by Jim Eldridge
Suddenly I was aware of the driver saying nervously: “Sturmscharführer …”
We both turned to look at the driver, and saw through the windscreen that an RAF fighter plane was coming in very low, directly towards us. Suddenly bullets began to hit the road in front of the car, and then the windscreen smashed and the driver fell to one side with a dreadful gurgle. I had anticipated what was happening and had thrown myself down to the floor, the plane’s bullets whizzing over my head and smashing the glass of the rear window.
The car swerved wildly. I felt it leave the road, bounce over the rough ground, and then smash into a tree with such force that turned it over. I fell towards the side of the car as it slid onto its side, then we hit something else and the car rolled completely over onto its roof.
The impact made the doors fall open and I fell out onto the grass, and just managed to stop myself from rolling down the grassy slope into the river. The driver of the car was half-in half-out of the car, dead. I could only guess that the pilot had spotted the two flags on the front of the car, realized there was a high-ranking German officer it, and gone for the kill.
I stumbled to my feet, hampered by the fact that my wrists were still handcuffed behind me. I looked around for Schnell, and saw that he had fallen out of the car. He’d been hit – blood soaked the front of his shirt.
“Help me!” he whimpered.
Unsteadily, he raised a hand towards me in appeal, then he fell back with a groan.
As I saw him lying there, semi-conscious, I thought of all the people he had killed and the cruel way he’d done it. Not just my father, but all those others who’d been dragged into that dreadful interrogation room and been subjected to unspeakable torments. Hundreds of them had suffered at the hands of this monster, and then been killed by him. I thought of Aunt Berthe and little Mimi. Of the hundreds of other people this man had tortured and killed.
Then I realized that he wasn’t breathing any longer.
He was dead.
Epilogue
The keys to the handcuffs were in Schnell’s pocket, as were the keys to his briefcase. Inside the briefcase were masses of documents, diagrams, maps and plans. The German language lessons I’d received during my training helped me translate some, enough to know that they contained vital information. All I had to do was get them back to England. The question was: how? To the north there was fierce fighting as the invading Allies battled to break through the German lines. Elsewhere, there was a sense of chaos, with German troops torn between retreating south and holding their lines.
It was the invasion, M’sieur Lemaître had said: the Allies landing in force on the beaches of Normandy and forcing their way inland, liberating France as they went. So I decided to wait for the Allies to arrive.
As it turned out, fortune came my way and I didn’t have to wait for the Allies. After I left Schnell and his wrecked car, I took a chance and sought refuge with a family on their farm, telling them I was a refugee from the north who was waiting for the fighting to die down so that I could rejoin my family. Luckily for me, they were part of a Resistance cell. The sight of Schnell’s bulky briefcase raised their suspicions, and I found myself being interrogated as a possible spy or collaborator by the local Resistance commander. Fortunately, by taking him to where I’d left Schnell’s body, and also mentioning the events at Malerme – though without naming names – I was able to convince him I was on their side, and arrangements were made to get me back to England.
…………………………..
So it was that a week after I’d blown up the bridge over the Clemel, I was back in Edward Swinton’s office. I’d been delivered by car straight to Baker Street after I’d landed at Tempsford, still clutching Schnell’s briefcase.
Swinton nodded approvingly as he studied the contents of the briefcase.
“Excellent catch!” he said. “This is a real bonus! There’s information here that will be absolutely invaluable to us.” He smiled at me. “And that was an excellent job, the bridge at Clemel. It did exactly what we hoped, stopped the Germans being able to get reinforcements and heavy weapons to the coast along that rail line.” Then his expression grew serious. “Unfortunately, the invasion isn’t the end of it. There’s a long haul yet before the War is over. But the tide has turned because of it.” He paused, the said: “We might have need of you again, if you are willing.”
I thought about all that had happened to me while I was in France. Being captured and threatened with torture and death. Pierre being shot dead. Berthe and Mimi being transported off to an unknown fate.
And then I thought of everyone who’d died trying to defeat the Nazis. People who’d sacrificed their homes, their families, their lives. After five long years, we were close to victory now. With a last push, we could win!
“Very willing,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “In the meantime, I think we’d better get you cleaned up and returned home. I know your Aunt Abbey will be curious to hear all about your secretarial work, and why it’s kept you away from home.”
“I’ll tell her it’s classified,” I said.
And so I got myself washed and cleaned up and, dressed in my own clothes, became Violet Debuchy once more, and went home to my Aunt Abbey.
“You missed all the excitement!” burst out Aunt Abbey. “The Allies have landed in Normandy! They say the War will be over any time now!” She sighed. “Ah, the bravery of those soldiers! We’re so lucky, Violet, being women. We don’t have to suffer like men do in this war. The fighting! The shooting! The explosions!”
I looked at Aunt Abbey and thought of everything that had happened to me. The SOE training. France. Pierre, and Berthe and Mimi. Schnell.
“You’re right, Aunt Abbey,” I said. “But we all play our parts, you know. Even us.”
Historical Note
It took another six months after the D-Day landings in Normandy, on 6 June 1944, before the whole of France was liberated. The war in Europe carried on for a further five months before Germany finally surrendered on 7 May 1945.
The Special Operations Executive (SOE) was known as Churchill’s Secret Army. It operated in countries occupied by the Axis forces (Germany, Italy and Japan). Its largest area of operations was in Occupied France. Between May 1941 and August 1944, more than 400 SOE agents were sent into France, including 39 women agents. Of these, 91 men and 13 women were killed. Of those who survived the War, many had been caught, tortured and imprisoned in the notorious death camps, before being liberated.
On May 1991, a memorial was unveiled at Valençay, a small town in the Loire Valley in France, with the names of the 91 men and 13 women of SOE who gave their lives to gain France’s freedom. In October 2009, a memorial to SOE’s agents was unveiled in London, on the Albert Embankment by Lambeth Palace. The sacrifice of those who fought this secret war against the Nazis was finally recognized. Without their bravery, there would have been no victory.
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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2015
This electronic edition published 2015
Text © Jim Eldridge, 2015
Cover photography © Erik Khalitov/Getty Images
© Scholastic Ltd, 2015
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eISBN 978 1407 15694 1
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