by C. T. Wells
Reile left the parlour and took the call in private. The observer stationed at the farm had radioed the hotel in Cherbourg.
One of Reile’s agents relayed the message. ‘He reports music coming from the windmill, sir.’
‘Music? Perhaps he has been lying out there in the sun for too long.’
‘That’s not all. He reports a male approaching the farm buildings on foot.’
Reile processed the information, rapidly guessing the identity of the newcomer. He almost had them all. But it was important not to jump too soon; if one thing lead to another this could be a very big catch. Sometimes waiting could lead to the next contact, or expose a link to England. ‘Did you get a description of the male?’
‘Negative, sir.’
‘OK. Tell him to stay hidden. Keep watching.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is there any news from the other team?’ Reile was thinking of the four men he had despatched in the Mercedes to follow the truck.
‘No news, sir.’
‘Very well. Boelcke and I will join you shortly.’
XXXV
Giselle froze, the music ceasing abruptly in the middle of a phrase. Had she conjured an apparition with her playing? A figure had materialised in the doorway.
Martin sprang to his feet, his machine pistol levelled.
‘Don’t shoot,’ Josef raised his hands.
‘Have you betrayed us?’ snarled Martin.
‘No. I have come to join you.’
‘What?’
Giselle stood and looked Josef up and down. Hadn’t he shunned her last night? A thousand frantic thoughts tumbled through her mind, but only one question made it to her lips. ‘Where is your other boot?’
They all looked at his feet.
He grinned. ‘I parachuted onto the beach … I’ve heard of it happening before. When the chute opens, there’s a snap. You slow down, but your boots keep going. I lost it in the dunes and I didn’t want to spend the afternoon looking for it, now that I’m a deserter.’
Giselle didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him, but confusion prompted another question first. ‘So ... you parachuted onto the beach?’
‘I’m a wanted man. The Gestapo are looking for me. It was the only way out. I aimed my Messerschmitt at the ocean and bailed out over a deserted beach. My plane went down two kilometres out to sea. They will never recover it, and it will look like I went missing on a test flight. It might cover my tracks for a while.’
Martin hadn’t lowered his gun. ‘What were you talking about, Josef? When you said you have come to join us?’
‘Can I come in first?’
Martin nodded his head and Josef came in to sit on the millstone. Martin poked his head outside the windmill, glanced around and stepped back inside.
Giselle took Josef’s hand. ‘What made you change your mind? Last night I thought you were a lost cause …’
‘I’ll tell you what made him change his mind.’ Martin finally lowered the gun. ‘Self–preservation. He knew he was in over his head and now he wants us to help him escape the Gestapo.’
‘Don’t you think we owe it to him? He’s just thrown away everything he had because of us!’
Martin shrugged.
‘It’s true.’ Josef squeezed her hand. ‘The Gestapo are catching up with me, and I have nowhere else to go. But something else was catching up. I realised …’ He faltered for a moment. ‘In 1938 I swore my allegiance to Hitler. A stupid oath. Today I … I unswore it. You made me realise. I was part of Hitler’s machinery ... but not now. Not any more. Today, the old Josef Schafer died in his Messerschmitt. It is time to become someone new.’
Giselle put an arm on his shoulder.
‘It was something Melitta said once. “It’s never too late.” Somehow, even though she’s gone, she got through to me.’
Giselle pressed her cheek against his and held him tightly.
Martin interrupted the embrace. ‘So, let’s say we give you the benefit of the doubt, Josef. How do you suppose this is going to play out? Do you really think the résistance are going to embrace a German fighter pilot like my sentimental sister just did?’
Josef looked up at him. ‘I can’t expect that. But I will come with you into The Free Zone. I still have my uniform. Maybe I can help you cross the demarcation line.’
Martin looked sceptical. ‘With one boot?’
Josef stared at the ground. ‘Listen. You don’t have to trust me … but I trusted you about Melitta.’
Martin’s expression softened. ‘We were working under instructions from England … I’m sorry. Truly. I’m sorry about your sister.’
‘I understand. You’re a soldier. You had your orders.’
‘All right.’ Martin shook his head, as if in disbelief at himself. ‘You can come with me. I can’t promise you what sort of reception you’ll get down south, but we’ll get to the Free Zone together.’
Josef turned to Giselle. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve been summoned to England. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I plan to be back as soon as I can.’
‘So you are flying out tonight?’
‘Yes. A Lysander pick–up.’
Josef frowned. Landing a plane at night was a dangerous game. In occupied France, it could be suicide. ‘Must you go to England?’
‘Yes, I must. We need training, funding, equipment. I will go to London to help arrange it. I would like to stay here in France, but there is no option.’
‘You are going to London?’
‘I believe so. De Gaulle is in London. We are under the command of a special unit that is based there.’
Josef nodded.
‘Don’t worry. We will see each other soon.’ She took his hand.
Again, Martin interrupted them. ‘Listen, I have been thinking. There are a few other supplies we need to get from the farm so I will go and get them. You two stay here. We’ll leave later when it’s completely dark.’
Martin took the MP–18 and stepped outside into the remnant of the afternoon. He surveyed the deserted farm carefully and then set off down the path towards the other buildings.
Josef and Giselle sat quietly for a while. Giselle knew Martin hadn’t needed to go to the farm. He was giving them some time together.
Josef pointed to the clarinet. ‘It’s going with you on the plane?’
‘It goes everywhere with me.’
‘Good thing you don’t play the piano.’
Giselle smiled. ‘I do. But this clarinet is special.’ She looked at him intently. ‘You took a pretty big chance joining us.’
‘Not really. I think you see the world how it is. And, maybe you even see how it ought to be. They are rare qualities these days.’
‘Everyone at the Sorbonne seemed to think they knew how the world ought to be. The cafés were full of self–styled activists, but most of them went quiet when the Panzer tanks rolled into France. They seemed to accept the Nazi occupation pretty quickly. Maybe they even forgot they were French. Maybe one day they will forget they are human.’
‘But you had reasons to remember ...’
‘We had our reasons.’ She touched the silver locket at her neck. ‘I don’t want Leon’s death to be for nothing. At least it helped us to see what the Nazis were capable of. It made things a lot clearer in our minds.’
‘I wish I had seen things so clearly back then …’
‘You had your own things to worry about, I’m sure. Why did you want to leave Africa?’
Josef hesitated. ‘The short version? We had a harsh life on a farm. My father had been … difficult. I wanted to go somewhere else. Anywhere. I just got it into my head that I was getting out as soon as I could. Germany was the first door that opened.’
Giselle shook her head. ‘It’s funny. You wanted to leave
and I always wanted to go there. I have always been fascinated by Africa.’
‘It is beautiful, but I probably couldn’t see beyond the dust and poverty I saw as a child.’
‘My father took me to Marseilles once. We had to pick up a consignment of timber for his workshop. He was a craftsman who made woodwind instruments. I was just a girl. I remember looking out across the ocean and thinking of the vast land beyond the horizon full of wild animals and fascinating tribes. I asked him many silly questions about whether we could go there. The answer was “no”, of course, but my father was kind to me. After that trip he made me this clarinet. He chose African blackwood for me. We couldn’t go there, he said, but maybe a little bit of Africa could come to me. It has a lovely tone, that just keeps getting better. And I know that it has taken a long journey to be mine.’
Josef looked at the instrument. It was wonderfully made.
‘Please …’ Giselle offered it to him.
Josef took it in both hands, running his fingers over the dark ebony. ‘Have you ever seen a blackwood tree?’
‘No. My father had to buy billets cut from an African tree and shipped over here.’
‘The tree itself would not make you think it had such potential. It is usually twisted and spiny and course. Not a nice tree at all. And yet the black heartwood can be made into this ... a fine instrument.’
‘Quite a transformation.’ She was looking at him, not the clarinet. ‘It has become very precious to me.’
The conversation ended when Martin arrived back. He came in laden with a large sack and an oil can. He had wooden stakes over his shoulder. He set it all down on the floor and reached into the sack.
He had a pair of Anton’s farm boots. ‘They’re probably at least a size too big, but it’s better than hopping all the way south.’ He held out the boots to Josef. It was a kind of peace offering.
XXXVI
A gentle breeze roamed inland from the channel as they sat beneath an oak tree that cradled them between its knuckled roots. Josef, Giselle and Martin. They stared out from the the forest edge across the field chosen for the rendezvous. It was well past midnight and the air was chilly on their exposed skin.
Josef stood up and automatically looked at his wrist to check the time. The watch was gone now. Gone with an old life.
But he could tell by the moon’s position that the Lysander was coming soon. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. It seemed ridiculous. Less than a day ago he had made the decision to turn his back on Germany. He had deserted. Defected. Not least because of this French girl.
And now she was bound for England, and he was bound for God–knows–where with her half–mad brother. It was all wrong. This was a summer night made for lingering, not rushing. There should be long moments for well–chosen words and forays into each other’s thoughts and feelings. The night had been hijacked and Giselle was about to be snatched away to another country. The moon watched over them, pale and impassive. Another hardened casualty. No longer reserved for serenades, now the moon itself had been conscripted. A bomber’s moon, they called it. Equally useful as an aid to clandestine landings.
‘There’s something on your mind.’ Giselle’s voice was a whisper.
Josef turned to her. She was sitting against the tree, wearing his leather flying jacket and hugging her knees; as perfect and delicate as a porcelain doll.
He wanted to gather her into his arms. But Martin was right there, sliding a cigarette from his pack. His eyes flicked towards Josef. Was there a warning in that look? Or just curiosity?
Right then, Josef would have been happy for Martin to get lost for a few minutes. He wanted to be alone again with Giselle. ‘Actually there’s a lot on my mind ...’ He hesitated. He was rubbish at finding the right words even when there was no time limit. This was impossible. He was about to try and say he just wished they could be together when Martin interrupted.
‘What are your thoughts on this crosswind, Romeo?’
Josef sighed again. Opportunity lost. ‘The wind? No problem at all. A Lysander could probably land on a plowed field in a twenty knot crosswind.’
‘And get off the ground?’
Josef gauged the distances. If the British Lysander was anything like the German Fieseler Storch for short take–off ability it was more than possible. ‘Yes.’
‘Right then, let’s put out the markers.’
The three of them walked out into the field with the stakes, sacking and oil. Josef selected the places to set the flare path. They had no hammer so it was decided Josef would hold each stake, while Martin used another one to drive the timber into the ground. If he missed, Josef would have an injured hand.
‘Do you trust me?’ asked Martin.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘No.’ Martin thumped one stake down on the top of the other and drove it into the soil. Then they soaked the sacking in oil and wrapped the top of the stake. Some minutes later there was an L–shape of unlit torches ready to guide the plane onto the grass strip.
‘We’re ready,’ Josef said. A decent pilot could do this.
Martin nodded. ‘Wait until we hear an aircraft engine, then we’ll light them up.’
***
A kilometre away a black Mercedes was rolling down a country lane, with its motor and headlights off. Willi Boelcke brought the vehicle to a quiet stop amongst the forest shadows. The car was well maintained and there was not even a squeak from the brakes.
Eberhard Reile, in the passenger seat, turned to the three Gestapo agents crowded in the back seat. ‘We’re expecting the RAF to show up very soon. The résistance will already be hidden nearby. I want them all. It is essential the plane lands but does not get off the ground. We want to capture the people and the plane. Is that understood?’ He zeroed in on Boelcke.
There were nods and murmurs of affirmation.
‘Move down the west side of the field, through the woods in two pairs. Wait until the plane is on the ground. I will call in the SS only if necessary.’ Reile would have liked more men. There had been no contact from the team in the other Mercedes so he could only assume they were still in pursuit.
Still, he had two pairs of agents with machine pistols, plus himself. It should be more than enough to round up three lightly armed agents. And, positioned not far away, Major Stahl’s SS troops were ready to secure the area if necessary. ‘Try to take them alive. If they are smart, they will surrender. If they put up a fight, shoot their legs.’
The men moved out and Boelcke passed around machine pistols. In pairs, they filtered through the trees west of the field.
Reile reached into the car’s trunk and withdrew the Mauser rifle they had found in Caen. He found some satisfaction in the thought of using the recaptured weapon against the enemy. He unwrapped it and weighed it in his hands. It was a fine piece.
Checking the load, he picked up a blanket from the car as well. He was careful not to make a sound as he negotiated the trees. Reaching the edge of the field, he stopped. It was surrounded by a post and rail fence. The field had been grazed recently, but there were no livestock to be seen; no telephone poles or wires. It was a good choice for a landing field.
He set the blanket on the ground and knelt on it, finding he could set the rifle on the lower rail of the fence and comfortably put his eye to the telescopic sight. He scanned the field—not difficult in the moonlight—and saw a row of unlit torches ready to guide in the RAF aircraft.
Soon the résistance agents would reveal themselves as they lit the beacons. He listened intently. He could not hear his own men infiltrating the woods above the sound of the wind through the leaves. Reile smiled to himself. The net was tightening.
***
Josef heard it first; the distant hum of a radial engine. He stood up and pointed to the north. The moment of separation was fast approaching and he had still said nothing to Gis
elle about his feelings for her. She stood up beside him and shrugged out of the Luftwaffe flying jacket.
‘Thank you. It kept me warm, but I don’t think German uniforms are considered very fashionable in London.’
He took it from her and pulled it on. Giselle was left in her summer dress and light shoes, with nothing else but her handbag and clarinet. ‘You travel light.’
Martin interrupted. He faced his sister, gripped her elbows. ‘Listen, Giselle, all of the cells across France are waiting for the Covenant broadcast from England. They won’t commit until we know we have supply from the English. We need you to make it happen. Do what you can to make them send the message soon. We need Cardinal himself to make the transmission for the sake of credibility. And we need the declaration “Covenant is Enacted”. Let all of France know. We need it soon. Before the politicians stall any longer.’
‘I understand, Martin. That’s my mission.’ She hugged him.
Josef was struck by two thoughts. First, Martin had just divulged a mission objective right in front of him. That meant some kind of trust. Second, it meant that Giselle was playing a crucial role for the resistance movement. He didn’t know the extent of it, but it seemed she was the liaison in gaining an English commitment to supply their underground army.
The aircraft engine grew louder. ‘Time to move.’ Martin ran out onto the field, crossing the open ground as the sound of Lysander grew. He put his lighter to the oil–soaked sacking atop the first stake. The flames danced. He moved swiftly from stake to stake, lighting the crude beacons that would guide the Lysander in.
Josef and Giselle stood on the edge of the field, watching and waiting for the plane to come into view. Josef’s heart was thumping. It was their last moment together. ‘Giselle …’ His throat was dry and his voice a hoarse whisper.
She turned to him and took his hands in hers.
‘Giselle. You changed my life. Thank you.’
She put a finger to his lips. ‘I plan on changing it some more. Stay with Martin, Josef. You are one of us now. I will come back to France. We will be together again soon.’