The driver snapped to attention and grabbed the guard’s legs. Together the two men dragged their burden back to the hut. The sentry rolled bonelessly to the floor when they dropped him.
Kurt climbed into the ambulance and took Brigitte in his arms. She was shaking so hard her teeth were rattling.
“Take it easy,” Hesse said to her in French. “You have to be strong if we’re going to make it through this alive.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“You’ve seen people die many times,” he said.
“Not like this,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like.”
“Listen to me. You can still get the American through if you do as I say and save our lives in the process.”
She looked at him alertly, already recovering, seeking direction.
“You have to get going right now,” Kurt said breathlessly. “That guard’s relief will be here any minute. Can you go on? You can’t stay here, you will be caught for sure if you do. Can you finish what you started?”
She nodded again, more firmly.
Harris and the driver ran back to the ambulance.
“We dumped him in the guardhouse,” Harris said to Kurt.
“All right, take off,” Hesse said. He kissed Brigitte, who clung to him briefly, then with an effort of will let him go.
“What will you say?” Harris demanded. “How will you explain this?”
“I’ll tell them I found him dead when I arrived here escorting your ambulance. I sent you on ahead and stayed to report it. They’ll believe it was local sabotage. That sort of thing happens at outposts like this all the time.”
Harris nodded. “That’s fast thinking,” he said. He extended his hand. Hesse stared at it for a second.
“I’m not doing this for you,” he said coldly, turning away.
Harris dropped his hand. “I hope she appreciates you, pal,” he replied in an undertone in English as he stripped off his bloody sweater.
Brigitte, ignoring her audience, unhooked the stained hose from her garters and handed the stockings to Harris. He took them, admiring her clear head; Brigitte could hold her own with her sister-in-law any time. He dashed to the bushes by the side of the road and buried the clothing quickly.
“Let’s roll,” he said, and jumped in beside Brigitte. The driver ran around to the cab and gunned the motor.
“I’ll see you in Fains,” Kurt said to Brigitte, and moved to close the doors.
She leapt up and stayed his hand.
“I love you,” she said to him in German. Then, as Harris yelled behind her to “get moving” and Hesse stared at her in amazement, she shut the doors in his face.
The ambulance careened down the roadway, tires screeching. Hesse didn’t pause to look after it, or to consider why Brigitte had chosen that hectic moment to tell him what she knew he wanted to hear.
Everything had happened in such a blur that time was distorted. He was relieved to see by the clock inside the guardhouse window that only a few minutes had passed since their arrival. He took a few, deep calming breaths of the cold night air and then went to the military phone inside the hut. He wound the handle several times to ring the service operator in Lyons, and by the time he reached headquarters in Bar-le-Duc he knew what he would say.
“This is Kurt Hesse, aide-de-camp to Colonel Becker, military governor of the Meuse. I want to report an act of sabotage,” he said calmly. “At the Lissante outpost on the Swiss border.”
The lieutenant on the other end began to take down the information as Hesse fed him the altered version of the facts. And as Kurt stood in the guardhouse he saw a puff of smoke grow larger in the distance. It materialized into a motor scooter.
The sentry’s relief had arrived.
Part Three:
LIBERATION
Summer, 1944
Chapter 12
“Curel says that it will happen soon,” Laura whispered, wheeling her bike beside Brigitte as her sister-in-law walked down the path away from the hospital. Preoccupied German soldiers hurrying toward the entrance flowed past them like a stream dividing around a rock.
“He’s been saying that for a month,” Brigitte replied in the same undertone, exasperated. Early June sunshine bathed them in its warm glow, and she shielded her eyes from it with her hand as they strolled. She was on her lunch break from the hospital and had to be back soon, but Laura had been insistent about seeing her.
“No, no,” Laura hissed excitedly. “The Résistance received another message about it last night.”
They both glanced around them at the same time to see if anyone listened, and then Laura dropped her eyes and shook her head. This conversation was best continued elsewhere.
They waited until they were far down the main street and well away from an audience before Laura said, “You saw them just now, scurrying around like bees in a hive without a queen. Something’s up, can’t you feel it?” She leaned her bike against her hip and turned to the other woman eagerly.
“Well?” Brigitte said, raising her brows, challenging her to continue.
“It’s called Project Overlord, and the Allies sent word that the invasion was imminent again yesterday.”
“How?”
“The first message came over the BBC last week, coded in a poem by Verlaine. They’ve been sending it ever since.”
“We’ve been hearing rumors for months,” Brigitte said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Curel says they’ve been trying to mislead the Germans about where the landings will take place,” Laura went on, so caught up in her story that Brigitte’s skepticism didn’t even touch her. “It could be Calais, or Brest, or Normandy. There’s even talk of a British descent on Norway.”
“How does Curel know so much?”
“Oh, he hears everything. He’s been around so long that he knows everybody and everybody trusts him.”
“Do you really think it might be true?” Brigitte asked, beginning reluctantly to hope. Fear of disappointment always kept her wary.
Laura squeezed her hand. “I do. You know how the war has been going. Curel says that now is the time and he’s rarely wrong.”
“Pretty soon he’ll be telling us what to wear when we get up in the morning,” Brigitte said dryly.
Laura grinned. “What does Kurt say?” she asked, sobering.
Brigitte shrugged. “He’s not in a position to really know anything.”
“Well, what does Becker think?”
“Nobody knows what Becker thinks.”
“Not even Kurt?”
Brigitte sighed. “He says they’re on the alert, expecting something, but nobody knows quite what it will be. After a number of false alarms I guess it starts to become routine.”
“Good,” Laura said with satisfaction. “I hope they’re getting complacent and dismissing the rumors so that when it comes it will catch them off guard.”
“There’s no such thing as a complacent German,” Brigitte said. “And they’re definitely on guard. Look at them.”
“Some people act as if they can hardly imagine this town without them,” Laura said disgustedly.
“I know.”
“It must be similar to having a chronic disease. After a while you forget what it was like to be well.”
“I remember,” Brigitte said fiercely, rounding on her. “I remember what it was like to be free.”
“Oh, Bree, so do I,” Laura replied, squeezing her hand. “And we’ll be free again. I can feel it.”
Brigitte smiled briefly, dismissing the emotional moment as she said, “You’d better be getting back to the school. Lysette will be looking for you.”
“Are you coming home tonight?” Laura asked.
Brigitte nodded. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
Laura waved goodbye as Brigitte turned back for the hospital, and then wheeled her bike into the street to cross it. The townspeople eddied about her and she was sure she detected an air of suppressed
excitement. The Germans weren’t the only ones reacting to the rumors. Passersby met her eyes, smiling slightly and then looking quickly away, almost as if they were afraid to dispel the magic by acknowledging it.
Laura had gone shopping on her lunch hour and the wire basket was filled. She locked her bike to the rack by the door of the school and lifted the packages into her arms. As she walked inside she could hear the shouts of the children, still at recess, playing on the clay topped schoolyard in the back. A light breeze rustled through the trees and fanned her face with a cool caress.
On such a day four years ago Alain had first told her about the American who was to come and help them. She’d had no way of knowing then how important that man would be to her.
She had gotten several sporadic messages from Harris, sent through the Résistance network. The first had said that he’d made it safely back to England, and the last that he was fine and flying again.
That had been eight months ago.
Laura stowed her purchases on the shelf in her classroom and went looking for Lysette. She found her sitting behind her desk in the library with an open book in her hands, staring into space.
“No lunch?” Laura said to her.
Lysette started and Laura laughed.
“Deep in thought?” Laura asked.
“I guess so,” Lysette murmured. “What did you say?”
“I just said that you weren’t having lunch.”
“Oh, no. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re never hungry. I don’t know what keeps you going.” Laura sat on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “Word has it that the invasion is coming soon,” she said softly.
Lysette closed her book, not answering.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Laura prodded, baffled by her friend’s lack of reaction.
“We’ve heard rumors before,” Lysette said quietly.
“Yes, I know, but I really think this is it. The Germans can’t hold on much longer. The Allies are advancing all along the Italian front and they entered Rome yesterday. The Germans are in full retreat there and...”
“That could be just talk,” Lysette said sharply, standing abruptly. “We don’t have any way of verifying anything we hear. It’s all just word of mouth. People say what they want to believe, what they would like to be true.”
Laura stared at her. Lysette had seemed more distant and self absorbed than usual lately, but Laura was used to dealing with her rectitude and often found it restful. Lysette had a habit of disappearing at odd times. She was probably taking long walks or going to church—about the only possibilities which the limits of curfew and the boundaries of Fains-les-Sources would permit. Laura had discovered her absences when she went on impulse to visit her at home. Laura didn’t mind that Lysette obviously preferred her own company, and had defended her to others who accused her, behind her back, of being cold or unfriendly. This, however, was an odd reaction even for Lysette. It was almost as if she didn’t want the invasion to occur, didn’t want the Germans to pull out of France. What could she be thinking?
“Well,” Laura said, rising also, “our only source of official information is the Germans and I find their silence significant. They’re not even trying to counter the rumors with propaganda but they seem very busy. I wonder if it could be because they have bigger problems to occupy their time?”
“I don’t know,” Lysette said, walking to the window, “and I think it would be better if we didn’t speculate about it.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s time for us to call them in,” she said. “Would you mind ringing the bell?”
Laura left the room, pausing to cast one last puzzled glance over her shoulder at her colleague.
Lysette waited until Laura’s footsteps faded down the corridor and then covered her face with her hands.
* * *
It was dawn when the knock came at the door of Becker’s quarters. He had spent the night waiting and was not asleep. The only light in the sitting room came from the glow of his cigarette. He stood and dropped it in an ashtray, pulling on his tunic with his other hand.
He opened the door to admit Kurt Hesse and then stepped back to let the younger man precede him into the room. He shut the door.
“Well?” Becker said, turning.
Hesse handed him a message on yellow dispatch paper. “This was just decoded in the wireless room. More is coming in but I thought you would want to see it now.”
Becker didn’t take it. “What does it say?” he demanded.
“It’s the invasion.”
“Calais?” Becker asked sharply.
“Normandy.”
Becker nodded, walking further into the room and switching on a lamp. “Normandy. The least obvious choice.” He paused. “I had thought the weather on the coast might delay them.” He folded his arms. “Any count yet from our surveillance?”
Hesse swallowed and looked at the floor. “Twenty-one American and thirty-eight British and Canadian convoys on the sea. The closest guess is one hundred and fifty thousand men in the first wave.”
Becker closed his eyes.
“The aircraft still appears to be...” Hesse stopped.
Becker looked at him.
“Uncountable.”
“Jesus Christ,” Becker murmured.
“The radio operator said the horizon was obscured by ships at first light.” The boy hesitated and then went on stolidly. “The sky is described as ‘black with planes.’”
Becker walked to the window and stared thoughtfully out at the just rising sun.
“What’s the date?” he asked.
“The sixth.”
“We’ll never forget it,” he said softly. He looked around at the boy. “We’ll never forget this date or this moment, you and I.”
“No, sir,” Hesse said huskily.
“Germany’s inglorious defeat,” Becker murmured. “The whole world will know our shame now, what these fools have been up to during the last years. It’s no dishonor to lose in a good fight but this will be an inexcusable disgrace.” He gestured futilely and dropped his hand. “I’m so glad my father did not live to see it.”
Hesse kept silent.
“It’s all over, son,” Becker added softly. “Our idyll in the French countryside is at an end.”
His dark eyes sought the younger man’s blue ones, and the distance of rank between them evaporated.
“What will happen now?” Hesse asked.
“I don’t know,” Becker replied in a tired voice.
Hesse waited. He had never seen his superior at such a loss.
Becker indicated a pile of papers on the table beside his armchair.
“I have been rereading my orders from Berlin for the last week. Each day they contradicted the directives from the day before. They are panicked, Hesse, panicked like rats scurrying off a sinking ship.”
“Do you think a retreat will be ordered, sir?” Hesse asked.
Becker smiled sardonically. “Oh, I imagine so, boy. Otherwise we will be jitterbugging in the streets with the G.I.s in a few months’ time.”
Hesse understood Becker well enough by now to know that his attempt at humor was a defense against his true feelings.
“Is it hopeless, then?” Hesse asked in a low tone.
Becker went to him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, it’s hopeless. I won’t lie to you now. They’ll fight on for a while I’m sure, but we don’t have the resources to combat an onslaught like this one. The war is lost.”
Hesse bent his head.
“Don’t be unhappy,” Becker said firmly. “I mourn the dishonor but not the outcome. This is the way it had to be.”
Hesse was still young enough to take such a thing personally and couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Kurt, listen to me,” Becker said in the voice of command, and Hesse straightened.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to bring Madame Remy to me tonight,” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir.”
The subject had never before been discussed but Hesse listened dutifully. Pretense under these circumstances was unthinkable.
“Now go and get breakfast for us,” Becker said in dismissal. “I feel it will be a very long day.”
* * *
That night just before curfew Curel knocked on the door of the Duclos house and found Laura and Brigitte in the kitchen. As Laura admitted him, one look at his face told her what he had come to say and she seized him.
“The invasion,” she whispered. “It’s here?”
“It’s happening right now,” he answered, his old eyes shining. “It came across the BBC a few minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“Normandy. They started landing this morning, at beaches all along the coast from Caen to Valognes. It has begun.”
Laura threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “Thank God, oh thank God.”
Curel held her for a moment, savoring their mutual joy. His grip was surprisingly masculine and strong.
“Come inside and tell us,” Laura urged, tugging on his arm.
Curel entered and nodded at Brigitte. He sat at the table, his excitement visible. His hands, gnarled with a lifetime of hard work and corded with blue veins, were trembling.
“The message was brief, as they always are, but this is what we know. Fifty-seven thousand Americans as well as fifty-four thousand British and twenty-one thousand Canadians came ashore today,” he said, reciting from memory.
“So many,” Brigitte breathed in wonderment.
Curel nodded vigorously. “Over eleven hundred warships and five thousand landing craft. Thirteen thousand airplanes. That’s all we could decode but it’s enough to know that it’s the largest invasion force ever assembled in the history of warfare. It’s all under the command of U.S. General Eisenhower.”
“God bless America,” Laura said with real feeling and her companions smiled.
Clash by Night (A World War II Romantic Drama) Page 28