Young, Brave and Beautiful

by Tania Szabô

  ‘Come on, Jean, jump in,’ Anastasie shouted. ‘Get in the back, will you. Louise can stay in the front with me. Jean, meet Louise!’

  ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’ was the somewhat oily response from Jean Bariaud.

  ‘Heard anything new, Jean?’ asked Anastasie.

  ‘Well, there seems to be some heavy movement of Gestapo, Milice and they even say the Panzer Division is on the move all over the département. All the lighter stuff got up to Limoges yesterday with Lammerding. There’ve been a few ambushes apparently set up by advance units. Guess it’s to keep us from ambushing them!’ Jean said with a grunt of a laugh.

  ‘Don’t think we have to worry, anyway.’ Anastasie was driving fast. Violette was surprised Jean knew so much. She felt danger in the air. Just silly fears, she thought to herself. She still preferred to keep a lookout, just to be on the safe side. She had put her Sten across her knees and kept her eyes peeled on the road ahead and along the sides, especially on the bends.

  ‘Are you armed, Jean?’ asked Violette, turning to look at him, wondering what he would do if they were stopped.

  ‘No, never carry ’em.’

  ‘Look, Anastasie. I’m feeling pretty conspicuous in this car. I think it’s safer for all of us if I get out and ride the bike. Easy enough to put the suitcase on the back and the Sten can be wrapped in that old coat. I’ve memorised the entire route and I’d feel a lot more comfortable.’ She looked at Anastasie, who looked back at Jean and winked.

  ‘Come on! Don’t be so independent. It’s great having such a good-looking “nana”144 with us. I want to show you off to Salon-la-Tour, and I can do a lot to help you. It’s only a few minutes to Salon, where we can get to the café my friend owns and see what more we can find out. I think you’re worrying for nothing. The Boches are all up at Limoges and towards Guéret to the north-east of Limoges. And the tanks are still way down south. I won’t hear another word about you getting out before time.’

  She could not. She was trapped by the bike strapped to her door.

  The road twisted through verdant fields. The small trees along the bushy embankments allowed some shade as Anastasie whizzed along, singing at the top of his voice. Jean Bariaud joined in the singing and then Violette did too. They would not understand if she did not and it would do her good. She loved the songs; her fears began to melt away.

  Suddenly an old wheezy tractor loomed towards them. Anastasie hooted and waved as it lumbered off in the direction they had come from. But it brought back Violette’s unease. She felt she must persist with her concerns.

  ‘On Thursday and yesterday, I heard a lot of people talking about patrols and ambushes,’ commented Violette, casting a wary glance at Anastasie. She raised an eyebrow as if testing him. ‘They can’t all be wrong.’

  ‘Only a few more minutes and we’ll be in Salon. You’ll see, all clear of Boches – all the way.’ Had he forgotten that the local Feldgendarmerie145 had taken over the town hall in Salon-la-Tour as their headquarters, with a small contingent of SS-Feldgendarmes in their grey-on-brown uniforms? He must have known as it was his hometown. It is possible that neither Philippe nor Violette was aware of this military stronghold in Salon-la-Tour, but surprising.

  There was no point in discussing it further. However, she made up her mind that once in Salon-la-Tour she would not get back in that car. She would ride her bike the rest of the way. She felt the worry disperse now she had made a decision. She smiled at them both and joined in the singing again. The songs she had learned in France as a child lifted the foreboding from her shoulders as the car rushed on.

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  A few farm buildings were coming up on their left. A dog barked a warning and came running to the roadside. As they crested the hill across road appeared at some distance. Something glittered and caught Violette’s eye. ‘I think we’ve got trouble at that crossroad. It could be an ambush, Anastasie. Do please slow down!’

  He did so. There was some command in her voice that could not be so lightly ignored this time. He peered ahead but saw no movement.

  Then he saw two soldiers erecting a roadblock, just as they saw the car. It was probably a platoon from the SS-Feldgendarmerie, stationed in Salon-la-Tour, with orders to secure the main highway for the advancing Panzers headed by the SS-Der Führer Battalion. Two more soldiers came out, brandishing their rapid-fire Schmeissers. ‘Halt! Halt!’ One of them shouted.

  Immediately Anastasie pulled over to the left, in slight shelter, and shouted: ‘Run for it, Jean. You haven’t got a weapon. Get out, away from cross-fire and behind the tower!’

  Jean did exactly that. Not a shot was fired at him. No one chased him. He ran as fast as he could into Salon-la-Tour, disappearing into the lanes behind the tower.

  Both Violette and Anastasie started firing from the car.

  Anastasie had jumped out first and lay beside the car. Violette had to clamber across from the passenger seat to the driving seat, lugging her Sten and the two magazines of bullets. The windscreen shattered and she fell back against the driving seat. She felt searing pain in her shoulder and blood ran down her left arm. She climbed out and fell beside him, Sten gun in hand, continuing to fire at the soldiers a couple of hundred yards away. Violette and Anastasie were in a slight ditch near a farm building that afforded them a little protection for a moment or two.

  ‘Keep firing, Anastasie,’ shouted Violette as she let rip a volley, hitting at least one soldier. She did not think she had killed him. ‘Make every bullet count, if you can. We don’t have much ammo. As soon as you’re ready, lead the way to give us a chance at escaping. I’ll cover you. When I get up to follow, cover me. Proceed as you’ve been taught by Clothaire. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. I’m going through the maize field behind the farmhouse. It’ll give a bit of cover for a minute or two.’

  They were under strong fire and as Anastasie leapt up and made a run for it, Violette aimed and fired a short burst of automatic. Bloody thing’s not very effective but it’ll keep their heads down while Anastasie gets clear, she thought. ‘Now!’ she shouted as she now leapt up, scooted into the field behind the farmhouse. Anastasie covered her. She fired another volley as she reached the field.

  The Germans heaved up from behind the crossroads. There were about forty of them. Some remained at their lookout post. The others raced up the road, automatics firing. But Violette and Anastasie had a good start and the soldiers were running uphill with heavier weapons. As Violette ran, she heard engines being revved up. She ran on; the Sten gun was heavy and awkward in her hand so she threw the strap over her shoulder without breaking stride.

  ‘God! They’ve got armoured vehicles, Anastasie!’ she yelled. ‘Quick, deeper into the field. It’ll be difficult for them to follow in vehicles. The corn’s getting fairly tall, get down on your belly and we’ll crawl.’

  ‘Already have,’ shouted back Anastasie, annoyed by her instructions. He was, after all, no debutant. He was a damned seasoned fighter.

  Further down, Madame Marie Verdier, seventy-three years old, emerged from her barn. She was immediately killed by a volley from the nearest soldier. They delayed a few more seconds, unsure how many were in the barn. A sergeant ordered soldiers to get in there and shoot to kill anyone on sight. No one there; just that poor woman. Some people say she came out of the barn hoping to distract the Germans. That is very possible. They shot her anyway.

  It has been mooted that the ambush was a company of about 400; probably from Diekmann’s SS-2nd Battalion ‘Der Führer’, but some believe it may have been a company from SS-1st Battalion ‘Deutschland’. Both were part of SS-Das Reich Panzer Division and had been looking for the kidnapped officer, Kämpfe.146 But it appears likely to have been an SS platoon from the Feldgendarmerie stationed in Salon-la-Tour deployed to protect the passage of the SS-Regiment Das Führer and Das Reich Division as it endeavoured to race to Normandy with new orders.

  Violette and Anastasie crawled through the maize field parallel to the road.
It was stifling as they weaved between corn stalks, half-crawling or bent double, running and stumbling through sharp stalks, machine guns heavy in their hands, ready to fire. The corn tore at Violette’s bare legs. They maintained their tactic of zigzag, turn, aim, shoot then zigzag again. As she ducked and hid, Anastasie did likewise. At the field’s border, they stood and ran headlong between the field and the farmhouse.

  Violette stumbled into a half-hidden hole. Her ankle gave way painfully. She fell and staggered up, only to fall again. She also became aware of the bullet wound to her shoulder that she’d received as she was escaping from the car. She now noticed blood streaming down her left arm. Her ankle could not support her and she fell again.

  ‘Anastasie, my ankle’s gone. Can’t go much further. Here – take my money belt. Hand it to Major Staunton or, if absolutely necessary, Captain Jack and no one else! Got it? No one else! Get moving and tell everyone what’s happened. Tell them all and especially the Major and Captain Jack that my mouth will stay firmly shut. Those bastards won’t get a word out of me. Tell the Major he’ll have to get new instructions to Captain Jack. Okay?’

  ‘Come on, Louise, you can make it. I’ll keep you covered. Follow the same pattern – we’ll make it!’

  ‘No we won’t – but you will. You can see my bloody ankle – it’s already swollen! Stop wasting time. I can’t keep up with you in this state. I’ll get as far as I can. I can still lurch ahead a bit. I’ll cover you until I’m out of ammunition. Now, get the hell out of here!’

  Crawling proved no use. It was too slow now enemy armoured vehicles were hurtling through the field. Anastasie did not know what to do. It was pointless for them both to get killed but how could he leave a girl there to defend herself, and him? He ran on and turned to cover her slow stumble, but he could see no alternative – she was right.

  ‘Get going, you bloody fool! Don’t look at me like that. You look stupid. You know I’m right. Don’t even think about it. GET GOING! I’ll cover you. I’m going to get down as far as that little tree in the middle of the field. You keep running from behind me. Don’t look back.’ She laughed then. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine. You don’t have any idea how tough I am. Get back to the Major, and tell him what’s happened. He’ll need to go to Captain Jack and Colonel Berger himself, as soon as possible. Okay? Go!’

  So he left, running for his life. He jumped a small brook and ran, stumbling and out of breath. He knew where he was going: to his girlfriend over the other side of the railway bridge, on the high plateau. They wouldn’t think of looking for him there. He ran on and on towards the country lane where her parents lived. He could hear the shooting in the distance and then it stopped. Everything was still and quiet but for the rasp of his breathing. He sobbed as he stumbled forward. He arrived on the top road and ran, barely catching breath. He reached the house and shouted, ‘Suzanne, It’s me. Hide me. Please. Boches are after me!’

  His girlfriend came running out, as did her younger sister. Their father and mother followed. They heard vehicles start lumbering up the road from the town in the valley, approaching the bridge across the railway track.

  ‘Quick, quick, Jacques, hide under these logs and faggots,’ shouted Suzanne, her eyes large with fright. They all helped to move them; he lay down and they covered him over. He was sobbing uncontrollably at leaving Violette.

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  Meanwhile, Violette limped and hopped, stumbling and falling, and then ran into the field behind the farmyard belonging to the Montillet family where young Albert Tisserand was staying. Today, it is his farm. He was about seven at the time, playing in the yard when he heard running feet, soldiers shouting in German, shooting, and heavy vehicles snarling through the field of maize. He ran and hid in the barn that looked directly out over the field leading to the orchard.

  ‡

  German soldiers rumbled up to the farm, jumping down into the farmyard from their vehicles. The old iron fence and gate acted as a support to their machine guns. They fired at Violette, their spent cartridges falling around them as she ran, fell, got up, hopped and stumbled and picked herself up again. She made it to an apple tree, far across the field, isolated in a small dip. All the while, she turned and fired to protect Anastasie as he ran to the edge of the field and disappeared.

  Now she was on her own. She was blisteringly angry. Had that passenger, Jean, or even Anastasie, given them away? She thought not. Just bad luck. But she had been right: it really was stupid to be in that great car rather than a truck or on her bike. With a gazogène, they would have had the excuse of travelling with livestock or vegetables. Had it been Adrien, he carried all the necessary German documents to get through any roadblocks. They should never have come near a crossroads in a town. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She would pay for not listening to her own inner voice. She wondered, fleetingly, why Philippe had sanctioned the car. Same reason as she did, she supposed. She was damned sure, too, that most of these weren’t SS-Panzergrenadier. They were Feldgendarmerie – she knew all their bloody uniforms. So how come her team had not been informed where these Germans were stationed? And how come there’d been no intimation of roadblocks in the area? Was it a roadblock or an ambush? Forget it. She had to fight on – and bloody would.

  The apple tree wasn’t very big, but it gave her some shelter and something to lean against to steady her aim. One or two smaller vehicles and a good number of soldiers had arrived in the farmyard. Larger armoured vehicles blocked the roads and were still trundling about in the fields. An SS-Das Reich forward unit rolled in, wondering just how large the enemy Maquis force was. The soldiers rushed over to the iron rails and gate and took careful aim.

  And so, they fought it out. A young woman dressed for summer against grey-green-uniformed military might.

  The girl behind a small tree, blood pouring down her arm, running out of bullets and in pain with an ankle that had crippled her. She felt like a trapped animal but she was full of energy, determination and quiet, burning anger. She would not surrender until she had no ammunition. Violette took careful aim and started firing, one bullet at a time. A soldier near the side barn was down. Her spirits soared.

  The soldiers fired and missed. Shells were scattered all over the farmyard. They were using rifles now. Her boyfriends had scarpered.

  Violette continued taking careful aim with her final magazine of thirty bullets – two bullets were often removed to give added stability to the gun. She husbanded her strength, controlled her breathing and fired only when she was sure she could keep still enough. A few of the bolder men were just beginning to crawl through the grass in front of the farm towards her, but her aim was too good, as evidenced by the wounded men, so most of them waited. The armoured vehicles returned to the roadblock, as did most of the men. About a dozen remained, trying to get closer, their commanding officer overseeing this wasteful endeavour.

  Finally, the Sten gun fell silent.

  Violette breathed deeply, calmed herself and stood leaning against the tree. And waited. Not one soldier lifted his gun to such an easy target. She had guts, they thought. They edged over the grass toward her, ready to fire if she produced another weapon.

  She had no other. Her bag, her suitcase and the bike with a few other things were still with the car. The pistol had disappeared during the chase. Her clothes were filthy and bloody. She calmly waited, her hands at her side, her head held high.

  Finally, two or three soldiers stood up and approached her. One grabbed her, pulled her forward and slapped her hard on the face.

  ‘You bitch. You wound some best men. You killed other. This you pay many times,’ he said in broken French. He got behind her and started to push roughly her towards the farm. She stumbled forward until they reached the outhouses and barn, from where Albert, the young lad, had seen a good deal. The enemy soldiers shoved her towards one of the remaining vehicles and awaited their commanding officer.

  As he arrived, the enemy officer ordered Violette into his armoured car, which alr
eady held her suitcase, and they raced along the road on the ridge. When they reached the plateau and as they crossed the bridge, the officer ordered a halt in front of the farmhouse to talk to the farming family standing nervously outside. He jumped down and asked if they had seen a man running.

  ‘Yes,’ said the mother, Madame Montintin, a tiny woman of about four feet ten. ‘We wondered what was going on so we came out to look. He went down the road, clambered over the railway track and disappeared into the hills.’

  ‘We don’t like these young fellas gettin’ all excited and bringing reprisals on the likes of us, you know,’ complained the diminutive farmer, an inch or two taller than his wife. The two girls looked at one another but they remained silent, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

  Anastasie’s girlfriend, Suzanne, suddenly noticed from the corner of her eye that his foot could be seen. His worn boot and part of his ankle were in plain sight through the woodpile. She sauntered over to the stack and she calmly sat on the pile near his foot, covering it with her skirt.

  ‘You’ll never catch him now, you dirty scumbags!’ shouted Violette, distracting attention from the girl and her movements. Violette was elated at the thought that he had made it and that she had made that happen. They would never find him. She had been exhilarated by the gunfight, knowing she had bested some crack troops. She saw that the ones that weren’t local SS-Feldgendarmerie were from the SS-Panzer Division. She’d got through that battle. At least one dead and some badly injured. Herself – only a gunshot wound in her shoulder and a damned useless ankle. That, and running out of ammunition had been all that had stopped her. She had the nasty feeling that something else had led to her capture, though. But what, exactly? She hoped Anastasie would report to Philippe later that day what had happened so that new plans could be put into immediate operation.