by Jason Walker
“You’re a smooth bastard, Mitchell. Maybe after this I’ll be calling you Sergeant Major.
Camp’s that way. Let’s go and find Mr fucking Garner,” said Oliver, now smiling, and feeling much better knowing that he was many steps closer to seeing his family sooner than he had been expecting just an hour earlier.
The men started moving in single file through the snow. Mitchell led, with Oliver behind him, and the rest of the men followed. They tried to be as quiet as possible, but a line of men walking on branches underneath fresh snow made far too much noise in the still of the night than any of them were comfortable with.
A little later, they were all climbing down the rocky cliff which overlooked the dirt road. The moonlight was still bright. Oliver was the first to put his boots onto the ground, followed by Mitchell and the rest of the men. One of them had almost lost his footing on the slippery snow covered surface of the rock face, but had managed to hold on, mercifully. They were now crouching down just before the edge of the tree line close to the road.
“This is where my partner got shot. If we cross here, the Germans will see us and we’ll be cut down in seconds,” observed Oliver.
With his authority now respected unanimously, Sgt. Mitchell agreed that they would have to find another way to cross the road. They started walking, still in the trees, parallel to the road. Mitchell would never know it, but he stepped in the shit that Cpl. Weiss had offloaded earlier.
The men found themselves staring at a partially frozen river. They all started shivering because they knew what was coming; they could see Mitchell’s eyes, and they knew what he was thinking.
Babcock was the first to question his yet to be given order. “Shit, Serg., we’re going to cross this?”
“Yes. It’s the only way across without leaving any tracks,” Mitchell explained. “Clothes off including underwear, everyone. We need to keep them dry if we’re going to survive this without coming down with hypothermia. That water is going to be so cold, it’s going to feel like you’re walking through fire.” His candor did nothing to boost the other men’s confidence.
All of them, now as naked as the day they were born, stood on the bank of the river, just a few inches from the waterline. Not knowing what challenges the riverbed would present, they all found themselves a long and solid stick. Crossing the river would be akin to navigating a mine field. They would use the sticks as their eyes, plunging them into the water. The stick and one leg would remain still, acting as two anchors, while the second leg would move forward. This triangulation maneuver would continue until the men were safely across the river. Mitchell, a believer of leading by example, was the first to take the plunge. He involuntarily exhaled every single molecule of air from his lungs, and through his chattering teeth said one word and one word only. It was the only word which seemed suitable under the circumstances. The speed at which the river was flowing caught him off guard, and to combat the strength of the water, he turned slightly upstream and leaned forward a few degrees. A couple of the other men actually laughed under their breaths. It’s what friends and comrades do when they see each other suffering, especially while naked. The laughter soon stopped, and the smiles were swiftly erased from their faces, however, when it was their turn to hit the water.
Suddenly, the sound of a German fighter plane was heard directly overhead. This, they had not factored into their plan. They all stopped in the middle of the river and looked up. Mitchell told the men to get their freezing arses to the other side of the river, and started pushing his own body forward.
“Come on, lads. I’m not going to be caught by them Nazi bastards while I’m stark bollock naked in the middle of a river. Move it,” he ordered. Following the brief distraction, he lost his footing. His head briefly disappeared under the water, and now, he was riding the flow of the river. Already weak from the freezing temperatures, he was struggling to stay above the water. The men were all whisper-shouting, willing him to hang on and fight.
Once they had reached the other side, everyone slipped their boots on and ran, still naked, along the riverbank until they were slightly ahead of Mitchell. Oliver and Patterson then, for the second time that night, once again removed their footwear and bravely jumped back into the water, grabbing Mitchell before pulling him out of the water. He was now on the ground shaking violently. Oliver knew enough to recognise that Mitchell was falling into shock rapidly, but did not have any ideas of what to do.
“We need to build him a fire, he’s almost frozen solid,” suggested Babcock.
“We can’t build him a fucking fire, Einstein, the Germans will find us in seconds,” retorted Oliver, his voice laden with disgust at Babcock’s stupidity.
Patterson started rolling Mitchell in the snow. Doing so, he knew, is an effective way to remove excess water and moisture from bare skin and clothing. Whilst not a perfect solution, it would dry Mitchell off to a certain degree. Oliver knelt down to help Patterson, while the rest of the men went back to retrieve everyone’s bergens.
Babcock and Oliver covered Mitchell’s blue body with branches and foliage in an effort to insulate what little body heat he had left.
When the other men returned, they immediately recovered the warmest clothes they could find from their backpacks and started to dress Mitchell, who looked up at the men with gratitude. The remainder of the men then dressed themselves. Mitchell was still dangerously cold, and Patterson, Moran and Babcock huddled together surrounding Mitchell with their own bodies in an attempt to help him warm up.
“We’ll have to risk staying under these branches for the night. Serg isn’t up to going anywhere just yet,” Patterson said. The other men agreed and took more branches with which to cover themselves, not wanting to risk a single thread of their clothing being exposed should any Nazis come close to their position.
A few miles away, a DC3 flew over the forest. Onboard, a parachute rigger opened the main cargo drop-door and slid out a metal tube which was full of supplies. Its parachute opened and it drifted gently to the forest floor, where Fontaine and Nadeau were waiting nearby.
They both walked over to the tube and examined it cautiously, making sure it was in fact a supply tube, and not an unwelcome surprise that the Germans may have dropped. Satisfied, Nadeau opened it up and started pulling out the contents while Fontaine cut away the parachute and wrapped it up, ready to bury it.
“This is too much, the two of us can’t carry all this,” Nadeau said.
“You need to grow up and start to pull your weight. I am counting on you, got it?” responded an irritated Fontaine.
They packed the supplies the best they could before continuing their onward journey.
Fontaine, still not totally convinced about Nadeau’s story asked him how he had arrived in the area.
“The man who runs our escape committee told us to head in this direction in the hope that we would eventually be able to locate someone from the Resistance who would lead us over the mountains to safety.”
“Well, I guess I am your man then,” Fontaine said.
They were suddenly stopped in their tracks by the sound of a snapping branch not far away.
They both stood silently looking for any movement.
Fontaine told Nadeau that they had to assume the worst, that there were Germans close by, and that they should leave the area silently but quickly.
Nadeau stood, ready to get the hell away from there, but Fontaine remained kneeling, fiddling with something which Nadeau could not see. After what seemed like a lifetime, Fontaine closed up the metal tube and they started heading away from the area.
Just a few moments after they had left, a Nazi soldier who was searching the area came upon the tube. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, and knelt down on the ground to inspect what he had found, and called out to his fellow soldiers who were within close proximity. A small crowd was now gathered around the tube, and the soldier who had made the discovery opened it. In taking off the top, he had signed his, along with all
the other men’s death certificate.
Fontaine and Nadeau, now some distance away, heard the loud boom as the orange flash momentarily lit up the forest. Screams could be heard.
“Scheisse.”
“Ich bin getroffen.”
One even called out for his mother. Fontaine and Nadeau instinctively ducked.
“Was that you?” asked Nadeau, his voice shaking from both shock and admiration.
“Well, it wasn’t the fucking tooth fairy,” replied Fontaine, displaying his lopsided grin which was well-known to anyone with whom he’d ever shared a beer. “That should keep those Nazi bastards off our backs for a while and give us some breathing space. Now, let’s move while we have the chance.”
Considering the terrain, they made impressive headway and were soon well away from the blast site which was now littered with a bloody mess of German bodies.
Fontaine and Nadeau slowed down to catch their breath, sure that they had put a comfortable distance between themselves and any Nazis who may have survived the blast. They found two trees and decided to stop for a rest. Both men took the opportunity to inspect their rifles, they may need them later, and they had to be sure that they weren’t going to let them down.
“What’s the plan?” asked Nadeau.
“The same as it was before. First we find your escaped friends, and then I will take you into the mountains and guide you to safety,” confirmed Fontaine.
Chapter Fourteen
Danielle LeClair was standing in the doorway of her room above the bakery. Over her shoulder was a bag which was packed with the most basic of supplies and a few clothes. Preparing to leave, she took one more look around the place. She was experiencing mixed emotions. Her eyes stopped at the cage inside which was perched her beloved carrier dove, Frédéric.
“Don’t worry, my beautiful boy. How could I ever forget you? You have helped me more than anyone has.”
Danielle opened the cage and picked up the bird. She walked out of the room and closed the door for the last time. Once downstairs, Danielle walked out of the back door into the yard where her mother was hanging washing on the clothes line.
“Mama, are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Danielle pleaded, knowing what the answer would be.
“My Bichette, this is my home. I have lived here all of my life. I watched you grow up here.”
Bridgette waved her left hand in no particular direction and at no specific person before continuing: “I cannot and will not let them drive me away.”
Danielle tried, for her mother’s sake, to wear a smile, but a single tear betrayed her attempts at being brave. She knew in her heart that there was a great chance this would be the last time she would ever see her mother, the woman who had given her the gift of life.
She looked down at Frédéric, still sitting in the palm of her hand.
“I need you to do one last thing for me, little bird,” she said in a soft voice while slipping a small piece of paper into a tiny metal tube attached to the dove’s leg.
“Once you have done this for me, fly somewhere warm and safe. Find somewhere where there are good people, and tell them that we love them.”
Frédéric knew his duty. He flapped his wings and lifted off into the air, circling Danielle’s head one time to bid her adieu, before gaining altitude and heading off in the direction of the forest.
Danielle and her mother watched little Frédéric fly away in silence until he was out of sight and then turned to face one another. Bridgette clasped her daughter’s hands and held them tightly, fighting the tears which were welling up in her tired eyes.
“Promise me you will make it through this. Promise me that you will stay safe and make it through this war. Promise me that when it’s over, you will come back to find me, my Bichette,” Bridgette said, her voice cracking under the strain.
“I will, Mama, I will. I promise.”
They held each other one last time. Bridgette looked into Danielle’s eyes, leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. They smiled at each other, wiped away their tears and walked back inside holding hands, not wanting to let go.
Danielle headed for the fireplace and, once again opened the secret latch. The two men, as usual, were looking up.
“It’s time, we’re leaving,” she said to Sgt. MacArthur and Cpl. Hiroa. Danielle climbed down the ladder into the secret cellar. The two men asked how they were leaving, and Danielle walked across the room and opened another secret door, a door which the men had not noticed despite the time they had spent in the cramped room.
“We’re going through the underground sewers. Come, it’s time.”
Don’t miss the next story in the Down the Rabbit Hole series:
Escape and Evasion
Sit in on a tense meeting with Vera Atkins and a member of Winston Churchill’s cabinet. Follow Danielle, MacArthur and Hiora through the sewers of Bordeaux.
Learn what Mitchell and his team will do once they reach the camp. Find out who Nancy Wake is, and why she is so important to the British.
Captain Wenger revisits Bridgette LeClair, but why, and what will the outcome be?
Get Escape and Evasion now,
and let the suspense continue!