choice. Remember our friends that he executed trying to find you. The moral failing would be not stopping him by whatever means.”
“I don’t disagree,” Ferrand said in a tired, faraway voice. “I just wish my daughters were not involved. Your mother—”
“Would be proud of how you raised us, protected us, got us to a safe place, and organized the Boulier network. You’re guilty of nothing but goodness, Papa, and many people already owe you their lives—” She paused as her voice broke, and tears formed. “Including Jeremy.”
Ferrand smiled softly and put his arm around Amélie. “Ah, Jeremy. He’s a good man. A great man. He came back to save my life.” He chuckled. “If he asks you to marry him, you have my permission, but I want to be there.”
Amélie blushed. “Stop, Papa. He’s already proposed. I told him he had to ask your permission, and I wouldn’t do it while this war is on.”
Ferrand smiled. “Don’t put that condition on yourself, my sweet. Who knows how long this war will go on or who’ll be alive at the end of it?”
For a time, everyone remained silent. Then Phillippe said, “Your daughters are right about Bergmann, Ferrand. He has to go, but it has to look like a bona fide accident.”
Ferrand sighed. “All my life, I’ve believed in doing the right thing, of abiding by the law. I’ve tried to do that and to teach my daughters the same. Now, our government is dissolved, we have no police, no courts, an enemy rules us, and we are left to protect ourselves with few weapons.” He heaved another sigh, and his eyes expressed painful regret. “I’m sorry to say that I agree with you, but—” He turned his attention to Amélie and Chantal. “Know this: if fair law and true justice ever return to our beautiful country, I will never agree to go outside of it. I hope you feel the same way.”
He paused and then said to Phillippe, “Indulge me a little. I agree with you concerning Bergmann, but whatever action we carry out, I’d like to think that we followed some form of legal procedure. Therefore, I propose to try him in absentia right here, right now.”
Surprised, Phillippe frowned as he contemplated Ferrand’s suggestion. “I guess we could do that. We have no judge, no witnesses other than you and your family, and he has no one to defend him.”
“We have to be better than them,” Ferrand urged. “Bergmann summarily executed our friends and neighbors.
Out of respect for them and future generations, we must preserve the idea of law that treats everyone fairly and equally; and that we follow a legal procedure to reach decisions and carry them out.”
Phillippe nodded. “All right then, let’s do it.”
The trial took a day. The old man who owned the house acted as the judge. Two members of the local Resistance with legal backgrounds performed as prosecutor and defense respectively, and a jury formed from the same group.
“This cannot be perfunctory,” Ferrand warned. “If we are to preserve the law for the benefit of France, then we must conduct this intending to find truth and justice. If we go in with a pre-conceived outcome, we will defeat our purpose.”
He, Amélie, and Chantal testified to the events that occurred at their house the day that Bergmann’s soldier attempted to rape Chantal and the subsequent interrogations, arrests, reprisals, and executions. Cross-examination took place, with the prosecutor and defense delivering lively closing arguments. The jury deliberated in seclusion, and the verdict rendered: Guilty. Sentence: Death.
After the trial was complete and sentence meted, Phillippe once again focused attention on next steps. Meeting with his group again around the table in the wine cellar, he turned to Brigitte, the radio operator. “Make sure your signal is strong with London and Marseille and keep transmissions short. When I go this afternoon, I’d like to give Jeannie a way of communicating with us in an emergency. She won’t be able to call us. She has no courier—”
“I have an idea,” Amélie offered. “When I came here to make first contact with her, I sat in a café across the street from the German headquarters. She got the waiter to give me a note telling me how to meet with her. I remember that he was nervous about giving it to me, but he did it, so he’s probably sympathetic to the Resistance.”
“That’s good,” Phillippe said. “Work out the details with me before I go into Dinard.” He turned to Jacques and Nicolas. “I have no reason to distrust the security around us, but I don’t know the people in that group. Check them periodically but in a friendly way. If you see anything strange, let us know right away.” They both nodded.
Then he turned to Ferrand. “This is your network but my mission. Are you all right with that?”
Ferrand chuckled. “You’re the military man. I’m an amateur, a troublemaker.”
“You’re an inspiration,” Phillippe said. Then he looked around at the rest of the group. “We’re all risking our lives, and we’re working things out as we go along. We’ll develop a plan when I get back.” He paused. “If I don’t get back—”
Chantal gasped.
Phillippe glanced at her. “If I don’t return, Amélie knows how to find Jeannie, and you’ll have to develop a plan without me. Amélie, since Bergmann knows you by sight, you’ll need a good disguise. You should do that anyway. Dye your hair.
“You too, Chantal. But Jeannie must get out of there. She’s too valuable, and she knows too much, not the least of which is that there’s a network growing in Marseille.”
Amélie added, “She also knows it’s connected to the Boulier network in Dunkirk.”
Dinard, France
Jeannie could barely conceal her mixture of anxious thrill at seeing Phillippe when he knocked on the door that afternoon. She met him with her normal outward charm and poise, but she glanced up and down the street as she greeted him.
“You called about the electrical problem again?” he asked in a slightly raised voice for the benefit of anyone who might overhear them.
“Yes. I don’t know why it’s happening. Maybe because the house is getting old.” She let him in, closed the door, and led him into the living room. “Bergmann is closing in,” she said before they had even sat down, her voice steady but with a tone of anxiety. “He’s always around, peering at me. I told you I’d curtail my activities, but now I have no choice. He leaves me no room even to breathe.”
Phillippe studied her face. Classically beautiful as she was, she verged on being uncharacteristically frantic, the effect of months under enormous pressure and her only outlet being his infrequent visits. He took her hand and kissed it. “We have people here to get you out. When we develop the plan, I’ll be able to tell you only your part of it—”
“Of course.” Jeannie turned her big brown eyes on him. “I understand that. Just tell me what to do and when. But my parents—”
“They will not be implicated.” Phillippe rubbed her hand. “Our priority is your safety and theirs. Right now, tell me about Bergmann. What are his habits?”
Jeannie winced. “At the moment, his chief habit is watching me. I don’t know how he gets any other work done.”
“When does he get to the office and leave, and where does he stay? Does he have any favorite off-duty activities you know about? Where does he go to eat?”
Jeannie rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “I wish I could tell you, but I try to stay out of his way. I’ve heard him say that he likes to run along the cliffs by the sea in the evenings. There’s a path that goes along them above the shore. It’s splendid, but I can’t imagine that he goes there to enjoy the beauty. He’s rather proud of his physique, always wearing his uniform well-fitted to show it off. Otherwise, he just works. He’s there when I arrive in the morning, and he’s still there after I leave.”
She paused to process a thought. “He’s going on a two-week leave in a few days. That will be a welcome break. I don’t know where his home is, and to be honest, at this point, I don’t want to look it up.” She sniffed. “I bring my lunch now just so he won’t follow me to local cafés. I’ve stopped phoning friends for anything, to avoid dropping something inadvertently. In effect, I’ve become a prisoner of this job.”
“You’ve done amazing work, Jeannie. You’ve saved lives. Now we have to save yours. What about Meier?”
Jeannie let out a relieved sigh. “He’s my savior. I’m sure that if he were not around, Bergmann would have had me stretched on a rack and interrogated weeks ago.
“I told you that Meier’s a favorite of Rommel’s, who is a favorite of Hitler’s. That makes him a de facto favorite of Field Marshal Reichenau. How deep that goes with the field marshal, I don’t know, but as long as Hitler likes Rommel, Meier is safe. But the colonel is brazen in his disgust for the SS, the Gestapo, and Nazis in general. My sense of him is that he’s a military professional who loves his country. I’d say he’s from the ‘ours is not to reason why’ school, but the philosophy is wearing thin with him.”
“Could he be reached? Is it possible he’s part of a German resistance?”
Startled, Jeannie pulled back and stared at Phillippe with wide eyes. “I don’t know. The thought had never crossed my mind that there could even be such a thing, much less that Meier would be a member.” She let the thought settle. “If there is a German resistance, I could see him being part of it, but my sense right now is that he and Bergmann despise each other for personal reasons, and those are the nubs of the issues between them.”
Phillippe studied the face of this unusually gifted, intelligent, poised woman. “Will you be safe for a while? We’re only a few kilometers away, we’re armed, and the force is not large, but it’s capable.” He thought of the two old brothers, Ferrand and Claude; the two young and untrained but eager men, Jacques and Nicolas; the two young sisters, Amélie and Chantal; and the courier and radio operator, Théo and Brigitte.
Jeannie sniffed and nodded. “I need to get through the next few days. I’ll pester Meier for things to work on and do extra things for the field marshal. He likes when I do that, and I always smile big and flash my eyes around. I’ll continue that for the next few days, and then Bergmann will be gone for a while, and I won’t have to see him until several days after New Year’s.”
“Can you leave while he’s gone? Can you resign?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Bergmann is not shy about his suspicions of me. He knows where I live. If I leave while he’s gone, I’m sure he’ll int
ensify his investigation. He’s probably already coordinated with the Gestapo to surveil me.”
They sat silently for a few minutes, then Jeannie stirred. “You shouldn’t come here anymore,” she said. “I’m not being rude. It’s just that it’s dangerous for both of us. For all I know, Bergmann has my house watched; and how often can I have the same electrical problem?” She chuckled. “The neighbors will think I’m having an affair, but the major will correctly think something else is going on.”
“Agreed. We’ll set up a system to watch over you.” He thought a moment. “Do you still go to that café on the other side of the street from the army headquarters?”
Jeannie nodded.
“Do you have a regular table?”
“Yes, if it’s available.”
“You gave a note to a waiter who passed it on to Amélie. Is he still there, and can we get him to help?”
Jeannie stared at him wide-eyed. “We can. He’s a friend. I wouldn’t want to endanger him.”
“We won’t. Do you have a favorite scarf or hat you’ve been seen wearing before?”
“I have a scarlet hat like a beret. It’s the only one I have in that color.”
“Good, carry it with you. Do you have another one, or maybe a scarf in a different color?” He explained his purpose and took the scarf with him.
Fifteen minutes later, as he was about to depart, Jeannie kissed his cheek. “Thank you for coming. I feel better knowing others are looking out for me, even if I don’t know who they are.”
Phillippe hugged her and then went to the front door. Opening it, he stepped onto the stoop, then turned, touched his cap, and said in a loud but conversational tone, “I’m sorry that electrical issue is causing you so many problems, Mademoiselle. Maybe I fixed it this time. If not, give me a call. Otherwise, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”
“Oh, and the same to you. I’d almost forgotten that the holidays are on us.” With that, she closed the door.