The Hesitant Hero
Page 19
“The best they can! These people can’t have vanished into thin air. They’ve got to be somewhere.” He waited for an answer. “Well, what did they see?”
“Nothing, sir, worth reporting.”
“I’ll decide what is worth reporting! What did he say?”
Scharmann looked over the paper and read off a list that the sergeant had given him. He ended by saying, “That’s all, sir, except a pair of peasant women.”
“Peasant women? Where were they from?”
“From Pont-l’Évêque, at least one of them. The other looked like she was retarded. She had lost her papers.”
Major Dietrich stared hard at Scharmann. The air was still, and from outside there was a sound of a radio playing somewhere. “I will talk with the sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Scharmann was glad he was not the source of the look of lethal fury on the major’s face. That had come to be his almost normal expression. Scharmann followed the major out of his office and said, “There he is over there. I told them they could get some sleep. They were out nearly all night.”
Ignoring Scharmann’s comment, Major Dietrich walked over. The sergeant had his back to the two officers, but when Dietrich’s voice rang out, “Sergeant!” he moved very quickly.
Whirling, his eyes flew open, and he came to attention and saluted. “Sir!” he said.
Dietrich gave him a parody of a salute, then said, “Tell me about these two women the lieutenant tells me you saw.”
“The two women?”
“Do you have a hearing problem, Sergeant?”
“Oh no, sir. Well, they were just two poor women, you know. You see them on the road all the time.”
“What did they look like?”
“One of them was larger than the other, not a bad-looking woman. But the idiot was disgusting.”
“Tell me what she looked like.”
“Why, she wore old clothes that were too big for her—her sleeves came down over her hands just like that. Her face was smeared with dirt.”
“Did she say anything?”
“I don’t think she could talk, Major. She just gurgled, sort of, you know, like an animal.”
“But she had no papers.”
Dent shook his head. “No, sir. The other woman said she had let her carry them and she lost them.”
“What else can you tell me about her?”
“Well, she was all dirty; her clothes were filthy. She had on a pair of old men’s shoes.”
“How old was she?”
“At first I thought she was older, but then I watched her eat an apple. You know how old women’s hands are. Well, this one’s hands were smooth and strong looking.” The sergeant grinned. “If the rest of her looked as good as her hands, I might have been interested.”
“I’m not interested in your foolishness! Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Dietrich turned away in disgust.
“The old horse they rode looked as bad as they did,” the sergeant added as an afterthought.
Instantly Dietrich whirled. “Horse? What about a horse?” He stared at the man with a hard look in his eyes.
“They were riding an old horse—a one-eyed horse.”
Scharmann was suddenly aware that Dietrich had frozen. Something in the sergeant’s words had kept him absolutely still.
“What color was the horse?” Dietrich asked, his tone clipped and without expression.
“Well, that’s the odd thing, sir. It was every color I could think of, you know, sort of mixed-up, like you see cats sometimes. We used to call them calico cats. Why, this horse was red and brown and he had some white—”
“Idiot! Idiot!” Dietrich screamed. The sergeant took a step backward. “Sir—” he began to plead, but the major cut him off.
“That’s the woman! She’s the one we’ve been looking for!”
“She was just a retarded girl.”
“A retarded girl with beautiful hands? Didn’t you have sense enough to know that she was in disguise? I want her found!” Dietrich turned and shouted at Scharmann, who leaped with shock at the intensity of the major’s voice. “She’s headed for the coast, Lieutenant. She’s looking for a boat. That’s obvious. How many towns are there up ahead—towns on the coast, I mean?”
“Sir, there’s Honfleur, Trouville, Deauville . . . hmm . . . and Villerville. That’s about all that are close.”
“Those murderers are headed for one of those fishing towns! I want to throw a cordon around them so tight they can’t possibly get through. They’re probably already there by now. How far were you from the coast when you stopped them, Sergeant?”
“No more than a few kilometers.”
“They’re probably already there, then, but they won’t get away. We’ve got them in a trap. Now, pull every available man and begin to search the area—houses, businesses, streets, alleys. . . . I want those people found!”
****
Annette’s parents, Robert and Élise Séverin, were surprised to see Annette. But that was nothing compared to their shock when she introduced them to Jolie. They were polite enough, but Annette said quickly, “We need to get inside. Something very bad is happening.”
The Séverins let the two women into their home, which was simply a cottage built on the outskirts of the small village. The village itself contained no more than a hundred houses, all old and weathered, with one main street.
After the women were seated on the couch, across the tiny living room from Annette’s parents, Annette quickly explained the situation and then let Jolie continue.
“A childhood friend of mine moved with his family from my village, Ambert, to Honfleur. I used to hear from him now and then, but I haven’t heard from him in several years and have lost track of his address.”
“What is his name, mademoiselle?” Monsieur Séverin asked. He was a short man with gray hair and blue eyes.
“His name is Jean Clermont. He’s a fisherman.”
“Oh, Jean! Yes, we know him well!” Madame Séverin exclaimed.
“Yes indeed. He lives alone in a small house that he bought perhaps three years ago. You remember, Maman, from the old butcher. What was his name?”
“That doesn’t matter, Papa,” Annette said quickly. “We must find him.”
“Annette, you know the old house where the carpenter Monsieur Moreau lived?”
“Yes. I remember it.”
“That’s where Jean lives.”
“I must go to him at once,” Jolie said. “He’s our only hope. Tell me where the house is.”
“He may be out fishing right now,” Annette’s mother said.
“Not with weather like this,” Monsieur Séverin said. “There’s quite a wind out there. Jean would have better sense than to go out in it.”
“I’ll take you to his place,” Annette said as she stood. “Come. We don’t have time to dawdle.”
Her parents got up as well, and Annette embraced each of them. “We’ll probably come back here after we’ve spoken to Jean.”
“Be careful. The Nazis have been everywhere!”
****
“That’s the house right there—the one with the blue shutters.”
Jolie slipped off of the horse and said quietly, “Let me go in alone, Annette.”
“Very well. I’ll keep watch out here. If I see any Germans, I’ll come and get you, although I don’t know where we could run to. Be as quick as you can.”
Jolie rapped sharply on the door.
“Jean!” she cried when the door opened, relieved that she had found her friend.
But Jean Clermont was staring at her. “What do you want?” he demanded roughly.
After seeing the confusion in his eyes, Jolie realized what she looked like. “It’s me,” she cried, “Jolie Vernay. Don’t you know me?”
“Jolie?” He peered at her intently. “Is it really you?”
“I had to make myself look like this. The Nazis are after me. Can I come in?”
Jolie sat at the kitchen table and pulled off her hat. She had always loved the feeling of cleanliness and despised her filthy hair and body. “I’m trying to get five children out of France, Jean, and I think it will have to be in a boat.” She quickly gave him some of the background of her story.
Jean listened silently until she stopped. “How did you get here?”
“We came in a wagon.”
“Was it pulled by a crazy-colored horse—many colors?”
“Why yes, it was. How did you know?”
“The Germans have been searching for two women and a horse like that. Not here but in the next village—Trouville. A friend of mine just came from there. They’re searching every house from top to bottom. It’s a wonder they didn’t see you. Where’s the horse now?”
“Outside with Annette.”
“They’ll be here soon,” he said. “Why did you come to me?”
“I was hoping you could take the children and the American across the Channel in your fishing boat.”
Jean stared at her with shock. Then he laughed. “You don’t mind asking for much, do you? But you always were bold. Why don’t you just ask for the moon?”
Jolie’s throat suddenly felt thick. She had not seen Jean for a long time, and although he had usually been open-hearted, she remembered there was a trace of selfishness in him.
“The children will die if the Nazis get them. You know what they’re like.”
Jean cleared his throat. “I’d like to help you, but they’re watching the coast all the time, Jolie. You can’t imagine how they watch the boats. When a fishing boat goes out, they send a small boat with soldiers in it.”
Jolie realized she could not beg this man to do something that might mean death to him. “I’m sorry. It was just an idea, Jean.”
She stood and suddenly his hand closed on her arm. “Wait a minute. You always were too impulsive. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” He laughed and said, “Do you remember when I tried to kiss you when we were on that picnic, and you broke the bottle of wine over my head?”
“Yes, I do remember,” she said as she sat down again.
“I’ve still got the scar up here.” He put his hand on his head and pretended to grimace. “If I do this for you, maybe I’ll get a kiss out of it.”
Jolie smiled. “Maybe.”
“You’re still not making promises. Now, listen. There’s bad weather coming in.”
“Yes, it’s already awfully windy.”
“We expect the storm to hit tomorrow and be really bad the day after that. Now, the Nazis won’t expect a small fishing boat to go out in that. It’s risky, Jolie, because the storm may be more dangerous than the Nazis. But if you think it’s worth the risk—if you think this is the only way—I’ll try it.”
Jolie reached out and grasped his hands. “Thank you, Jean. That’s so like you.”
“No, it’s not like me. I usually look out for number one.”
Jolie pulled her hands back. “I’m trying to figure out how to get the children here. The roads are being watched constantly. Do you have a truck or a car?”
“Yes, I have a truck. I use it for hauling fish to the villages inland.”
“My friend Annette knows all the back roads that you could take without being seen.”
“So she lives nearby?”
“Yes, she lives near Pont-l’Évêque. Her name is Annette Fortier.”
“Oh, she’s the one who married Alain. We were good friends. I’m afraid it may not be well with him. I heard he was at Dunkirk.” He frowned and added, “He may be dead.”
“She’s terribly worried about him.”
“Why don’t you go get her and we can work out a plan.”
Jolie went to the door and called out for Annette, who came riding up on the horse.
“Let me get that horse out of sight,” Jean offered. He at once led the horse into the shed behind the house and was back soon.
“I’ll put you all in the back of my truck and surround you with my empty fish barrels. Then I’ll put the tarp over the back. But will the children be able to stay quiet if the truck is searched?”
“We’ll make them understand how important it is.”
“How can you tell a baby that?” Annette asked.
“A baby? You have a baby?”
“Yes, she’s only about three months old.”
“That’s a bad one.” Jean frowned. “We’ll have to think of something. I’ll go and find a better place to hide your horse, and then you can show me the back roads.”
****
Tyler was the first to hear the truck. He snatched up the pistol and turned to say, “All of you stay inside and away from the windows.”
“Let me go with you,” Antoine entreated but knew it was hopeless.
“No, you stay here. Don’t come outside and don’t make any noise.”
Tyler ran outside and hid behind one of the big trees. As the truck came closer, he took the safety off the gun. But then he saw Jolie and Annette get out along with a man.
They must have found the friend. He breathed a sigh of relief and put the safety on. He jammed the gun inside his belt.
“You’re back,” he said. He wanted to reach out and embrace Jolie, but he did not.
“Yes. I want you to meet my good friend Jean Clermont. Jean, this is also my good friend, Tyler Winslow.”
The two men shook hands, assessing the other as they did. Jean laughed. “Jolie always had a way of getting the best-looking men to do what she wanted. First she had me and now she has you.”
“Don’t be a fool, Jean!” Jolie exclaimed, her face reddening.
“Listen quickly,” Annette told Tyler. “You and Jolie and the kids will hide out here for another day and a half. Then Jean will come in the middle of the night and get you all. He’ll take you to his boat and get you across.”
“That’s probably the worst plan anybody ever made,” Jean said with a grin. He stared at Tyler for a moment, then lifted one eyebrow. “I’ve heard all Americans are crazy. I suppose we French are too. Listen, I’ll come at ten o’clock. Pray for terrible weather.” He turned to Jolie. “Don’t forget my reward if this crazy idea works.”
“I won’t forget.”
The three of them watched as Jean got back in the truck, turned it around, and left with a cheerful wave of his hand.
“It pays to have old sweethearts around,” Tyler said.
“Oh, it was nothing serious.”
“What’s this reward that you promised him?”
Jolie grew flustered, and Tyler lifted his eyebrows. “We’ll talk more about that later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Prayer Answered
Captain Otto Breit, commander of the naval forces stationed in France, had received Major Hermann Dietrich in his office and now sought to make himself as pleasant as possible. He had nothing but disdain for officers of the armies of the Third Reich, for his whole life was built around fighting ships. It was his greatest disappointment that he had been unable to make Hitler or any of the higher-ranked Nazis realize the importance of naval forces. All the fools could talk about was divisions and airplanes!
“Make yourself at home, Major,” Captain Breit said in an amiable voice. He was a massively built man, well over six feet, bulky with muscle and a face weathered by seas and winds. He was standing beside a window glancing out at the sea, where a destroyer was being readied for a nightly patrol. As always he studied the outlines of the destroyer, wishing the designers would listen to him instead of whichever idiots they were listening to. He let nothing of this show in his face, however.
“I wish to congratulate you on your sweep through France, Major,” Captain Breit said as he sat in a chair across from Dietrich. “It was a masterful piece of action.” What he did not say was that without the navy, all of it would be usel
ess. He had to watch his remarks carefully, for he had the reputation of a man with tunnel vision who could only see naval factors in a war. He could not resist saying now, “If our navy had not taken over the action in Norway, of course, the army would not have been able to sweep into Belgium.”
“That is true enough, I suppose.” Dietrich spoke more carefully than was usual. He wanted something from the captain and forced himself to be amicable, which was not easy for him. “I have always admired our navy, and so has the führer.”
That’s two lies, Captain Breit thought, but he did not let the opportunity pass. “I’m afraid men not bred to the ways of the navy do not understand the problems that can only be solved by ships. It’s natural enough, I suppose.”
“Problems such as what, Captain?”
“Rumors are circulating that since we have conquered France, our next step will be to capture England. This will involve a naval invasion, as you know.”
Indeed Major Dietrich had heard such himself and not rumors. He had heard it from none other than Hermann Göring, a close personal friend. Göring had more or less botched the annihilation of the English army at Dunkirk, but he was absolutely confident that his Luftwaffe could clear the skies over England.
“I think an invasion is highly likely,” Dietrich said. “That should please you.”
“Please me? Why should it please me? It’s impossible, totally out of the question!”
Dietrich stared at the massive man. “I don’t understand you, Captain,” he said stiffly. “Why should it be impossible?”
“How would you propose to invade England if you were in charge?” Breit asked with a brittle smile.
“Why, I would clear the air of the RAF and send troops across to attack.”
“You have two rather dangerous propositions there. One, you are assuming that the Luftwaffe can defeat the RAF.”
“Why, we all understand that’s the truth.”
“You may understand it, and Herr Göring may understand, but I don’t think the English do. Their Spitfires are every bit as good, I am told, as our own fighter planes. There’s a saying that the bombers always get through, but it should say some of the bombers get through. What chance would a heavy bomber have against a Spitfire?”