by Jim Eldridge
“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached them.
“That is,” snapped Vanessa.
I looked out of the window and saw a parked coach, and Yvette and the rest of the women from the other group were getting on to it. But what was a bigger shock was that four of our group were also getting on board, and with their luggage: Annette, Jeanine, Claire and Diana.
“What’s happening?” I asked, bewildered. “Where are they going?”
“Lucky people!” snapped Vivienne. “I bet they’re being taken to the next stage of training, the real stuff! Guns
and explosives!”
“But how come those four are going with them?” asked Vanessa indignantly. “I thought we all did okay yesterday!”
The same feeling about the unfairness of it struck me. Why had those other girls been selected to go wherever they were going, and not us?
I was still feeling upset about this when the six of us who remained – me, Vanessa, Vivienne, Josephine, Natalie and Lisbeth – filed into Room 6 for the morning’s session. Miss Penton was standing by the blackboard, waiting for us.
“Take your seats,” she ordered.
We sat down, and then, before I knew what I was doing, I put my hand up. The unfairness of the situation had got to me.
“Right …,” began Miss Penton. “Today …” She stopped as she noticed that my hand was up. “Yes, Miss LeBlanc? You have a question?”
“Yes. Why have we been left behind? All the others are heading off somewhere, and pretty permanently by the look of it. They’ve got their luggage with them.”
Miss Penton’s lips tightened.
“You have obviously forgotten the first lesson yesterday, Miss LeBlanc,” she said tersely. “You are not given information or explanations. The less you know, the safer it is for others, and for this organization.”
I felt myself colouring with embarrassment, and mentally kicked myself. Miss Penton was right; I’d just made a colossal error in asking the question. That’s one black mark against my name, I thought bitterly. I’ve just pushed my chances of getting into action right back to square one.
Then Miss Penton’s expression softened.
“However, in this case – and this time only – I will answer your question to allay any concerns the rest of you may have about whether you are suitable. The girls you saw leaving are going home. The girls you met yesterday to share with were SOE agents, one for each of you, to see how easily you would talk and gossip about yourself.”
So that’s why Yvette had been so chatty, I realized. It was a test!
“Four of your colleagues were deemed too loose-mouthed,” continued Miss Penton. “They gave away too much information about themselves in friendly conversation, just because they thought the people they were talking to were safe. No one is safe. Something you mention in conversation to a friend or a relative, even in strictest confidence, can be passed on, even accidentally. Remember, careless talk costs lives.” She picked up what looked like a small pack of postcards from her desk, and said. “Now the initial selection process has taken place, we can move on to the next stage.”
With that she handed each of us a postcard, and a pencil.
I wasn’t surprised that Annette was one of those who’d gone. On the bus that had brought us from the station, she’d been bursting to talk about herself, and what we were going to do, so I was pretty sure that when she’d been offered the opportunity to talk, she’d done so.
I looked around at the five others left with me: Natalie, the other teenager; the two in their twenties: Vivienne and Vanessa; and the two older women, Lisbeth and Josephine. I wondered what other sort of traps there would be for us, and how many more of us would fail.
Miss Penton had returned to her desk. I picked up the postcard she’d given me. It was a picture of a small church by a village green. According to the title, it was a place called Binfield in Berkshire. I looked across at Natalie. Her postcard was a portrait of William Shakespeare. Beneath the picture was the caption: Stratford-upon-Avon.
“All of you have relatives or friends you were staying with before you came here, who will be expecting you to return shortly.”
Miss Penton picked up a stick of chalk and wrote on the blackboard: ‘Change of plan. I’ve been sent here for further training and some work that they say is vital for the war. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve finished. Looking forward to seeing you soon.’
“Write this on your postcards, and address them to whomever is expecting you to return to them. Then give them to me and I will make sure they are posted in the right place.
“When you have done that, you are to return to your rooms, pack your bags, and meet in the reception area.”
So we were moving. Where to? I wondered. I was tempted to ask Miss Penton, but I’d already learnt that would not be taken well, and I didn’t fancy being sent home, as had happened to Annette and the others.
I wrote the card, addressed it to Aunt Abbey and handed it to Miss Penton. Six postcards, all with different place names on them. If anyone was hoping to get information about where we were headed next, they would be disappointed.
Chapter 7
Our transport this time was a black van, with room for five people on each side on long wooden seats in the back. The six of us climbed in, dumped our suitcases and bags on the floor, and made ourselves as comfortable as we could on the hard wooden seats.
“Wonder how long we’re going to be travelling in this thing?” asked Natalie unhappily, shifting on the seat.
“If you get uncomfortable, roll up your coat and use it as a cushion,” advised Vivienne.
With no windows to look out of, we had no way of knowing where we were headed. There was a partition between us and the van driver so we couldn’t get a peek out that way, and the rear windows of the van had been painted over with black paint. It was all very hush-hush and secret.
We didn’t talk much on the way. All of us were still very aware of the four who’d been kicked off the course because they’d been too loose-mouthed and talked too much about themselves, and we were all worried that could happen to us. After all, for all we knew, one of us could still be a plant, reporting back about us. So our conversation stayed on simple, uncontroversial things, like how bumpy the road was.
Finally, after about an hour, we felt the van begin to slow down, then pull to a halt. We heard the van driver’s door open and shut, followed by footsteps on gravel, and then the rear door of the van opened.
“Out you come, ladies!”
We stumbled out of the van, feeling slightly cramped from the journey. A tall broad-shouldered man, in his late twenties, wearing blue overalls, stood smiling in welcome at us. I noticed that he had no badges that could identify him as military in any way, but I felt immediately that he was.
“I’m Harry, and I’m going to be one of your instructors,” he said.
Lisbeth and I exchange sceptical looks. Harry? I could tell that, like me, she thought this wasn’t his real name. Nothing about this business was what it looked like. Even our first day at Winterfold House had really been about weeding out the weak links, the ones who might give the game away.
“Follow me, and I’ll show you where you’re staying,”
he said.
We picked up our suitcases and bags and trudged behind him across the camp. It looked like a military base, with long single-storey wooden huts dotted around, and military vehicles of different sorts. But none of them had any markings on them.
A high wire fence ran all the way around the area, with rolls of barbed wire at the top. I looked back and saw the main entrance – two tall metal gates that were shut. One thing was certain: we wouldn’t be able to just walk out of this place.
Most of the other people on the base seemed to be men. Like Harry, they wore plain blue overalls rather than uniforms. Some were a
rmed, rifles slung over their shoulders. Others were working on the different vehicles dotted around.
“Hey, look!” whispered Natalie.
I turned, and saw the ten women who’d been in the other group at Winterfold House, running together, not fast but hard. Their tops were grimy and soaked in sweat, and there was a look of grim determination on their faces. Two men, both wearing vests and shorts, ran alongside the women. I saw that Yvette was among the group and was tempted to give her a wave, but then I remembered what Miss Penton had said about not recognizing anyone you may meet while on the course.
The ten women and the two men thundered past us, arms and legs going, heads down.
“So that’s what awaits us,” muttered Vanessa.
“This way!” called Harry.
We continued across what I guessed to be a parade ground to one of the wooden huts. Harry opened the door.
“This is yours,” he said.
We stepped in. Six metal-framed beds were in the hut, with sheets, blankets and pillows in a neat pile on top of the thin mattress on each. This was very different to the bedrooms at Winterfold House. Also on each pile was a blue overall.
“Toilets and washing block next door,” said Harry. “It’s ladies only, so you won’t have to battle with any men for a washbasin.” He gestured at the beds. “Make your beds and unpack, and put on the overalls. I’ll be waiting for you outside.”
With that, Harry left, pulling the door shut.
We looked at the beds.
“I’ll take one farthest from the door,” said Vivienne. With that she strode to the end of the hut and dropped her bag onto one of the two beds there.
“Shouldn’t we draw lots?” suggested Natalie. “That would be fairer.”
Vivienne gave her a cold glare.
“Life isn’t fair,” she said. “But I’ll fight you for it if you like?”
Natalie looked back at Vivienne, not sure if she was joking. Then she shrugged. “Have it if you want. I don’t mind which one I have.”
I moved swiftly, joining Vivienne at the far end of the hut and dumped my suitcase on the other bed furthest from
the door.
“If it’s first come, first served, I’m grabbing this one,”
I said.
Vivienne looked at me and smiled.
“Good girl,” she complimented.
We made our beds, and I was aware of how thin the mattress was. Sleeping on this for the next few nights would take some getting used to. I was going to be uncomfortably feeling the wires of the springs through it. But then it was the same for everybody. And if it got too bad, I could always spread my coat under the mattress.
We changed into the blue overalls and joined Harry outside.
“Right,” said Harry. “We’re going to start with some basic weapons training. Anyone used a gun before?”
Lisbeth, Vivienne and Josephine put their hands up, making me wonder in what sort of situation they’d each done that. I was even more intrigued when Harry asked: “Any of you fired a sub-machine gun?” and Vivienne and Josephine lowered their hands, but Lisbeth’s stayed up.
Harry grinned at Lisbeth. “Good. One less to bother about when it comes to a weapon kicking back. Right, follow me.”
As we walked, I wasn’t the only one looking at Lisbeth with new respect, strongly tempted to ask her how and why she’d been firing a sub-machine gun. Harry led us to a large shed made of corrugated iron. Inside, another man was standing by a table on which a selection of guns was laid out: pistols, rifles, machine guns.
“This is Pete,” Harry introduced him. “He knows more about weapons than most people will ever know. If you’ve got any questions and I don’t know the answer, Pete will.”
We looked at Pete, who just looked back at us, silent and unsmiling. He didn’t look very approachable.
“Right,” said Harry, gesturing for us to gather around the table. “We don’t know what weapons you might be issued with for when you’re in the field, so I’m going to run through the key ones, the ones you’re most likely to be using. First, pistols.”
From then, Harry showed us guns of all sorts: pistols, rifles and sub-machine guns. We picked them up and held them while he talked us through what they could do, how one sort was better than another, the different sorts of ammunition they used – everything about them. He showed us the difference between the revolvers, where the bullets were kept in a round chamber, and automatic pistols, where the ammunition was in a clip in the handle. He warned us about recoil, which meant a gun kicking back when it was fired.
Finally, he said: “So, ladies. We’ll start with the easy ones first. Select a pistol each, and we’ll go out to the firing range. Pete and I will bring the ammo.”
Chapter 8
I selected one of the revolvers. I chose it because it reminded me of the guns they used in the cowboy films I used to go and see with Dad and Mum when I was a child in Paris.
The firing range turned out to be another metal shed. At the far end, dummy people made out of straw had been set up, tied to stakes. Large sheets of paper had been placed over their fronts. Behind the dummies, a thick wall had been built made up of wooden railway sleepers. I supposed this was to stop the bullets hitting the metal wall at the back, and either going right through it, or bouncing back towards the person who’d fired.
“Let’s start one at a time,” said Harry. “Collect your ammunition from the boxes over there. Make sure it’s the right ammo for your gun. Lisbeth, you’ve shot before, so you can show the others how it’s done.”
Lisbeth went to the ammo box. Like me, she’d chosen a revolver. She expertly slipped the six bullets into the chamber, then walked to a line that had been painted on the floor opposite the target dummies. She didn’t do anything fancy with it, just aimed the gun straight in front of her, arms straight but with a slight bend at the elbows, holding it in both hands.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She fired three times. The first two shots hit the dummy in the centre of the chest. The third punched a hole in the paper covering its straw head.
“Good,” nodded Harry. He turned to us. “Straight arm action, but with flexibility at the elbow to deal with the recoil, so no impact strain on the shoulders.” He looked at Lisbeth. “Why two in the chest and one in the head?”
“The chest is the bigger target. You’re more likely to get a hit there than the head. The head shot was vanity, to show I could do it.”
Harry smiled.
“And why just three shots? Why not the whole chamber?”
“Always keep shots in reserve in case of trouble,” said Lisbeth.
Harry nodded.
“Excellent!” he complimented her. “Yes, you’ve definitely done this before.”
Where? I wanted to shout out. I was so eager to find out where Lisbeth had learnt to shoot like that, and why? But I knew I couldn’t ask her direct.
Harry then called Vivienne and Josephine to the line to take their shots one after the other. They also kept their shots to three. I guessed they’d learnt from Harry’s good reaction to Lisbeth’s display. Both of them hit the target, though Vivienne’s shots were closer together.
“Céline,” said Harry.
I selected six bullets from the ammo box and slipped them into the revolving chamber. I walked to the line, aimed the pistol at one of the dummies as Lisbeth had done, pulled the trigger … and nothing happened. I turned to Harry, puzzled.
“Sorry, Céline,” he smiled. “I was hoping that one of you would do that, as an example to the others.”
“Safety catch,” said Lisbeth, Vivienne and Josephine
in unison.
Harry came over to me and showed me where the safety catch was, and how to click it off so that the gun would fire.
“That’s a vital lesson,” he said. “You’d be sur
prised how many people forget about the safety catch, especially when they’re in a tight situation.”
I levelled the pistol at the dummy again, sighting along the barrel, and pulled the trigger.
The pistol kicked in my hand, the barrel jerking up, and the bullet sailed over and wide of the dummy and thudded into the wooden wall.
“Kick-back,” said Harry. “Next time, squeeze the trigger more gently. And keep a tight grip of the handle with both hands, ready to force the barrel down at the very second
of firing.”
This time I overdid the forcing it down, and the bullet hit the dummy somewhere around what would have been the ankle.
“You hit it,” nodded Harry. “That’s a good start. Try again.”
I fired again, but this time my shot missed the dummy altogether.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry, doing his best to reassure me. “It took me ages to get my eye in when I first started. Have another go. You’ve still got three bullets left. Might as well keep trying.”
I tried again. My fourth shot missed the dummy again, my fifth took a piece of straw out of the side of the chest, bringing a mutter of “Better” from Harry; and then, to my delight, my last shot hit the dummy right in the chest.
“Excellent!” beamed Harry. “And this is your first time. Keep this up and you’ll become a crack shot!”
I then moved away from the line to let Vanessa and Natalie have their turns. Like me, they missed with their first shots, but their other shots were closer and hit the target. I guessed they’d learnt from my mistakes.
We had one more round of pistol-shooting, and then Harry produced the Sten gun.
“Right, time for this one,” he said. “And we’ll start with single shot action so you can get used to the recoil. Two ways of aiming this: one, from the shoulder, like a rifle, taking careful aim. Two, from the waist. Which method you use depends on preference, and the circumstances. Lisbeth, you go first.”
Lisbeth took the Sten from Harry, went to the ammunition boxes and took out a clip of bullets, which she clicked into place in the sub-machine gun. She seemed very comfortable with the weapon and the way it operated.