by Allan Jones
She took Gaspar by the elbow and they got into the truck. The engine started noisily and she waved back as they pulled off. Soon they were gone from sight. Henri held his arm round Lucille’s waist, pulling her close. “A remarkable woman that, wouldn’t you say, my love?”
Lucille’s tears dripped down her cheeks as she replied. “Yes, indeed she is, and do you know the funny thing?” Henri turned to her, puzzled. “She never once told us her name!”
The journey was uneventful; there was little traffic on the roads these days. She spent the time lecturing Gaspar some more, going over things again and again, until she sensed a growing annoyance in him and fell silent. He pointed out landmarks, told her where each turning they passed led to. They reached the outskirts of the city by mid-morning and had to negotiate a check point. The first sight of German soldiers made her start. “Have to watch that,” she thought; “it’s common place, everyone else takes it for granted.”
The bored German sentry gave a cursory look at Gaspar’s papers, glanced at Amelia, and nodded them through. She was amazed. “As easy as that?” she thought.
Gaspar continued his running commentary as they progressed into the heart of the city. He headed for the marketplace in order to sell his wares from the back of the truck. Amelia was to be dropped a few streets short of the market. She had decided that Gaspar shouldn’t see her final destination: she would go the rest of the way on foot. The less he knew, the better for him. Once she was gone, he would be “clean”, and would certainly get back safely, with nothing to tell the others. Her tension grew as they drew nearer to the drop-off point, and she took a few deep breaths to bring it under control.
Finally, Gaspar pulled over. She didn’t hesitate, just reached over to kiss his cheek, opened the door and with a final, “Good luck, Gaspar, farewell!” She hopped down on to the pavement and walked away from the truck without a backward glance. She heard the truck pull off and turn a corner, then she did turn. It was gone: she was completely alone once more!
She had studied a street map of Rennes town centre back in England, and soon picked out a landmark, a church, which gave her some bearings. She carried no luggage, just her handbag. No weapons, nothing out of the ordinary. Her papers should pass even the closest inspection: Henri had looked at them and declared them current. Records of her birth would be lodged at Marseilles, and the papers reflected this. She was travelling from Marseilles to live with her aunt on her dead husband’s side. “He” had been killed at the beginning of the war. She was to help this “aunt” with running her small pension, as there was nothing left to keep her in Marseilles. As for the “aunt”, she had agreed solely for the extra help; she knew little more and would not ask questions. This was to be Amelia’s “cover”.
She reckoned she would have to walk for twenty minutes before she would reach the dress and haberdashery shop where she was to ask for Monsieur Picard, the owner. He would take her in and arrange a meeting with “The Colonel”. She was calm as she walked and exchanged a smile, now and then, with other women who passed, but she avoided the looks of the men, especially those who whistled appreciatively in her direction. She was long used to that! Something triggered an alarm within her, and she stopped and rummaged in her bag, absently turning full circle as she did so. She could see nothing suspicious, however, and carried on, beginning to put into practice the “tradecraft” of her new profession, surreptitiously watching for anyone interested in her progress, checking for followers. As she walked, she heard a car coming from behind her, the engine slowing. She didn’t look. A German staff car crawled past her, and through the corner of her eye she could see the occupants inspecting her. She kept calm, until it increased speed, then turned left fifty yards ahead of her. She kept walking, expecting the car to be parked round the junction, but as she passed it she looked: it was gone. She let out a small sigh of relief.
She carried on up the wide boulevard, now busier with people and vehicles, using shop windows as mirrors to watch her back, sometimes lingering in front of one, then suddenly walking back to another to peruse the display again, and to see if the action caught anyone by surprise. Then, satisfied, she moved on again. She was only ten minutes from her destination when the car came by again. Once more she felt the stares of the occupants and, once more, it sped off and turned a corner. She watched it go with growing alarm and decided to get off the street in case it came back once more. She crossed the road and entered a café.
It was a little dark and gloomy inside, and there were few patrons. She ordered a glass of red wine, paid for it and asked for the ladies’ room. She followed directions and used the facility and checked the window for means of escape. It was barred. As she came out of the toilet, there was a door at the far end of the passage. She tiptoed to it and tried the handle; it was locked and the hinges showed it opened inward. She paused, thinking, then reached her hand up to the lintel and felt around. Sure enough, there was a key. She quickly took it down and unlocked the door and put the key back. Then she cautiously opened it and peered out. There was an alley, which ran both ways, leading, she could see, to busy streets.
She closed the door and went back into the café, selected a table from which she could see the entrance and which was near to her new-found escape route, and sat down to drink her wine. She nursed the drink for fifteen minutes, then bought another, intent on spinning that one out as well.
She looked at her watch; she couldn’t afford to wait till dusk, and the shop might close early. She would have to move soon. Just as she was about to gulp the remains of her wine, the door opened and a German officer, a Leutnant, walked in, flanked by two soldiers with rifles slung on their shoulders. They stamped to the bar and the Leutnant spoke quietly to the barman.
The café had gone silent, everyone staring into their drinks. Amelia did the same, trying to appear unconcerned. The Leutnant came over and towered above her. She looked up, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Your papers, please.” He held out his hand. She rummaged quickly in her bag and handed them to him, returning her gaze to her drink. The Leutnant studied them for an age, then handed them back to her. “They are in order,” he said. Amelia gave him a weak smile of thanks, then put them away again. The Leutnant remained standing over her; she looked up in question. “You will come with me, please,” he said tonelessly.
Amelia gave him a look of alarm. “But why? You said my papers are in order; what can you want with me?”
“Just come quietly; all will be explained.” His hand drifted to rest on his holster; so she got up in confusion. She tried once more.“There must be a mistake; I’ve done nothing wrong!” The Leutnant said nothing more, but grasped her elbow, and walked her to the door. The soldiers fell in behind. That same staff car was waiting at the kerb, the back door was opened and she was hustled inside. The Leutnant got in beside her and the car drove off, leaving the soldiers on the street. Another man sat beside her, and she glanced across at him: he wore the uniform of an SSS turmbannführer, a Colonel! Terror threatened to overwhelm her, as she desperately cried, “What’s happening? Where are you taking me? There must be a mistake. Please…”
“Silence!” the Leutnant shouted angrily.
She shut up, knowing it was useless, and shrank into her seat, trembling with genuine fear. Her mind was a whirl. Had she been betrayed? Somehow! It couldn’t be! Henri and the others wouldn’t, she was sure. Perhaps someone here, maybe someone back in England was a traitor! Perhaps they had got “the Colonel” and had her description. Her trembling grew stronger. That was good! She was supposed to be afraid, anyone would be; hold onto it, use it!
The car left the city and sped to the north as she forced herself to think, whilst keeping up the appearance of a very frightened, innocent young girl. She remembered and rehearsed in her mind the anti-interrogation techniques she had learned; they would buy a little time till she could find out what was going on. SS colonels didn’t usually involve themselves in day-to-day arrests on the
streets; there had to be something more to this. There had to be! Until she found out what, she had to keep her nerve. She mentally checked through the contents of her bag: there was nothing incriminating there. The hidden brooch she could explain, an heirloom, something to sell if times got hard. Apart from not knowing their agenda, she was in a relatively good position, especially since the Leutnant had accepted the veracity of her papers.
The car swept through the gates of a heavily fortified chateau; the swastika flags and banners draped from windows and balconies declared this as some sort of headquarters. Anti-aircraft and sand-bagged machinegun emplacements nestled here and there. Troops were marching, being drilled to hoarse shouts from their NCOs. Salutes were thrown briskly in their direction as the car swept to the front of the chateau, then drew to a halt.
The driver opened the colonel’s door. She was pulled out by the Leutnant, who maintained a firm grip on her upper arm. The colonel strode up the flight of steps. “Give her the tour, then bring her to me,” he ordered loudly as he went, not looking back.
The Leutnant propelled her up the steps into the house, then down a passage to the left of the grand staircase, through a door to steps leading downward into the basement. There were newly built cells, the bars still gleaming. Each was occupied. There was filth everywhere, excrement littered the filthy straw floors and the smell was overpowering. The poor wretches had nowhere to lie except on the floor. Most were huddled foetally, some sobbing in their desperation. Those whose faces she could see returned her shocked gaze with hollow eyes, not seeing her; their minds were gone, their faces were battered and swollen, with hollow mouths devoid of teeth.
A scream pierced the air and the Leutnant, as if waiting for this cue, dragged her towards the source, a room at the end of the row of cells. There were streaks of blood making the floor slippery leading to the door. The Leutnant pushed the door open and dragged her inside. His arm snaked round her neck, his other hand held her by the chin, keeping her head still, forcing her to watch. A man was suspended from the ceiling by his elbows. His feet, devoid of nails, were tied to the floor, holding his legs wide apart. There were burns and bruises covering his entire body; blood dripped from cuts and gashes to a pool on the floor. His head hung down on his chest, an ear was missing, leaving a bloody hole; it lay discarded on the floor. At a signal from the Leutnant, one of his tormenters lifted the man’s head by the hair: his face was swollen like a balloon and covered in blood and bruises, all his teeth were gone, one eye had closed, completely swollen. The other had a wild, desperate look. As she watched, her stomach heaving, the torturer stepped forward, a red-hot iron bar in his gloved hand. With a quick movement, he thrust it between the man’s legs, searing his testicles. The man screamed and writhed, the scream rising in crescendo until it was a high-pitched shriek. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and would have covered her ears if she had been able; anything to make it go away. The Leutnant released his grip and she vomited all over the floor, the contents of her stomach mixing with the pool of blood.
When she had finished, she risked another look: the man was mercifully unconscious, but his genitals had been burned completely away! Then she noticed that his chest was still, he wasn’t breathing! He was dead!
The Leutnant took her forearm in a strong grip and marched her back the way they had come. Then he turned left and opened a door which led outside to a courtyard. One of the walls was bloodstained and pockmarked with bullet holes, and she knew what this was. The Leutnant let her look for a while, then they went back into the main house, up the grand staircase, along a corridor to a door at the end.
He knocked, opened the door and they went in. The colonel was standing, his back to the room, looking out of the window. She was placed standing in front of his huge mahogany desk. The Leutnant left and two burly Slavic-looking women in uniform stepped forward to flank her. Her handbag was on the desk, the contents tipped out. One of the women frisked her, none too gently, but thankfully missed the brooch. The colonel turned and sat the other side of the desk. He was in his late forties; his bushy black eyebrows matched his oiled hair, his eyes were deep brown, almost black, and his long thin nose finished at a thin-lipped mouth like a cruel slit in his face. His chin was cleft, resembling a bum! With a gesture, he bade a chair to be brought for her and she was unceremoniously dumped into it. She put her hands between her knees and kept her eyes down. She was trembling. He leaned his elbows on the table and spoke, his voice a deep bass.
“You have seen what can happen here. We do not tolerate defiance, understand?”
She raised her head up and nodded quickly; her face showed the fear she felt, but, inside, her mind went into overdrive. A glimmer of hope had been sparked in her that maybe, just maybe, they hadn’t a clue as to who she really was. If they had known, they would have roughed her up to begin with. Or maybe that was to come!
The colonel picked up her papers and studied them for a while. She kept her face blank; offer nothing, let them ask first. He threw them down and spoke again. “I am Sturmbannführer Gunther Wessendorf, I am the SS Commandant for this region. You are Amelia Du-Clos?”
“Yes,” she said timidly.
“You are from Marseilles. What are you doing in Rennes?”
She told her cover story about her bereavement early in the war, and about the “aunt” who was to take her in, and gave the address. The “aunt” could vouch for her if need be.
“How did you get here?”
“I sold all I had, then I used my husband’s old car until the money to buy petrol ran out; then I sold it to a dealer for just enough to continue my journey. I begged lifts and I arrived this morning.”
Wessendorf digested this, his eyes never leaving her face, looking to detect a lie. “This aunt, she is expecting you?”
“Not as such. When she wrote she said to come as soon as I was able. She is expecting me, but she doesn’t know exactly when I would come.”
“Your parents?”
“Both dead, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
“Any brothers and sisters, other relatives?”
“No, I am an only child, no other relatives. My aunt is on my husband’s side.”
A small smile grew on Wessendorf’s thin lips.“So,” he said, “you are all alone in the world, and… no-one knows you’re here; is that not true?”
She dropped her head and said timidly, “Yes, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
“Excellent!” he said, as noises from outside, shouting, took his attention from her. He got up and moved to the window, looked out, then said to Amelia, “Come over here.”
She got up and moved to stand by him at the window; they were looking down into the rear courtyard. Two women were stood against the wall, huddled together for comfort; one of them was weeping. As she watched, the Leutnant strode forward and roughly separated them, making them stand six feet apart. Six troopers made up the firing squad.
The Leutnant looked up expectantly at the window and Wessendorf gave a nod. His eyes were alight and he was excitedly raising himself up and down on his toes, his hands clasped together behind his back. The Leutnant barked out the order, the troopers aimed and, at the command, the guns fired.
The women still stood, untouched!
Wessendorf roared with laughter, looking to Amelia to appreciate the cruel joke, but she kept her eyes on the scene below. The women looked astounded and they stared at each other, relief plain on their faces. A shout rang out. The soldiers were aiming again! The women’s faces dissolved into terror, then the guns roared, hurling them both against the wall, their chests a bloody mess. Slowly the bodies slid to the floor and their heads flopped.
Amelia put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, saying an inward prayer for the two poor women. Wessendorf touched her arm, making her skin crawl. “Come, sit.” She returned to her seat, facing him again. His shoulders were still rocking in silent mirth, then he brought he himself under control. “Never fails to make me laugh; every time it gets me. You didn’
t find it funny?” Amelia kept her head down, but shook her head. Wessendorf watched her, her head bowed and trembling.
Amelia’s mind was on full alert. “Here it comes,” she thought.
“You want to know why I had you brought here? I will tell you. I have chosen you.” He paused for effect.
“I knew it, he doesn’t know,” she thought, lifting her head up, displaying surprise.
He continued. “You will do everything I tell you, without question. You will obey me in all things; you will be my, shall we say, companion.”
“Mistress!” she thought.
“No, no, you cannot, I won’t! I’m not a whore!” she exploded, outraged!
His face darkened, an angry scowl forming on his face, and his dark eyes were ablaze with anger. He shouted in a language she didn’t understand and she was dragged from the chair by the women and frog-marched out of the room, along the corridor, into the next room. They bent her forwards over a long table and one of the women used her weight to lie on her back, holding her down, her big hands squeezing Amelia’s wrists.
The other one ripped her skirt off, then her panties, then moved to the wall. Amelia saw whips, canes, straps and truncheons hanging from a rack and she watched breathless as the woman selected a rubber truncheon and moved into position behind her.
The first blow knocked the breath out of her, pain seared up her body and exploded red behind her eyes. Before she could suck in air, the second fell, then a third, a fourth. Her teeth were clenched against the agony she felt, but there was a teasing pause, and she took the chance to suck air in desperately. Then the blows continued relentlessly till she was screaming in agony! Each blow was worse than the previous, increasing in ferocity, building the agony up and up. Her eyes were tightly shut and she felt herself spinning into unconsciousness. Then, another pause. She panted rapid breaths, her vision cleared a little, then the blows came anew. Her screaming became a continuous shriek. The pain was intolerable, but she was helpless; there was only the pain, filling her, taking her, and once more she felt herself fainting away.