The Spark of Resistance: Women Spies in WWII

by Sergeant, Kit

  Mathilde felt a twinge of sympathy toward May’s plight. “I know what it is like to go against your morals because of a man.”

  “Is that why you are here?”

  Mathilde nodded. “One man in particular.” She was thinking of Bleicher, but then it wasn’t really Bleicher’s fault that she agreed to go along with his ploy. No, she realized. It was a misplaced sense of anger toward Armand. Mathilde put her hand over her mouth as it occurred to her that she had almost single-handedly destroyed Interallié—and possibly sacrificed her friends’ lives—because she was upset at Armand for choosing Viola over her. “Oh,” she said aloud. Her legs felt unsteady and she stumbled over to a garden bench.

  Stella joined her. “Are you alright?” When Mathilde didn’t reply, she carried on, “They say you are a double-agent for Germany. Is that true?”

  Mathilde shook her head. “I think maybe I was only ever looking out for one entity: myself.”

  “I wish I’d thought of that. When they interrogated me for possibly being a German agent—I returned to England from there in 1941—I suppose I was a bit too lewd for them. Maybe had I reigned it in, they’d have let me go.”

  Mathilde couldn’t help giving her an amused smile. “You, lewd?”

  Stella shrugged. “I never played for the other side, but they weren’t sure what to do with a woman like me, so here I am.”

  “Here we both are: imprisoned because of the whims of men.”

  “You have to admit, Aylesbury is not such a horrible place.” Stella shuddered. “You should hear the stories about what they do to ‘undesirables’ like us in Germany. They put them in concentration camps. Most of them don’t last long, and if they do then they’re tortured and starved, and made to do slave work.”

  Mathilde felt her chin quiver as she thought of René Aubertin. Was that his fate now, thanks to her? “You’re right: Aylesbury is not bad at all.”

  “Still, you have to watch out for May,” Stella continued. “She tells the guards everything that goes on in the D-wing, so if there’s something you don’t want people to know, keep your mouth shut around her.”

  Mathilde acknowledged the warning with a nod.

  Chapter 67

  Didi

  The Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944. After that it seemed everyone in France wanted to join the Resistance, to prevent Hitler from providing reinforcements for his massive army. Countless men were recruited to bomb roads, armaments, bridges, and railroad tunnels. In retaliation, Germany’s determination to destroy the Resistance mounted.

  Since Didi’s boss, Jean Savy, was still in England, he missed witnessing the results of his hard work, though Didi received word that the rocket depot he’d discovered had become one of the RAF’s latest targets.

  With Savy gone, Didi didn’t have much to do, and she chafed for more assignments. Finally an SOE transmission came through, instructing her to contact a man named Dumont-Guillemet, head of the Spiritualist network. Thankfully this circuit operated in the Seine-et-Marne, just east of Paris, which meant she wouldn’t have to relocate her equipment.

  Whereas Savy had been reserved and cautious, Dumont-Guillemet was buoyant and brash. The mission he had been given by the SOE was to reunite the Prosper and Farmer circuits, which had been splintered by the arrests of their leaders and many of their agents.

  However, Didi quickly discovered that the head of Spiritualist had several unofficial projects in mind. The first was to find the whereabouts of his friend and fellow SOE agent, Sidney Jones. When that trail went cold, Dumont-Guillemet made contact with a group planning an attack on Fresnes Prison, where many of the captured SOE operatives were housed.

  Didi, wondering if Jackie were among the prisoners, dutifully relayed Dumont-Guillemet’s message to London. Buckmaster was not enthused, but Dumont-Guillemet was ready to go through with the scheme until he found out the lead architect of the Fresnes coup had been jailed in the very prison he’d targeted.

  Dumont-Guillemet next set his sights on kidnapping two German rocket scientists, who had probably helped develop the V-2s Savy had seen. This time Buckmaster sent a message back stating, There’s no way in hell I’m agreeing to that STOP.

  Even with all these extra plans, in the month after D-Day, the members of the Spiritualist network were able to inundate the SOE (and Didi, for that matter) with information on troop movements and locations of German trains transporting soldiers to the frontlines, making for still more RAF targets.

  Though Didi knew that, following the successful Allied landing, the liberation of Paris might only be weeks away, she became exhausted from working non-stop. Dumont-Guillemet was not immune to Didi’s plight and brought in another wireless operator, whom he introduced as ‘Maury.’

  They met in Savy’s old safehouse. Maury was a short man with coke-bottle glasses, but he seemed nice enough. “Maybe now that I’m here, you can have a day off,” he told Didi.

  “Thank you, but I don’t take days off,” Didi replied.

  Dumont-Guillemet raised his hand. “While I appreciate your dedication, you both should be aware that all of the increased shelling we’ve done on German communication and transportation lines means the Boches are getting angry. They’ll only increase their efforts to penetrate our Resistance networks.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maury replied.

  Dumont-Guillemet turned to Didi. “How long have you been transmitting from the house in Bourg-la-Reine?”

  “About four months, sir.”

  “Four months?” Maury asked. “You’ve been using the same safehouse for three months and two weeks longer than we were instructed during training.”

  Didi shrugged. “No one knows I’m there and I get an excellent signal.”

  “You might want to think about moving sooner rather than later,” Dumont-Guillemet told her. “The Gestapo vans are everywhere now, searching for our signals.”

  As if Dumont-Guillemet and Maury had predicted it, that very evening, Didi thought she detected interference on her transmission, as though someone were listening in. She told herself not to be silly, that it was just nerves, but she cut her transmission short anyway, using her call sign to let London know everything was okay.

  Less than a minute after she’d ended, she heard a police siren. She hid in the attic under the blankets, fearing that a host of German soldiers would burst in at any moment and arrest her. She managed to make it home just before curfew, promising herself that she would find a different location to transmit in the morning.

  Chapter 68

  Odette

  The next time Odette was taken to 84 Avenue Foch she sensed something was different. Indeed she was shoved into an unfamiliar room, where she discovered several other women were waiting.

  A beautiful, dark-haired woman approached Odette. “I’m Denise. I worked for the Prosper network.”

  Odette numbly shook her hand. “You’re with the FANY?”

  Denise winked. “Yes. And this is Simone, courier with Inventor, and Yolande, the radio operator for Musician.” One by one, Denise introduced the F Section women by their code-names and circuits. Though Denise looked as prison-weary as Odette felt, some of the other girls were fresh-faced, and obviously new arrivals to Fresnes.

  “I’m Lise,” Odette said. “With Spindle.”

  “When did you train?” Denise asked.

  When Odette told her, she nodded. “I thought so. You must know Adele.”

  Odette recalled the undeniably brave, blue-eyed woman. “I did.”

  All told, there were seven other F Section women in the room, each with a different story leading to their arrest. The woman named Martine had parachuted right into German hands.

  “How do they know so much?” Odette asked.

  “I think there is at least one mole in the SOE,” Denise replied matter-of-factly.

  She seemed about to say more, but the door burst open and the commandant entered. “You will be leaving for Germany in a few hours. Are t
here any requests? Keep in mind this might be your last.”

  “Yes,” Odette said without thinking. “We could all use some tea. And,” her eyes traveled over the other F Section women, “be sure to make it in the English way, with milk and sugar.”

  The commandant’s eyes narrowed and he left the room without further comment. But a few minutes later an aide entered the room carrying a tray with a tea pot and eight china cups.

  The women drank their tea, chatting animatedly about their Resistance adventures and the Allied landing in Normandy.

  Yolande had a tube of lipstick with her, and all the girls passed it around: to Odette it was bliss to feel like a woman again. She’d been in solitary for so long with only Michelle to talk to, and here were women just like her: Buck’s recruits, trained by the SOE while being looked after by Miss Atkins. They’d been dispatched to France as part of the Resistance, and, just like her, were arrested because of it. Odette wasn’t sure where they would be going—maybe to another prison or sent off to their deaths—but she hoped that wherever it was, they could remain together.

  “Have any of you been condemned to death?” Odette asked.

  They all replied in the negative. “Have you?” Yolande asked.

  “Yes.” Odette’s lipsticked lips stretched into a smile. “Twice, in fact.”

  When the door burst open again, the commandant had more instructions. “You will be handcuffed in pairs. If any of you attempt to escape, you will be shot immediately.”

  “Where would we go?” Odette asked. The whole scene was becoming outrageous: there were at least ten armed guards for eight defenseless women.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, “but my superiors aren’t taking any chances.”

  Odette was handcuffed to Yolande, a fresh-faced, curly-haired woman in her early 30s, who shot an ironic smile at her.

  As they were led downstairs, Martine started singing Le Chant Des Partisans, the unofficial Resistance song, until one of the guards told her to shut up.

  There were several black vans waiting outside, their engines running. Odette shielded her eyes against the sun to take one last look at 84 Avenue Foch. Her perfumed interrogator had come out onto one of the balconies to watch the spectacle.

  Odette raised her unbound wrist to wave at him. “Good-bye!” she called. Even from the ground she could sense the ferocity of his glare. He stepped back inside, but she saw him continue to observe from the shadow of a curtain.

  The Germans had reserved two second class train compartments. Yolande and Odette were seated across from Denise and Simone. An SS woman sat behind the latter two and a male guard was placed near the door of their cabin.

  Odette scooted closer to the window as they entered the countryside, and stared out at the ubiquitous debris and burn scars.

  The male guard walked over to stand in front of her. “That’s the work of your RAF. They’ve also destroyed my mother’s house in Dortmund.”

  Odette sat back in her seat with a satisfied air.

  His already narrowed eyes became slits. “I only wish that they dared to bomb the train now. It would give me great pleasure to crush your skull underneath my boot and save the German hangman a job.”

  “It is your duty,” Odette spat out, “to deliver us to Germany. If an accident were to indeed happen, your first care should be to the safety of your prisoners.”

  “I would never sacrifice my own well-being for swine like you.”

  Odette shrugged. “You are definitely not the brains of your outfit, but as a German, aren’t you supposed to be efficient?” She held up her now unshackled wrist, which she had been working to free since they left the station.

  The guard turned on his heel and left the cabin.

  Yolande gave her an admiring look. “How clever of you, Lise,” she whispered as the guard returned, brandishing a key. He pushed Odette forward and then snapped the handcuff on her so tight that she could feel it cutting into her skin. It had been worth it. Any little thing Odette could do to cut down the pompous Boches gave her a feeling of accomplishment.

  As dusk fell, Yolande whispered that Odette could lay her head on her shoulder. Odette tried shutting her eyes, but her wrist hurt and she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep more than a few minutes at a time.

  As dawn was beginning to break, Yolande shifted in her seat and Odette leaned against the window to give her more room. She watched the gray mist fade, thinking that the same sun was rising over Somerset. She pictured her daughters playing in the sunshine. She realized it would be Francoise’s birthday in a few days and hoped Miss Atkins would be able to send her daughter one of the cards she’d written.

  The train glided over a shining river, and the SS guard announced that they were crossing the mighty German Rhine and would be entering the Fatherland.

  “It’s not the German Rhine,” Yolande declared. “I know Hitler thinks he can possess everything, but even he can’t own a river.”

  Odette tightened her free hand into a fist. They had just left the comfort of France and now were in the monstrous Hitler’s domain. “What is our destination?” she asked the SS guard.

  “Karlsruhe,” he replied. “As you can imagine, I’m pleased they’ve decided to kill you in Germany and not France. I received a 48-hour leave to accompany you, and I get to see meine liebste Mutti.”

  She gave him an insincere smile. “How glad I am to sacrifice myself so you can see your mother. Even the devil has family, I suppose.”

  When the train arrived in Karlsruhe, Odette and the other F Section women were unloaded and escorted, once again by armed guards, to a nearby office.

  “Can you please unlock these so we can use the restroom?” Odette asked, lifting her bound wrist.

  “No.” The guard’s brusque tone left no room for argument.

  Yolande shrugged at Odette. “Nice try.”

  Two by two, the women were led out into awaiting taxis and then were driven to the Karlsruhe Criminal Prison. They were finally released from their handcuffs to use the dirty bathroom before being strip-searched and inspected for lice. When the endless check-in process had finished, the women were taken to separate cells, situated as far away as possible to cut off all contact.

  Odette was immensely disheartened to be alone once again, though she and the other F Section women were permitted to walk solo in the yard once a day. Odette would watch her comrades from her window, calling and waving. “Hullo, Yolande, how are you? Good morning, Denise, it’s a fine day for exercise.” The other women did the same when it was Odette’s turn.

  But after about a week in prison, Odette no longer saw any of the F Section women.

  A guard came to fetch her, stating that she was wanted for an interview. She was led to the Commandant’s office.

  The Commandant, a hulking man with a pencil mustache that was much too small for his face, told her that a reporter wanted to talk to her.

  “Where’s the rest of the women who came in with me?”

  The Commandant looked confused. “Who?”

  “The women I arrived with. I was handcuffed to Yolande, and then there was Denise and Simone and…”

  He held up his hand. “Some of them were returned to France a few days ago.”

  “France?” Odette sank into a chair. “Thank God.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” He gave a sadistic chuckle. “They’ve been taken to Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp.”

  “But why? Why would you go through the trouble of transporting them here only to be brought back? That seems very unlike you Germans.”

  The Commandant shrugged. “They are probably slated for execution.”

  Before Odette could process this news, a short man with a crooked nose entered the room. He introduced himself as a reporter with the Völkischer Beobachter.

  “The Nazi Daily,” Odette commented listlessly.

  “Well, Frau Churchill, you will be pleased to know we already have three of your relatives in Ger
man prisons. We look forward to the addition of another—Mister Winston Churchill.”

  “I don’t think you will have to wait long for his arrival.” Odette leaned in. “But when Winston Churchill comes to Berlin, it won’t be as your prisoner. He will be the one driving through the rubble of your city in triumph.”

  The reporter blinked his shrewd eyes rapidly, his pen posed over his notebook.

  “That’s enough!” the Commandant snapped. “This interview is over.” He motioned for a guard to take Odette back to her cell.

  Two weeks later Odette was summoned once again and told to pack her meager things. They gave her the daily ration of one slice of bread before taking her to a station where she once again boarded a train, this time not handcuffed to anyone.

  She was told to remain in the narrow passage next to a compartment which was packed with disheveled, emaciated men. The men seemed to be in good spirits, and she occasionally caught snippets of them singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.”

  The train was headed east, and she saw more of the RAF’s exploits: fields pockmarked by bombs, destroyed factories, and piles of contorted metal.

  As the train’s wheels shrieked to a halt, Odette peered outside at the warped tracks, which must have once been another RAF target.

  “Encore un peu de patience, mes camarades,” one of the men inside the compartment shouted. “Hitler’s day will soon be over.”

  The guard next to Odette put his finger on the trigger of his Luger as he stared morosely at the ruined track.

  The train had to backtrack and ended up in what remained of the city of Frankfurt. Even though night had fallen, Odette could see that most of the half-timbered houses still standing bore bomb scars, and the ground was littered with rubble.