The Indigo Rebels: A French Resistance novel

by Ellie Midwood

  The young man took a deep breath under his commanding officer’s amused stare and bravely allowed the blonde to navigate the fork into his mouth. He chewed a couple of times while everyone at the table awaited his verdict and then smiled brightly, raising his brows.

  “Delicious, isn’t it?” Giselle clapped her hands excitedly.

  “No, I hated it.” Horst gave Giselle an impish glance from under his long lashes.

  Jochen burst out laughing together with Kamille. Giselle noticed that they did everything together now, the emotions of one reflecting on the face of the other immediately.

  “You have to kiss him now!” Jochen exclaimed, and even Kamille joined him in his teasing, her eyes shining brightly with joy.

  “Yes, kiss him, Giselle!”

  “No, I can’t kiss him; I’m a lady after all, and we’re in a public place. But he can kiss me if he likes.” Giselle gave Horst a playful wink, pointing at her cheek.

  Horst leaned forward readily, but when he was just about to peck Giselle on her cheek, she turned her head unexpectedly, and his lips met hers instead.

  “Giselle, you’re incorrigible!” Kamille squealed with delight at the latest of her sister’s antics. She had already forgotten that Giselle was always up for any possible shenanigan, and ladylike behavior wasn’t something she honored or followed.

  Both men only laughed, Horst looking positively delighted. Giselle watched her carefully orchestrated play, wondering when she had become such a schemer.

  Just the manner in which she had obtained the necessary passes for Kamille and herself, allowing them to be outside after the curfew, spoke volumes. Giselle never told Karl about the second key to his study that she had, so opening the door to his home office while he was at work was a piece of cake. She would have preferred it much more if he had simply given her the papers, but she justified her shameless intrusion by the fact that he had left her no choice. Giselle rummaged through his papers carefully, opening drawer after drawer until she found what she was looking for – a stack of Ausweis blanks. She filled two of them out – one for herself and one for Kamille, copying Karl’s writing and signature from one of his handwritten letters that lay right there, on top of his desk.

  Then she just as shamelessly lied to Karl that she would spend the evening at Kamille’s at a game of bridge, and now she had manipulated this poor boy into almost falling in love with her, and all for what? To learn what they were working on, so later she could manipulate that cursed communist into giving her the leading position. And for what? For fun, like she told Antoine? All those people had a goal, and her? Well, she might just get a new and very entertaining novel out of it, Giselle thought with a small laugh, as she shrugged off the doubts gnawing on her restless mind and turned back to Horst.

  15

  As soon as the four returned to Kamille’s house, Giselle headed straight to the bar. Violette was spending the night at Lili’s – her teacher Madame Marceau’s daughter and her best friend from school – as it had been previously arranged by Kamille, and so the blonde wasn’t afraid to make noise with her contagious laughter and the clinking of the glasses. Horst was right by her side, of course, offering her help despite his commanding officer’s wary looks.

  Jochen, just as Giselle suspected he would, had caught onto his adjutant saying a little too much during the dinner. He even interrupted him harshly once, when Horst started explaining to Giselle about the “highly important operation” that they were working on, and some wire net that was supposed to stretch around the one hundred kilometer radius around Paris…

  “Horst!” Jochen’s sharp voice cut into the boy’s chatter in tow with a stern glare. “We aren’t supposed to talk about that with civilians, and certainly not in public places.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann.” Horst lowered his head guiltily, even though Giselle guessed that he was more disappointed that he couldn’t impress his date with the details of the “highly important operation” than with upsetting his superior.

  Giselle wisely changed the subject then, deciding that she would get to the chatty adjutant when they were back at Kamille’s. Only, Jochen apparently feared the same happening again and had therefore ordered Horst to go up to his bedroom instead of staying with Giselle downstairs.

  “We have to be up early tomorrow, Horst.”

  “But tomorrow is Sunday…” the young man protested weakly.

  Giselle tried her best charming smile on Jochen, pointing at the two glasses on the silver tray near the bar.

  “Oh, come now, don’t send my Horst away! I’ve already mixed us drinks. You don’t want them to go to waste, do you? That would be a true atrocity in times like these!”

  “I’m sorry, Giselle.” Jochen smiled politely, but she had already guessed his answer before he uttered it. “I’m afraid he has already had his fill. I’m responsible for him as his commanding officer, and I don’t want him to suffer from a headache tomorrow.”

  Horst didn’t even bother to suppress a disappointed sigh, turned to Giselle and kissed her hand gallantly.

  “I’m sorry, Giselle. Maybe next time. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Horst,” Giselle replied, and added very quietly, pressing his hand in a conspiratorial manner. “Don’t lock your door, will you?”

  Horst’s head shot up, and his face lit up at once.

  “I won’t,” he whispered, kissing her hand once again ardently and leaving the room, wishing everyone good night in a cheerful tone. Jochen eyed him with suspicion.

  “Don’t worry about me.” Giselle waved off her sister, who made a motion to take a seat on the sofa near her. “You two should call it a night too; you’re both tired, I can see. I’ll stay here and read for a while. I’m a night owl and most likely will be up all night. So, go ahead and rest. And tomorrow we’ll all have a nice breakfast together.”

  Both Jochen and Kamille obviously couldn’t wait to go upstairs together, and Giselle didn’t want to embarrass them by being witness to the fact that they would likely share the same room. Not a word was spoken of it, but she knew all too well by the telltale signs as to what was going on between the two. And besides, she needed them to sleep soundly together, so when she tried to sneak into Horst’s room, no one would hear her.

  Giselle stalled for a good thirty minutes downstairs and then soundlessly ascended the carpeted steps, pausing on the landing and still playing with the amber liquid in her glass. Her calculations turned out to be correct as it seemed, as she heard soft snoring from behind Kamille’s door. Trying not to chuckle at her prim and proper sister who always prided herself on doing everything by the book, Giselle took her shoes off and padded to the opposite side of the landing, where Horst’s bedroom was.

  She opened the door softly and slid inside, feeling her way in the dark. The poor boy had fallen asleep too, she guessed by the heavy breathing coming from his bed. Giselle placed the glass on top of the nightstand silently, removed her dress and stockings and slid under the warm covers, shushing the young man’s audible gasp as he woke up.

  Horst instantly pulled her close, covering her mouth and neck in rushed, greedy kisses, and promising her everything she wanted in a fervent whisper; even to take her to the field, where “the highly important operation” was taking place.

  “Let’s run away tomorrow morning. Before everyone wakes up?” Giselle purred in his ear as he moved on top of her.

  “Yes… Of course, we will… Whatever you want, Giselle, I’ll do it.”

  It was almost too easy.

  The rising sun had barely painted the sky in pale blue at break of day as Giselle and Horst pedaled away on two bicycles, brazenly “borrowed” from one of the Wehrmacht barracks nearby; which, according to Horst, no one would use on Sunday. The golden carpet of fallen leaves rustled under their wheels as the two sped away from the city, which was still immersed into its tranquil slumber behind its blacked-out windows.

  “This way!” Horst shouted to Giselle as they approached a c
rossroads, with the sign Verboten under an arrow, which was pointing to the right.

  “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for trespassing?” she inquired, leveling the speed of her bicycle with his.

  “Are you afraid?” Horst teased.

  “Of you Germans?” Giselle snorted, rolling her eyes. “You wish.”

  He laughed, throwing his head backward, and soon pointed to a pathway leading to the forest.

  “We’ll have to leave our bicycles there.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re leading the way today.” Giselle winked at the young man.

  Reaching the edge of the forest, which seemed impenetrable with its growth and bushes completely cutting off the trail from entering its emerald kingdom, Horst jumped off his bicycle and helped Giselle get off of hers.

  “Let’s lead the bikes with us as far as we can,” he suggested. “This way the patrol won’t notice them right away and won’t raise the alarm.”

  Giselle nodded and sighed as soon as they started making their way inside the wood, wishing that she had some sort of sandals on her feet and not these pretty, but oh-so-uncomfortable pumps. Horst kept checking on her every few steps, making sure that she followed and didn’t get caught in the spiky bushes, which caught onto their clothes relentlessly.

  Just as Giselle was beginning to regret her decision to set on such a physically demanding adventure, Horst took her hand in his and warned her quietly to keep her head low.

  They were climbing up a rocky hill, having left their bicycles halfway from here, but Giselle still frowned, deciding that the young man just wanted to impress her and was being overly dramatic. Most likely they would have to walk another hour before they reached—

  “Quiet!” He shushed her suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, as a twig snapped loudly under her foot. “There are sentries out there, and if they hear us…”

  Giselle had just decided to roll her eyes emphatically when they reached the top of the hill, when she indeed saw a small figure in its green-grayish uniform, sitting at the bottom, almost in a field that spread out in front of him, with his rifle resting casually nearby.

  Giselle heard Horst hissing something in his language. He snorted in response to her inquiring look and shook his head with disdain, pointing at the sentry in the distance.

  “He’s napping, the lazy good-for-nothing! Don’t you see?” he whispered, motioning Giselle to lower on the ground. Sensing her reluctance, he quickly took off his uniform jacket and placed it in front of her, gesturing to it chivalrously. As soon as the two took up their positions, Giselle on top of Horst’s uniform, he motioned his head towards the private, who was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. “It’s a secret object as of now, the whole field. The Wehrmacht aren’t allowing the locals to use it. See how overgrown it is? It’s all because we’re stretching the wire through it, from over there to – see that border? – to that side, you see?”

  Giselle squinted against the rising sun, trying to make out what he was pointing at. She saw it at last, barely noticeable due to it being camouflaged: a reel of thick wire on the neighboring side of the woods not too far from them, near where another sentry was resting. This one was busy reading a book at least, and not shamelessly sleeping like his comrade at the bottom of the hill. The thick wire itself disappeared from the reel into the dense growth of the field.

  “I told you we were working on a secret operation.” Horst beamed at her with a smug look, satisfied that he could finally impress his new lady friend, who wasn’t usually so easy to impress.

  “Yes, you most certainly are,” Giselle replied, playing with his chestnut hair. “What exactly does that wire do, did you say?”

  Horst tensed for a moment, his face taking on a guarded expression, but only until Giselle sprawled out next to him with a content sigh as if forgetting her question.

  “It must be so boring anyway. I wish you could take me to Vienna instead. I bet it’s a beautiful city with plenty of entertainment.”

  Horst’s expression brightened again, and Giselle released another soft sigh, treading carefully. “Ah, if only you were stationed there, and not forced to walk daily through the middle of nowhere, minding some stupid wire. Most likely it doesn’t even do anything; your superiors are just trying to keep you busy this way.”

  “Of course it does! It feeds our communication lines!” Horst argued, swallowing the bait. “I told you already. As soon as it’s set up, together with several other parts of the net, it will be able to not only unify all the telephone and telegraph lines of the city but will also help us in gathering intelligence. The Gestapo have been fighting tooth and nail to gain control over it, but our Wehrmacht command won’t hear a word of it. We want to apprehend the remaining rebels on our own, without their meddling in our affairs. Those rebels rescue and hide downed British pilots, and who knows how soon they will be able to communicate with London if we don’t stop them in time. And you’re saying it’s not doing anything.”

  Giselle shrugged dismissively as if showing a complete lack of interest in the wire and its purpose and pulled Horst closer to silence him with a kiss.

  “I didn’t come here for some stupid wire of yours. I just wanted to be with you away from that stern, commanding officer of yours, and my sister, the prude.” She was lying obviously, and judging by his eyes, glowing with adoration, rather convincingly. “Have you ever made love in the woods?”

  Giselle ascended the stairs, almost dragging her feet from the exhausting first half of the day. Having returned the missing adjutant to Jochen, Giselle refused Kamille’s offer to share lunch together, citing other plans. No one needed to know that those “other plans” included their “missing” brother and his newfound friends/communists, whom she decided to pay a visit before returning home.

  She opened the door to her parents’ apartment with her key and cast a pointed glare Philippe’s way as he emerged from the living room, aiming a gun at her.

  “Will we ever have a normal meeting, comrade?” Giselle didn’t even hide the irony in her voice, locking the door after herself.

  The communist tucked the gun back into his belt and looked Giselle up and down, taking in her shoes, which were covered in dust, and the creased clothes and hair, which framed her face in gentle waves without being perfectly styled in comparison to the first time when he had met her. She also didn’t wear any makeup besides lipstick, which strangely made her look much more attractive, despite her somewhat pale complexion and the grayish circles under her tired eyes.

  “What happened? The Nazis occupied all the beauty salons around?” He asked with a lopsided contemptuous smirk.

  Surprisingly, she decided to ignore the jab and proceeded into the living room to lower herself onto the old sofa, on which she used to curl up with a book when she was a teenager. Now, instead of books and newspapers, an overflowing ashtray rested on the small coffee table with faded whitish spots from hot coffee mugs, for which her mother used to chide her father, and several leaflets with some communist propaganda – of course.

  “Could you be a lamb and bring me a glass of water, comrade?” Giselle asked, taking off her shoes and massaging her aching ankles.

  “You’re not my comrade, and I don’t remember being hired as your personal lackey,” the harsh reply followed.

  She sighed, lifting her legs onto the sofa, and offered him a surprisingly gentle smile.

  “For once, why don’t we not make it about communism and capitalism, and pretend that I’m just a very tired woman and can’t possibly make it to the kitchen myself, and you’re a man, who won’t let me die of thirst? Please?”

  Philippe frowned but nevertheless turned on his heel and headed to the kitchen to fetch her water.

  “Thank you.”

  “You look like you’ve walked for miles. Did your Boche kick you out of your house?”

  “Drop that tone so that we can talk like two adults, will you?” Giselle muttered after downing the glass.

  Philipp
e snorted but refrained from making another retort.

  “Where is my brother?”

  “He’s out with the boys. They should be back any minute now.”

  Giselle caught him throwing a sideways glance at the leaflets on the table, which he clearly wished she hadn’t seen.

  “Please, don’t tell me that you sent them out to distribute those communist flyers of yours.”

  “I didn’t send them out. They volunteered,” he replied defensively and quickly grabbed the remaining papers off the table to take them to one of the bedrooms.

  “What if they get caught?”

  “The boys needed something to do,” he replied, returning to the room, and picked up an unfinished cigarette from an ashtray. “The Gestapo have just arrested their father. They couldn’t possibly sit idly without doing anything, and it was the only way to keep them out of trouble because they were ready to steal your kitchen knives to hunt the Boches at night. This way I can at least offer them some task that gives them purpose with minimal risk. And, besides, Marcel is watching over them so that they can’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Giselle lowered her eyes. “What did they arrest him for?”

  “For something he didn’t do,” Philippe replied curtly. “You better go before they return. They don’t take too kindly to collaborators, especially now. And particularly those who share the bed of the man who will possibly send their father to Germany in the near future.”

  “Is that why you’re so angry with me today?” Giselle grinned faintly. “I have no control over what he does, you know.”

  “I know. And I’m not angry. I despise people like you, that’s all.”

  “I don’t like this collaboration policy any more than you do, Philippe.”

  He looked up at the woman in front of him, who had just called him by his name for the first time, instead of her usual sarcastic titles like “comrade” and such. She was leaning on the back of the sofa, upholstered in dark burgundy material, with her legs tucked underneath her. Her smile seemed sad this time. She held his gaze for some time and then returned to studying the empty glass in her hands without saying a word.