Beacon of Vengeance

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  The train rolled slowly from the yards, pulling north and gradually gaining speed as it left Bayonne behind. The repetitive click of the wheels established a rhythm which would accompany them for hours to come.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gascony, Occupied France

  19-20 August 1941

  Dusk caused Leo to rethink his journey. Two ravens settled in the tree above his head, cawing incessantly. They hopped down branch-by-branch to get a closer look at the stranger entering their woods. A few rocks thrown in their direction only made them more curious. One of the large birds flapped to the ground, perhaps hoping for something edible. He cocked his head to examine the bit of stone more closely, turned it over with his beak, then rejoined his companion with a raucous cry of disappointment. Leo’s shouts failed to intimidate the feathered observers in the slightest, but the sound of his own voice in the emptiness of the thicket made him shiver.

  During the brief stays on the Morlanne farm and then in Espelette he had often escaped to the woods. His school mates were sometimes mean, ridiculing his accented French and his German family, but he had found a few friends with whom he could share his self-taught “woodsman” skills. There were even wild animals he had won over with bread crumbs and patience. One squirrel had grown so accustomed to him that it awaited his arrival daily. But at the end of the day Leo was always happy to return to the company of his mother and uncle and find something warm to eat on the table.

  Leo pulled off his rucksack to consider his meager provisions. Two boiled eggs stared back at him, but most of the cheese and bread had disappeared in the course of the day. He wasn’t hungry yet, or thirsty—streams offered more than enough to drink as he’d moved from woods to pastures and back, always carefully avoiding farms and waiting to cross roads until any traffic had passed. But his stomach told him he would have to find more to eat by the next evening, for sure. He figured tracking down his mother and Uncle René shouldn’t take more than a few days. After all, hadn’t she said they’d only be a day or two away to the north and could come for him any time he wished? He’d used his compass and map all day long, always heading just as the needle pointed.

  The leaves in the ravine below trembled and something thrashed about in the brush. A snorting and snuffling headed his direction. Leo couldn’t see the creature, but knew he wanted to be off the ground before they met eye to eye. Scrambling up the nearest tree, Leo kept one eye on the movement below and one on the next handhold. Surprised by the boy’s sudden climb, the ravens also took to higher branches and watched with full attention as the underbrush near the base of the tree finally parted to reveal a huge, bristly pig snout.

  “Go away!” Leo shouted at the top of his lungs, making his voice as fierce as possible. “Go away, get!”

  The feral boar stared up at the boy. Its eyes appeared as two black olives, reminding Leo of food again. How he wished he’d stocked up better before leaving Grand-mère’s farm. The wild pig cocked his head to the side, curious rather than aggressive, before calmly trotting up the trail. Leo sat in his perch for long minutes, making sure the visitor was truly gone. Finally bored with the boy, the ravens lifted suddenly through the highest branches and took off toward the setting sun. Their cawing settled into the distance, leaving nothing but the rustle of an evening breeze. Now he felt completely alone.

  I could stay right here till morning, he thought. But if I sleep I could fall.

  Three deer bound from the brush below, stopped for a minute to graze. Startled, they turned abruptly toward the ravine and bound away. Leo stared into the hollow but spied nothing moving.

  He decided to stay put for the night, the risk of falling less frightening than whatever he might encounter at ground level in the deep shadows settling in. He positioned himself in a crotch of the tree and buttoned his jacket. He secured the rucksack to the nearest branch. It would never do to have it drop to the ground and have some creature finish off his rations. With the next cool breeze he buried his hands in his pockets and shuddered. For the first time in years he thought of the stuffed bear Bruno who had been his only childhood friend when he was very young. Now that he was grown he missed his mother, of course, but he did wish he had his bear again, at least for this one night. Bruno always knew how to make everything right.

  Leo awoke with a start, instinctively grabbing for the nearest branch as he realized where he sat. It had been a restless night—an owl hooting so close he thought he could reach out and touch it, a fox or maybe a badger rustling around the base of his tree, perhaps drawn by the cheese in his pack, and other noises he just couldn’t identify. But at last exhaustion had won out and he had dozed off.

  Now he had to pee, so he untied his rucksack from the tree and scrambled to the ground. Sunlight broke through the dense green foliage. Wildflowers rose from the grasses in scattered blues and pale yellows, and he tried to remember their names in French and German as he took care of business. How much Grand-mère Jeanne would have loved to see these blooms. They had often walked in the woods together before the fierce mid-day sun brought everything to a standstill, and he wondered how he would tell Uncle René that his mother was dead. Leo already missed her.

  The trees overhead rustled with birds flitting from branch to branch. He watched two squirrels chasing about, one dropping several meters and then hanging precariously when it missed a landing. Leo almost laughed, but caught himself, sad not to have someone with whom he could share. Perhaps he would find Maman by tomorrow.

  He leaned against the tree and opened his rucksack to discover ants feasting on his remaining cheese and bread. He quickly gave up trying to scrape away the insects and tossed the food into the brush. At least the eggshells remained intact. He flicked a few ants from the salt and ate his breakfast.

  By afternoon he was under arrest. Or so he thought. Leo was hungry, his provisions gone, and the village farmers’ market, while short on offerings, was simply too hard to pass up. So he’d wandered down the row of five or six tables laden with eggs, red peppers, potatoes, tomatoes and other fruit. He helped himself to two small apples when no one appeared to be looking.

  “Just what’s a little boy like you doing here all by yourself?” The man wore a faded blue uniform. His eyes appeared kind, but he grabbed Leo by the jacket collar when the child made a desperate lunge toward the woods.

  “I’m going to see my mother.”

  “And where does your mother live?”

  Leo hesitated before replying. His mother had told him to tell no one of their going to Nantes. “Bayonne. She lives in Bayonne, and she’s expecting me there soon, so I must be on my way.” He turned to leave, the apples still in his shorts.

  “Hold up there a minute, son. The only place you’re going is with me, at least until we find out where you belong.” The policeman knew many children tried to escape the rigorous discipline of the orphanages. The Vichy government was dedicated to ridding the country of the laxness which led to social decay, and the place to start was in the schoolroom.

  “It’s really simple, sir. My name is Léonard, my mother is in Bayonne and expecting me, and I can’t be late.” Again he took a step toward the woods.

  That’s when the gendarme grabbed his collar again and hustled him over to the old Peugeot sedan parked on the edge of the market. “Come along, kid, let’s get to the bottom of this. You don’t want me to have to use the handcuffs, now do you?”

  “No thank you, sir.” Now Leo really needed a way out.

  The man put Leo on the passenger side and slid behind the wheel. “Now, Léonard, you told me about your mother. Where’s your father? Is he a prisoner of war, perhaps? Are you an orphan?”

  “No, my father is a policeman.”

  “Like me?”

  “Oh no, something much more important—he’s a secret policeman, and he won’t be happy if I’m not allowed to go where I choose.”

  “Oh really, a secret policeman? Sounds very mysterious, Léo. Does he live nearby, or is he also in Bay
onne?”

  “Oh, he’s all over the place. Maman says he’s very busy with his duties, so he doesn’t come to see us. But he will come see you when he hears you’ve arrested me.”

  “I haven’t arrested you, Léo, I’m detaining you. Do you know the difference?”

  “Feels like I’m arrested, monsieur l’agent.” Leo decided it was time to pull out the big guns, as he did from time to time when the bullies in school tried to get the best of him. “My father’s German, he’s Gestapo, and I’m sure he’s not far away, you know.”

  The policeman hesitated before speaking again. “Gestapo, you say?”

  Leo nodded, his face at its most serious. “And very powerful. My Maman always says he’s a very dangerous man you never want to cross.”

  “And what’s your father’s name, Léo? Your family name?”

  Leo hesitated once again. It was a name Maman always said not to use. A family secret, dangerous in the wrong hands, she said. But a serious situation called for most serious measures.

  “His name is von Kredow. But you mustn’t tell people that or it could get you into trouble, monsieur l’agent. A lot of trouble.”

  “Well, Léo, I still must take you to the station with me. Bayonne is a long way from here. But we can get in touch with the German Gestapo and I’m sure they’ll be happy to track down this ‘troublesome’ father of yours.” He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. “I’m sure Herr von Kredow is worried sick.”

  For over two hours he sat listlessly at the village police station, watching people come and go, some with complaints about neighbors, one woman telling all who would listen that Madame Lecroix next-door was surely hoarding foodstuffs or engaged in black-marketeering, since she appeared so much better-nourished than most of the village citizens. A man protested that someone was stealing his chickens, but the two policemen laughed him out of the room when he admitted he had no idea how many fowl he had, just “many.” Another citizen arrived to demand help in tracking down a stolen bicycle. Leo constantly watched for any opportunity to escape, but none came.

  The desk sergeant had seated him behind the counter, and reprimanded him every time he budged or kicked his legs against the chair rungs out of boredom. At last the officer who had arrested him rushed out of the back office, grasping a sheet of paper off the telegraph wire to hand to the sergeant.

  “Better take a look at this.” The gendarme appeared worried.

  The sergeant scanned the wire. “The kid tells the truth, eh?” He glanced over at Leo, who gave him a look of I-told-you-so. “Unbelievable. They want him in Bayonne, and right away. Seems his father really does pull weight in the Gestapo.”

  Next came a frightening whirl, one stranger after another. First a policeman came to fetch Leo and bring him to the train station. The nervous young man forced the boy to sit quietly at his side during the entire trip to the city. As they entered the terminal they quickly passed through the papers control, waved through thanks to the cop’s uniform. Leo, eyes wide at the hustle and bustle of travelers and uniforms, wasn’t prepared for what came next.

  A stern matron, her face pinched downward in a perpetual frown, her body rigidly erect, waited beyond the control point and glared directly at Leo as he approached. The police companion seemed to know that the woman was awaiting their arrival and handed her paperwork to sign. Leo gave her a shy smile in the hope of breaking through that cold reserve, but it had the opposite effect. She bent toward him and with no warning slapped him across the cheek. The sudden attack left him angry, frightened and disoriented. Through unwanted tears, he started to protest but was cut short by an angry, pinching hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen, young man, and listen carefully. I’m not going to repeat myself. Don’t expect coddling around here. You’re in my care and you’ll do exactly as I say, when I say it. I don’t take kindly to back-talk or misbehavior of any kind from my children.”

  Leo’s cheek stung from the blow, and the woman hadn’t released her viselike grip on his shoulder. In fact, the pressure seemed to have increased as she stared directly in his eyes. He was at a loss to explain her anger, but he knew enough not to aggravate it further. He nodded weakly, trying to hold back further tears.

  “But, madame…” began the young policeman, equally surprised by the woman’s brutal reception.

  “You’re dismissed, officer. I have my orders and they come from very high up. You may return to your village duties—the boy’s in capable hands and won’t give anyone more trouble. Isn’t that right, boy?”

  Leo forced himself to nod. He was certain there had been some big mistake. His mother or uncle would hear about this and set these people straight.

  From the station she marched him down a long street and across a bridge. Leo slowed to watch the gulls swooping and the boats passing on the river below, but the woman would have nothing of it, shoving his shoulder at any slackening of pace. They entered the heart of the city, passing shops and strolling citizens and many men in uniform, but his guardian looked neither right nor left, her attention focused solely on Leo’s posture and some as-yet undetermined goal.

  Finally they reached a quiet side street flanked by tall apartment buildings unlike any seen by Leo since his childhood in Berlin. The facades were ornate with carvings, and staircases climbed to leaded-glass entries. The matron pushed him brusquely when he hesitated at the foot of steps guarded by massive stone lions. They entered a long hallway with highly-polished wooden floors that creaked under their footsteps. A stone staircase took them to a second-floor apartment where another woman, this one in a white uniform rather than wool suit, stiffened at the sight of the matron.

  “Your name?” The matron was grasping his shoulder again, painfully.

  “Léo.” He made his voice firm, imagining how his uncle would respond to this new situation.

  “Agnès, this is our new charge, and an important one. He gives any trouble, whip him into shape. Don’t spare the rod. He’ll room with the other children, but don’t take your eyes off this one, even for a minute. His father has given direct orders that the boy goes nowhere. He escapes, you’ll be on a train headed east, and fast, do I make myself clear?”

  “Very clear, madame.” Agnès glanced at Leo and back to the matron. “Will he be with us long?”

  “That’s no business of ours. As long as it takes. For now, get the brat bathed and into some clean clothes—hand-me-downs will do for now—and feed him something. He can start his lessons with the rest of the children tomorrow.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  The matron didn’t give Leo another look before leaving the room. Agnès squatted before him, taking his chin in her hand and looking the boy directly in the eyes. “Listen to me, Léo, and listen carefully. We all do exactly as ordered here, do you understand?”

  He nodded, already planning his escape.

  “Any trouble from you, I must use the switch, and I don’t like it any better than you do, clear?” Leo had never felt a whip, but he had seen farmers striking their animals and he knew his life had taken a turn for the worse.

  Agnès led him down a long, dark hallway with enormous ceilings to a very large room. The windows were tall and opened to the street far below. The other children looked up as they entered, eyes filled with curiosity at the new arrival. Leo saw a boy about ten working a puzzle at a table beside the window, a girl close to his own age playing cards with a slightly younger boy and a toddler dressed in a smock stacking colorful blocks on the rug. The older children did not smile, but acknowledged Leo with nods and returned to their play.

  “Children, this is Léo. He’ll be with us a while. Madame says he gets no special treatment, so inform me if he misbehaves in any way. Understood?” All but the toddler nodded their understanding. “Now, Léo, it’s bath time for you. You look like you’ve tramped across a wilderness, but you’re back in civilized society now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Poitou, Occupied France

  20 Au
gust 1941

  The hours passed, an unrelenting clatter of rails and wheels and whistles. Despite the American at her side on the hard planking, she sat alone with her thoughts. Antonio constantly came to mind. Antonio—with the tall, slender physique of an athlete, so handsome in that moody way, his dark eyes witness to his Spanish blood.

  When Nicole first saw him she found his arrogance annoying, his self-assurance so powerful it repelled her. Her final year of lycée was coming to an end, and she was about to celebrate her twentieth birthday. She sat over lemonade with her friend Adèle at a café in Mauléon-Licharre. He strutted back and forth before his high school buddies, bragging of some winning goal on the soccer field. He glanced their way, scanning their bodies and legs. She knew immediately he preferred Adèle with her chestnut hair and those beautiful pale blue eyes. Most boys did. Nicole assured her friend she had no personal interest, and advised her to return his flirting gaze to draw him over. They returned to their lemonade and soon Antonio appeared at their table, inviting them to join him and his friends.

  For Adèle’s sake they accepted, and over the next hour he bragged of his prowess on the soccer field, his marksmanship on the target range, and his feats of endurance swimming the surf off Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Nicole stared out the window and let the words flow past her, while Adèle listened intently and asked silly questions to keep him talking, all the while twisting a lock of that hair around her finger. Nicole suddenly realized he was waiting for her to notice him, and she sensed some vulnerability behind all his braggadocio. With that he became more attractive.

  She’d seen him again the following week. She had stayed late after school to visit the local library and spotted him as she came up the road to their farm. Antonio sat on the bed of the hay wagon, his long legs dangling, smoking a cigarette and chatting with her father about boar hunting. She avoided his gaze and headed for the door, but her father called her over.