The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “I asked for twenty.”

  “Well, you have got forty. When they heard it was to rescue Liane de Gruchy, I had difficulty in preventing my entire force from volunteering. Use them well.”

  *

  General von Choltitz believed in the good things of life, and French wine was near the head of his list. Thus the luncheon had gone on for some considerable time. Certainly no one seemed to be in any hurry to leave the table. “This will probably be our last opportunity to enjoy a good meal,” he told his officers. “So we may as well indulge ourselves.”

  “Is there news of the Allied advance, Herr General?” someone asked.

  “Oh, indeed. The British are moving up the coast, securing the seaports. One would suppose their objective is Antwerp, which is the most important port north of Le Havre. And the Americans are advancing through the centre.”

  “Wheren will they be here?”

  “They would be here in about two days, if they were coming here.”

  “Sir?”

  “They do not appear to be intending to assault Paris,” Choltitz explained. “Our reconnaissance indicates that they are swinging to the right, meaning to bypass us, cut us off and leave us to be collected later. So we do not even have to destroy the city, for a little while, at least. I will tell you frankly, gentlemen, that that is an order I am most reluctant to give.”

  “The charges are all placed, Herr General,” Roess said.

  “I am sure that you have done a very good job, Colonel. However… we shall see.”

  “With respect, sir, do the locals know the Allies are bypassing the city?”

  “I should not think so. Do you suppose they might attempt a rising? What is your opinion on that, Roess? You know these people.”

  “I doubt they will try anything, Herr General. Especially now.” He paused to look triumphantly around the table.

  “Explain,” Choltitz said.

  “This morning,” Roess said, “I arrested Liane de Gruchy.”

  There was a rustle. “It was reported that de Gruchy died in the Vercours incident,” someone said.

  “I know. She has been reported dead on more occasions than I care to remember. But she is at this moment in my cells, waiting interrogation. I am commencing that when I leave here.”

  “And you are positive it is her?” Choltitz asked. “Is she not a mistress of disguise?”

  “She is. Or was. But I know her personally.”

  “Well,” Choltitz said. “I think I would like to see this fearsome creature. Shall we, gentlemen?”

  “Oh, indeed, Herr General.” They spoke as one.

  Roess frowned. He had not anticipated this reaction. “You understand that she is awaiting interrogation.”

  “That is why we wish to see her now,” Choltitz explained.

  “Before you set about destroying her fabled beauty.” He stood up. “Show me your prize, Colonel.”

  The time was twenty to five.

  *

  Liane sat on the floor of the cell. Her wrists were still handcuffed behind her and to an iron upright set into the wall; she had lost a lot of feeling in her arms but apart from that she was in no discomfort, although the floor was hard. She had been fed, spoonful after spoonful, by the very nervous Marach, and given two glasses of wine to drink. “You understand, Fraulein,” Marach had said, “I am obeying orders, as I am bound to do.”

  “So I forgive you,” Liane said. “As you must forgive me, when you are dangling from the end of a rope.”

  Marach swallowed, and Margrit, who had stood above them through the meal, snorted. “Don’t tell me you are afraid of her, Herr Captain.”

  Marach had stood up. “Remember that she is not to be touched,” he said and left the cell.

  Margrit had continued to stare at Liane for some minutes before returning to stand above Gabrielle, also sitting, handcuffed against the opposite wall. “But you can be harmed, my little dove,” she said.

  Gabrielle has spent most of the afternoon weeping. “Why are you doing this to me?” she had sobbed. “I gave her to you. I was avenging my brother. I have never harmed the Reich. Oh!”

  Margrit had kicked her in the thigh. “I am going to ask the colonel to give you to me,” she had said. “I think he will do that. I am going to skin you alive and make a lampshade out of you. You will make a pretty lampshade.”

  Gabrielle had again burst into tears. But for the past hour, she had been silent, as Margrit had also had little to say. They were waiting. For oblivion? Preceded by pain? Liane refused to believe the first, but she could not preclude the second. And now at last there were feet in the corridor. Liane frowned. There were quite a few feet, and a good deal of loud talk and laughter. Instinctively she squared her shoulders and pushed herself flat against the wall. The cell door swung open, and Marach held it wide to allow eight men into the room. They all wore the uniforms of senior officers and they were all very jolly, except for Roess, who was not looking terribly pleased.

  “So where is this demon?” asked the man wearing a general’s insignia, which enabled Liane to identify him as Choltitz.

  “Get her up,” Roess snapped, and Marach hurried forward, joined by Margrit, who had been standing to attention. Between them, they grasped Liane’s arms and pulled her to her feet.

  “My word,” Choltitz remarked. “She is quite exceptional. Do we really have to hang her, Roess?”

  “She is guilty of every crime you can imagine, Herr General. However, the execution does not have to be immediate. If you would like to attend the interrogation—”

  “I think I would prefer a private interview before the interrogation begins. Can that be arranged?”

  “You understand, Herr General, that this woman is highly dangerous.”

  “Well, can she not remain restrained?”

  “Well, sir, if you are prepared to take the risk—”

  “Some risks are amply worth taking.” Choltitz frowned and stopped looking at Liane. “What is that noise?”

  “Those are explosions,” one of the other officers said.

  “Explosions. What—”

  The telephone on the desk was ringing. Marach picked it up. “Yes?” He listened, his expression slowly registering consternation. Then he replaced the phone. “A group of terrorists have seized the hotel de ville, Herr General. And there are attacks on our people in several other places.”

  “Good God!” Choltitz snapped. “To your posts, gentlemen. Turn out the troops. This must be ended immediately.” The officers ran from the room. “Your people too, Roess,” Choltitz said. “Turn them out.”

  “With respect, sir, these cannot be more than isolated incidents. You have 50,000 men in the city—”

  “And there are half a million Frenchmen. I want every man on the streets. You people will recapture the hotel de ville. Now.”

  Roess gulped. “Yes, Herr General. And these people? The woman—”

  “She will be here when you get back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I will see her, later. I will be just in the mood for it then.” He hurried from the cell.

  Roess looked at Liane, who looked back, her face expressionless. “I should shoot you now,” he snarled.

  “But that would disappoint the general,” she pointed out.

  He glared at her for several seconds, then turned to Margrit. “You stay with them. Do not leave them for a moment. Understood?”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel.”

  “Marach, come with me.” The two officers left the cell. “And lock that door,” Roess commanded.

  “But, Herr Colonel—” Margrit protested.

  “We’ll be back,” Marach assured her.

  They disappeared, while the building filled with stamping feet and shouted orders. Margrit and Liane looked at each other. “I wonder who will get here first,” Liane remarked. “Your people, or mine?” Margrit raised her hand. “Uh, uh,” Liane said. “The general would not like that.” She slid down the pipe to res
ume her seat.

  *

  James and his men crouched in the shelter of the building across the street from the Gestapo Headquarters. All around them were the sounds of battle, some close at hand, others distant; Duvivier had raised the entire city. Now they watched the black-uniformed men running from the doorway, assembling on the pavement, while from the archway leading to the inner courtyard there issued a stream of both cars and motorcycles with sidecars. All were filled with soldiers, and several also mounted machine-guns. The men around him twitched. “Easy,” he said. “Easy. Let them go. And remember, no grenades, we want the prisoners alive. Now!”

  Duvivier had equipped him with a tommy-gun and a haversack containing five spare drums. He ran across the street and fired a burst at the men who appeared in the doorway. They disappeared in a welter of flying blood and James was up the steps and into the lobby. More men appeared on the main staircase and the surrounding balcony but ran into a wall of fire from the men behind James and came tumbling down. One or two returned fire, but hastily as they retreated to their various offices and slammed the doors. James heard a chorus of screams and burst into a lower office, where three female secretaries were clustered against the wall. One of them was actually brandishing a pistol. “Drop it,” James shouted.

  For reply, she brought it up and levelled it, and he shot her in the chest. She felt backwards, the pistol thudding to the floor. The other two raised their hands, shouting, “Nein! Nein!”

  “Speak French,” he commanded. “I know you do.” They gazed at him, and at the men behind him; they knew rape, at the very least, was close. “Take us to the cells,” he said. “Quickly.”

  “We will be shot.”

  “You will be shot if you do not.” He grabbed the arm of the youngest looking, a frothy blonde who was clearly terrified. “Move!”

  He pushed her out of the door into the lobby. The building was still filled with firing, but this was on the upper floors. They went along the lobby and down the steps at the end. Now the prisoners in the cells were shouting, but the one James wanted was at the start of the lower corridor. “James!” Liane shouted. “It’s locked.”

  James slung the tommy-gun and drew his revolver, and Gabrielle screamed. He looked through the bars at Margrit, who had risen and drawn a pistol of her own. “You shall not have her,” she snarled. James shot her through the head.

  “I saved your life,” Gabrielle said. “You owe me your life.”

  “We can deal with her later,” Liane said, rubbing her wrists as James released the handcuffs. “It is Amalie we want.”

  “And Roess?”

  “Him too. But Amalie comes first.”

  *

  “They are on the run everywhere,” Duvivier said. “Now they are the ones with only pockets of resistance. And, my friends, the Allies are coming. Or at least, Leclerc’s Free French division. They will be here tomorrow.”

  “Is it over?” Amalie asked. “Is it really over?” She had survived her month-long captivity very well, mainly because no one had known who she was and, as there had been several women taken in the fighting in the Vercours, she had been able to lose herself.

  Liane hugged her. “For us, it’s getting closer every day.”

  James looked out of the window at the flames; the evening was drawing in. There were only a few fires but they dominated the night sky. “Have any officers been taken?”

  “Some,” Duvivier said. “But we have taken none of the Gestapo or the SS. And if you are thinking of Roess, no one has seen him. He is either still holding out at headquarters or he has fled the city.”

  “No,” Liane said. “He cannot have done that.”

  James squeezed her hand. “We’ll get him,” he promised. “Tomorrow.”

  *

  “We must blow the city,” Roess said. “While we still control enough of it. With a single telephone call, I can destroy Notre Dame, the Arche de Triomphe, the Louvre, the Tuileries…” He gave a savage grin. “The Folies, and all the bridges across the Seine. We will leave them nothing of value.”

  “No,” Choltitz snapped.

  “Our orders—”

  “I am countermanding our orders. This is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. I will not be a party to its ruin.”

  “The bridges, at least, can be considered military objectives, Herr General,” Marach ventured.

  “A few fallen bridges will not keep out the enemy.”

  “Then what are we to do?” asked a staff officer. “We cannot surrender to the Resistance. They will hang us all.”

  “We will defend ourselves until Leclerc’s men take over the city,” Choltitz declared. “Then we will surrender with dignity.”

  “I cannot surrender,” Roess remarked quietly. “Even to Leclerc. If I am taken, I will be tried as a war criminal.”

  “Then I suggest that you fight to the last, and at the last, shoot yourself.”

  Roess gazed at him for several seconds. Then he said, “If you will excuse me, Herr General. Heil Hitler.”

  He left the office and was followed a moment later by Marach. “What are we going to do, Herr Colonel? Our headquarters is held by the enemy. And the Wehrmacht is getting ready to abandon us…”

  “They are swine,” Roess agreed. “We need to think very clearly, Marach. We will go first to your apartment.”

  “Sir?”

  “We must get rid of our uniforms, and we cannot go to my place; the guerillas will find out my address quickly enough.”

  “Yes, sir. But they will find out that I also am a Gestapo officer and come after me.”

  “I know that. But we need to get rid of these uniforms. We are much the same size. Your clothes will fit me.”

  Marach followed him into the yard, where machine-gun positions had been set up. “You mean to try to leave the city in civilian clothes? It will be very dangerous. If we are caught we will be lynched.”

  “It is very dangerous now,” Roess agreed. “But in a week’s time things will have settled down. People will be coming and going again freely. We will simply walk away.”

  “But… we cannot stay in my apartment for a week. We will be discovered before then.”

  “We are not going to stay in your apartment.” Roess went to the gate and surveyed the street, watched by the curious machine-gunners. But it was now utterly dark except for the fires, and the shooting had died down. “We are going to a place no one in the Resistance will ever think of looking for us, and where we will be quite safe for a week.”

  *

  “What is happening?” Louise asked. She was the senior of Constance’s girls, a buxom young woman in her middle twenties with long black hair. The other five girls crowded behind her as they peered through the half-open door.

  “It is a revolution,” Marguerite said. “There are fires everywhere.”

  “It is the Resistance,” Claudine said. “Rising against the Boche!”

  “But the shooting has stopped,” Marie objected. “They have failed.”

  “Do you think there will be any clients tonight?” Natalie asked.

  “I wish Madame Constance would come home,” Jeanne said.

  “Silly girl,” Marguerite said. “Madame Constance has not gone out.”

  “Then where is she?” Louise asked. “She must have heard the shooting.”

  “Well… Marguerite frowned. “When the English major went out this afternoon, he said she did not wish to be disturbed. She is in the attic.”

  “That was four hours’ ago,” Louise said. “And she never sleeps when we are open.”

  The girls looked at each other, then ran for the stairs, half falling over each other in their haste to reach the attic. Marguerite, much older, followed more slowly.

  “The door is locked,” Natalie panted.

  Louise banged on the panels. “Madame? Madame? Are you in there? Open the door.”

  They listened. “I hear something,” Claudine said. “The bed creaked.”

  “Madam
e!”

  Natalie, more enterprising, stooped to look through the keyhole. “There is no key.”

  Marguerite had reached them. “That swine of an Englishman must have taken it.”

  “Then we must break the door down,” Louise decided.

  “Madame Constance will be very angry if you damage her house,” Marguerite objected.

  “She will be grateful if she is lying dead in bed,” Louise pointed out illogically. “Fetch the axe.”

  They were all in a hugely excited state, and a few moments later the door was in a collapsed state. Louise switched on the light – amazingly there was still electricity – and they stared at their employer in consternation. Marguerite released the gag, while the girls untied the strips of sheet. “My God!” Constance exploded. “That bastard! Get me a cognac.”

  Natalie hurried off.

  “He thought I was going to tell the Boche what he was about. Well, I am going to do that. I am going to have him strung up by the balls. Who is downstairs?”

  “Nobody,” Louise said. “Did you not here the shooting? It was everywhere this evening.”

  Constance swung her legs off the bed. “Shooting? My God! And no clients? God, my throat is dry. Where is that fucking girl?”

  Natalie appeared, empty-handed. “Madame,” she gasped, “Madame! There are two men—”

  Constance pushed the girls aside as she went to the stairs. “Clients,” she said. “Get yourselves ready.” She descended the stairs as regally as she could, halting on the lower landing to gaze at the two rather dishevelled men standing beneath her. “Get out,” she said. “This house is reserved for German officers.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” Roess said. “See that you let no one else in.”

  *

  Two days after the rising, Leclerc’s division arrived. By then most of the garrison had surrendered or been killed, as had quite a few other people; the Resistance had long memories and quite a few scores to settle. Others had merely been humiliated. Liane handed Gabrielle over to the women fighters, who took her and several other female collaborators to the Place de la Concorde and there shaved their heads before turning them loose. She had more important things to do, such as meeting General de Gaulle, who arrived as soon as the city was secure. James was not included in this interview, as the great man was too busy to receive itinerant British officers.