Just Another Girl on the Road

by S. Kensington

  Both men had eaten rations and were drinking coffee made from chicory and toasted barley. Earlier in the evening, Raphael had met with Pascal, and the documents were being made. Nye knew the hurried job would be poor and would bear up under only the briefest scrutiny, but it could not be helped. He sat smoking his pipe, wondering just how much to explain. He needed this man on his side, but Raphael was skittish with anything new. And rightly so. Nye watched him roll a cigarette with shaking fingers, some tobacco spilling to the ground.

  Glancing at the lieutenant’s face, Nye wondered, and not for the first time, how Raphael was holding up. It was said his hair had gone from deep brown to gray after the death of his wife and son during the fall of France. They’d been strafed by enemy fire amid the evacuation of his village. Although just a few meters away, Raphael had not been struck by a single bullet.

  Like hundreds of other Frenchmen fleeing the forced labor of the Service du Travail when the French government collapsed, Raphael joined the French Resistance. He later volunteered and trained with the Jedburghs, a multinational undercover operation made up of agents from the British SOE, French Resistance, and American OSS. The major was aware that Raphael carried a picture of his wife and son with him, always.

  Nye sighed, knocking the tobacco from his pipe, and began abruptly, “Degare’s been arrested. He never made it to the ship.”

  Startled, Raphael looked up. “I am sorry to hear it.”

  Without the explosives, the bridge would stay intact. The Germans would sweep across with their supplies and tanks, heading north to where the Allies were still being held back in Normandy. Reports put them at the bridge in less than two days.

  Raphael’s voice was bitter, “So. No plastique.”

  “Exactly. The damn ship is still sitting somewhere off the coast with our supplies.”

  “Can it be reached in time?”

  The major shrugged. “Possibly.”

  “You want to use the girl? The one found with the deserters?”

  “Possibly.”

  Raphael frowned, his voice rising. “My men are seeing shadows of shadows. They will not stand for this. Why have I not been told?”

  Nye’s voice was calm. “I am telling you now. Two days ago, a man and woman were attacked and killed by German deserters on the road to Benet. This couple and the girl, Katrinka, had been passengers on Captain Remi Amparo’s ship, Le Flâneur. After dropping them off, Amparo was to go further up the coast, retrieve the plastique, and return to await Degare. There is a chance he is still waiting.”

  Raphael poured himself another cup of coffee, still frowning. “I have heard his name mentioned, this Captain Amparo. Tell me about him. Why should he be trusted? And who were the others, the couple and the girl?”

  Nye nodded. “You have valid questions, and they deserve valid answers.”

  “I would like to hear them.”

  “It is rather a long story, but an interesting one.”

  Raphael’s lips curled into a rare smile. “I have no pressing engagements.”

  Nye snorted, glancing at his watch. Then he settled back and relit his pipe. “Amparo has been working with the SOE for a few years, and now with the Jeds. Doing some unofficial shipping, shuttling munitions and men from England to France. Hell, we were so desperate for supplies, at one point the government was raiding the Imperial War Museum for artillery pieces.”

  “This Amparo, he is a civilian?”

  “Yes, French-Portuguese. Came to California in the early 1900s and obtained a visa to work the tuna fleet near San Diego. Purchased his own small ship, fell in love, and got married. He served in the Great War and came back to San Diego to settle, but he and the wife… well, it all went wrong somehow.”

  Raphael lit his cigarette and sat back. “There is always a woman,” he observed.

  “Eh? Quite right. So, Amparo outfitted his vessel into a tramp ship of sorts. Paid a large sum of money to install equipment that runs on oil. He could go long distances without refueling, and his services were in high demand. Handpicked a small crew, mostly Portuguese like him. The small ship was easy to navigate in tight spots and rough water. He left San Diego and went back to Portugal. Did operations between Europe and the Far East, shipping cargo of questionable freight. Flying under whatever flag was most convenient.”

  “How did you become acquainted with this man?”

  “We met in Falmouth in ’21, and I signed on as a cabin boy. I was just thirteen, didn’t want schooling.”

  “My son was also just thirteen.”

  Nye shot him a quick look, but Raphael’s eyes were blank as he studied the cigarette in his fingers.

  Raphael continued, “And the couple who were killed?”

  “The man and woman were Katrinka’s parents. Her mother, Yujana Prasong, was the illegitimate daughter of a British missionary and Burmese sea gypsy. She’d lived with her extended family on fishing boats in and around the Andaman Sea. At age fifteen, she ran away from a prearranged marriage and wound up in Burma. Worked at a bar down in Rangoon harbor for a few years, and met Amparo there, back in ’24.”

  “A prostituée?”

  “No.”

  Raphael glanced up, and Nye flushed.

  Nye went on, “She worked as singer. When it came time for the ship to leave, Yujana found out and stowed away. Cook found her one morning, and all hell broke loose. Amparo threatened to throw her overboard. She put up a fight, and he changed his mind. They became lovers.

  “For the next year, Amparo took Yujana with him on our runs throughout the Far East and Ceylon. On our second return to Ceylon, we dropped off the cargo and picked up a passenger, one Emerson Badeau.”

  “The man who was killed with Yujana?”

  “Yes. Emerson was an American archeologist, on sabbatical from some university in Switzerland. He’d been studying cave art in India, and wanted passage to Marseilles, from where he would travel overland into Spain. A few weeks after he boarded, Yujana and Amparo had a huge row over some letters she found from his previous marriage. She was furious and sought comfort in Emerson’s arms.”

  The lieutenant was now giving him his full attention, his eyes narrowed and intent.

  “One night, there was… an altercation between the three of them. Amparo backed off and let them alone. About a month later we got to Marseilles, and Yujana left with Emerson. Soon after leaving ship, Yujana discovered she was pregnant. She left Emerson in Spain and ended up back with her family in the Andaman Sea. She gave birth to Katrinka there, in ’26.”

  “Did you continue to work for Amparo?”

  “I left the ship soon after, but kept in touch over the years and did more voyages with him in the ’30s. Yujana was back with him then, and Katrinka as well. A few years after that, Emerson reconnected with us. I think Yujana and Emerson were married at that point. We all began working together, with Amparo running supplies for Emerson’s expeditions until right before the war.

  “After the Nazis invaded Poland, Yujana followed Emerson back to Switzerland and put her daughter into a school. Katrinka was in her teens then, and quite wild. Amparo returned to his old job, running supplies and troops from England to France. Those years in the Great War had served him well. He knows this coast intimately and has many French contacts. As you know, the SOE gets little support from the British Navy. They consider our tactics a bit unorthodox and irritating. Don’t like us mucking about.”

  Raphael was about to reply, but at that moment Sébastien, the team’s French courier, showed up on his bicycle.

  Sébastien nodded to Raphael, “Monsieur, the bird has returned to his cage.” He handed a message to Nye, who scanned it quickly, reading it aloud.

  “Item found. Hurt, but mending. Will follow prearranged orders.”

  A rough map of their location was scrawled on the back of the message.

  T
he major stood. “Excellent Sébastien.” He nodded to the lieutenant. “They’ve found her.” He looked at his watch. “Get the directional fires started and Maquis assembled. As soon as the supplies are dropped and distributed, we’ll be moving.”

  “Yes, sir.” Raphael hesitated, “Just one thing more.”

  “Yes?”

  “This girl Katrinka. What has she got to do with it all?”

  “I’m sorry, didn’t I say? She’s to retrieve the plastique from the ship and return it to us.”

  “Why should Captain Amparo give her the plastique? Why should he trust her?”

  “He’ll trust her all right. He’s her father. Now, let’s prepare for the drop.”

  * * *

  Val was shaking his shoulder. Propping himself up on one elbow, Farr rubbed his eyes.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Almost dawn.” Val looked at the girl curled into the curve of the man’s side. “What was she doing last night? I heard noises and saw her down in the water.”

  “Oh. Bathing in the stream.”

  “Bathing in the… who the hell is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You made love to her, and don’t know who she is.”

  “We didn’t. She was frightened. I held her.”

  “Farr, this girl—you don’t know what she’s doing here or where she’s from. A broken heart could be the least of your worries, buddy.”

  Farr glanced up and shook his head. “It’s too late, Val.”

  Val looked away, nodding, then stood up abruptly. “Right. I’m off to the new camp and hopefully grab a meal, and get some sleep. Someone’s supposed to be coming here early, to give you orders.” He looked down at the sergeant with a tenderness that Farr chose not to see. Made it a hell of a lot easier that way.

  “Good luck to you, Farr.”

  “And you.” He sat up to say more, but Val had already vanished into the shadows. A few minutes later he heard the roar of a motor, and then silence.

  Farr glanced down at the girl. He wished whoever was coming would get here. It was unsafe to be out, and it would be daylight soon. He wanted to get back to the protection of the camp.

  * * *

  The man had made them breakfast out of his leftover dinner. Katrinka ate continually and thoroughly, everything he offered. He’d given back her knife, and she’d replaced it in its sheath, tucked into her sash. Her hair had dried and fluffed around her face, and the food revived her. She would need to leave, very soon.

  At the sound of an engine both leaped to their feet, Katrinka grabbing her knife. The man pulled her into the cover of the bushes with him, reaching for his gun at the same moment. The noise of the motor cut off suddenly, and a few seconds later Katrinka watched as a tall man appeared from a copse of trees below them. She gave a startled exclamation, staring as the man rapidly advanced up the hill.

  “Wills?” Standing up, Katrinka ran to him, flinging her arms around his barrel-chested figure. “Oh Wills!” she cried.

  Nye held her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head. Then he stood back, disentangling himself from her embrace. “So. It is you. My God, when I heard—” He broke off and nodded to Farr, who had risen. “Sergeant.”

  “Sir.”

  There was a long pause before Farr spoke. “We were just eating. Would you…?”

  Nye shook his head. “Sébastien is waiting on the Norton, down below. He’ll take you back to our new camp. Your radio parts came in last night, you need to get busy. And Farr? Good work. Thank you.”

  Farr’s voice was stiff, “Yes, sir.” He turned and strode away.

  Nye looked down at her battered face, his eyes narrowing. “Those filthy-minded bastards.”

  She touched her cheek self-consciously. “Wills, what is this all about? Does Papa know you are here? Have you… do you know about my mother and Emerson?”

  He nodded. “I am so sorry.”

  “I know that you loved her too.”

  “Yes.”

  They sat down.

  After some moments he spoke again, his voice sharp. “What in God’s name are you doing over here? Emerson must have known the situation. What was he thinking?”

  “It was the cave.”

  “Cave.”

  “The cave at Lascaux. You remember it. He’d thought of nothing else since its discovery a few years ago. After he heard the Resistance was using it to store weapons, he became crazed with worry.”

  “But I cannot imagine—”

  “He begged a commission from his university to meet with other archeologists already there. He knew my father was working the coast and convinced him to provide transport on his next run. He had a letter of introduction and papers guaranteeing our passage through France. My mother wanted to come as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “I had started summer break in Switzerland and knew Papa was in Porto for Grandpa’s funeral. A-mah and I traveled to Porto, and Emerson met us there.”

  “And then this.”

  “Yes.”

  Nye passed a hand across his eyes. “I thought you were dead, you see. When I heard the report.”

  She squeezed his arm. “What is it all about, Wills?”

  Nye regained his composure, taking her hand. “Katrinka, please listen to me. It is imperative you understand how things are.”

  “Yes?”

  “All of France is under German occupation and the Vichy government in the south. We Jedburghs work alone and undercover, sometimes in the civilian clothing of farm laborers. That will get us shot, as we are considered to be spies, and so are not covered by the Geneva Convention.”

  “You’re not with the army? You do not fight in the battles?”

  Nye shook his head. “No. The fighting is up in Normandy. Our Jed teams work with the French Resistance, or the Maquis as they’re called here.”

  “What do you do?”

  “We send London details of German troop size and positions, by coded wireless radio messages. We also organize supply drops for the Maquis, giving them arms, money, and equipment to carry out their guerrilla attacks. Our job is to make as much mess as we can. There are many teams scattered throughout France with the same mission.

  “With the help of our liaison, we blew some railway lines a few weeks ago. A large formation of German troops and supplies had to divert and are coming this way. By tomorrow night they’ll be crossing the Pont du Namandie with men and tanks, all headed north. If these troops are allowed to arrive in Normandy, it could go poorly for the Allies.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” asked Katrinka.

  “Your father has the plastique we need to blow the bridge. We sent an agent to retrieve it, but he never got there. We’ve not been able to contact your father.”

  Katrinka nodded. “After dropping us off near Martin Pecheur, he was going further up the coast, but he was returning there a few days later. That’s where I was headed on horseback, when your sergeant found me.”

  “Katrinka, listen to me, this is important— how long was your father staying in the area on his return?”

  “He told me he would stay until the morning of…” She stopped suddenly. “That would be tomorrow.”

  Nye’s face hardened. “I need you to come back with us, Katrinka.”

  “What—”

  “Don’t you see,” he interjected, “we need that plastique. You’ve got to go back to your father’s ship, get it, and bring it to us.”

  “But—”

  “Please. Just listen, then you can make up your mind.”

  He pulled out his map and placed it on the ground. “When you leave our camp, you will go to the market in Ange de Feu to purchase vegetables and other items. You will have a map. Your cover will be that you are bringing a food packet,
a colis familiaux, to your aunt, who lives near Martin Pecheur. A safe house is there, and a man will be waiting. When it is dark, he will take you to your father’s ship. Contact your father and get the plastique. You will leave Martin Pecheur early tomorrow morning and head back here.

  “Coming back, it will be almost the same story. You are bringing items of food from your aunt’s farm to a man, Bouchard, in the village. The plastique will be hidden under the false bottom of your market basket. It isn’t heavy. You’ll deliver the food basket to Bouchard at his farmhouse, and return to us immediately. Bouchard will take care of the rest.”

  Katrinka frowned, “How will I find all of these places? How will I find my way back to you?”

  “I’ll give you a map and make sure you’re set with it. There should be no problems. Your cover is dead easy. There are hundreds of women and young girls about, searching for food and getting supplies. A man would arouse suspicion, as most men under forty have been sent away to the German factories or labor camps under the Service du Travail. The few left are farm laborers, who are helping to grow crops for the German troops. It is dangerous for us to be seen, whereas you will be just another girl on the road, with her bicycle.”

  Rolling up the map, he continued, “Our courier, Sébastien, will go with you. He will pose as your brother—”

  “No.” Katrinka stood, shaking the dust from her dress.

  The major blinked, “Sorry?”

  “I would very much like your sergeant to go with me.”

  Nye leaned back, giving her a long look. “So. That’s the way it goes. You and Sergeant Farr? Rather quick, I should think.”

  “I trust him.”

  “Yes, he is a good man, and I knew he would find you.”

  There was a long silence before Nye spoke again. “Trinka, you don’t have to do this. I’ve made it sound simple, but there is also risk. We’re in German occupied territory, and there are frequent patrols. There will be roadblocks and checkpoints. You could be stopped and searched. If they find the plastique, things could go terribly wrong for you.”