by Kit Sergeant
“But why not, Alouette?” Gerda inquired, her eyebrows raised over those gray eyes. “There would be no danger involved whatsoever.”
Alouette thought fast, and began, in a halting tone, “If you must know, it’s because I do not have enough money for such a journey. I spent all of my savings just coming to Switzerland. If Karl had been in Geneva, he would have replenished my bank account, but as it is, I only have enough to return to France.” If they did suspect she was a French spy, she’d just admitted that she was low on money, daring them to recruit her to spy for Germany.
Charles smiled as though he thought Alouette was cracking another joke and then changed the subject, begging his brother to bring back samples of his favorite chocolates from his visit to their home country.
Later that afternoon, Alouette decided to take the house dog, Mina, for a walk in the park. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and it was the perfect excuse. Although the sun shone brightly, the weather was cool, and she quickened her stroll in an effort to keep warm.
She was still cursing herself for the Karl Mather story, never having figured he would have joined the German Army. What excuse did she have for staying in Switzerland now? And they had definitely not taken the bait she’d laid for them to recruit her as a German spy.
Alouette and Mina walked down through the thick trees at the back of the mansion. As they came to a clearing, she noticed a little wooden hut tucked underneath several pine trees. She started on the path toward it, but then Mina broke free and ran… straight to Charles who was just coming out of the hut.
“Oh, do you sleep here?” Alouette asked, rather stupidly she thought, since she knew perfectly well where Charles’ bedroom was.
“No. Our workshops and offices are here.”
“Workshops?” Her voice was tentative. She didn’t want to let on how curious she was. She realized that the subject of how Charles and Otto were able to afford such a lavish lifestyle had never come up. Some spy you are, Alouette chided herself.
“Come in,” Charles said. “I’ll show you around.” Inside the hut were two large desks upon which sat fat typewriters, with paper strewn all over the desks and floor beneath them. The wall behind the desks was covered with a large map studded with colored flags.
Charles waved at the map. “The green flags represent the German armies. The black show the Belgian positions while the red and blue flags represent the French and English positions, respectively.”
“What are these?” She pointed to a conglomeration of differently colored flags to the right side.
“Those are for Russia. Otto’s favorite pastime is moving the flags to keep up with the latest news from both fronts.”
He led Alouette closer, taking a green flag from the desk drawer and placing it in Germany, just a little east of Switzerland. “That’s where your boy is.”
Alouette ignored his comment. She started toward an open doorway in the back which led to a smaller room with no windows. “What is this?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Charles replied tersely, hurrying ahead of her to shut the door, but not before she spied a bunch of chemicals and large trays.
“Are you a photographer?” she asked, trying to cover up her nervousness at Charles’ abrupt change in manner.
“Yes.” He glanced down at Mina, who seemed as anxious to leave the little hut as he was. “I think the dog needs to make it.”
Alouette wanted to stay and find out what exactly Charles and Otto were up to, but she realized her curiosity had made her wear out her welcome. “C’mon Mina, let’s leave Charles to his work.”
At dinner that night, which was served earlier than usual, Gerda appeared as distracted as Alouette. Alouette was trying to come up with a plan to investigate what the little room in the hut was for while Charles and Otto were deep in conversation. She half-heartedly tried to follow, especially after she thought she heard the word for “develop,” but they were speaking Italian and she was unfamiliar with the language.
“Well,” Charles spoke at last in German. “It can only be done during the day. You must telephone the Schwartz Brothers that we expect them this evening. They can find me in the office.”
Gerda gave him a strange look before setting her fork down and turning to Alouette. “What will you do when you get back to France?”
“Probably take up nursing.” She wanted to add that she’d help the war effort however she could, but didn’t think her German dinner companions would appreciate her enthusiasm to aid the French army.
As they left dinner, Gerda said she had some letters to write in her room. Charles and Otto were obviously going to be meeting with the Schwartz Brothers, whoever they were. Alouette declared she was tired and would retire early.
When she got to her room, she chose the darkest dress she had, a dingy shade of gray, and a matching overcoat to protect her from the cold. She walked as quietly as she could through the forest to the hut. Heart pounding, she crouched in the darkness of a large tree. It was only a matter of minutes before she saw Charles and Otto exiting, accompanied by two short, heavy-set men. They paused in front of Alouette’s tree and she bent lower, trying to make herself nearly invisible despite the bare branches.
Otto’s voice rang out clearly as he spoke in German, “You must hurry up because she is leaving soon.”
She was sure they were talking about her.
Alouette had just changed into her nightdress when she heard a knock. With a heavy heart, she put on her dressing gown and then opened the door. She was not exactly surprised to see Otto standing in the hallway, but the look on his face plunged her into terror.
She forced the fear out of her voice. “What do you want with me?
Before he had time to reply, Gerda barged in. Behind her were the two heavy-set men from the hut. Alouette backed into the corner of the room.
“Do not be afraid,” Otto stated. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes?” She sat down in the corner chair, acting as nonchalantly as she could.
Gerda looked at her. If it were possible, her eyes were even colder than they had been at breakfast the other day. “Alouette, you came to Switzerland to spy for France.”
“We can prove it,” Otto added.
Alouette laughed, a hollow laugh, but she hoped her interrogators wouldn’t notice her lack of mirth. “I am very surprised to hear this. I have been living in this house for nearly a week. If I’ve overstayed my welcome, you could have simply said that. Although I intended on leaving tomorrow, I could go tonight.”
“We want to know why you came to Switzerland,” one of the unfamiliar men said.
“I’m getting tired of explaining my situation,” Alouette replied.
“Your story is a lie,” Otto said, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic rage. “Karl Mather is married and has two children. You couldn’t possibly have been engaged to him.”
Alouette could feel her face blush. “Gerda,” she turned to the woman she once thought of as a friend. “Gerda, haven’t I always stated that I haven’t received news from Karl for years?” She took a breath. “I went looking for him because I was tired of the war and wanted to get away from it. But what I would like to ask you is why you are demanding all of these explanations. Why do you need to know my personal business?” She cursed herself for that last statement: clearly it was because they were suspicious of her.
Otto got into her face. “You are a spy for France and you cannot deny it.”
“Fine, then I will leave.” All five pairs of eyes fixed themselves on her suitcase in the corner. It was open, and obvious to Alouette that someone had ransacked it earlier.
“You know what your fate will be in a neutral country if you are found guilty of espionage, don’t you?” Gerda asked. “You would be endangering Switzerland’s declaration of neutrality, and they won’t take kindly to that.”
“Dear Gerda,” She made her tone equally derisive. “If there are spies in Switzerland, you are on
the wrong track if you suspect me.” Gerda’s expression did not change, so Alouette added, “At any rate, I presume they don’t condemn people in Switzerland without having proof.”
As calmly as possible, Gerda went to the suitcase and pulled out two envelopes that Alouette had never seen before.
“Can you explain these?” Gerda asked.
The two unfamiliar men, whom Alouette now assumed were policemen, followed Gerda’s movements with keen interest.
“What a dirty trick!” Alouette shouted. “You must have put those in earlier, when I was…”
“Spying,” Otto filled in.
Alouette grabbed the envelopes from Gerda. One had been addressed to the Hotel Blumenhaus in Geneva, postmarked from Germany. The other was purportedly from France and addressed to Alouette care of the mansion. She tore out this letter and gazed over it. The lines between the original words had been painted over with a glaze and showed a lightly stained code. She dropped the letter. “These are forgeries.”
Gerda narrowed her eyes, but Otto’s glance at the policemen revealed his concern they would believe Alouette. “You must go with these two gentlemen,” he stated tersely.
“I presume there is a French consul in this town. I will go to them in the morning. Kindly clear out of my room. Now,” Alouette emphasized.
One of the stock officers stepped forward. “Madame, he’s right. You must come with us.”
Alouette gave a deep sigh. “Do you mind if I change first?”
The man looked uncertainly at his companion, who conceded. The first man bowed, and then left, the other police officer following suit. Gerda planted her feet and crossed her arms, as if to say, you can’t make me leave, but Otto told her, “She’s in the hands of the police now. She can’t do any more harm.”
“How do we know she won’t escape through that window?” Gerda asked, nodding at it.
“She won’t. Come on.” He grabbed her by the elbow and practically pulled her out of the room.
Overcome by an inexplicably childish impulse, Alouette stuck out her tongue at the closed door. She dressed slowly, mulling over Gerda’s suggestion as she tied a scarf around her neck.
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain to reveal a peaceful view of the countryside, the light of the moon outlining the roadway beyond the mansion. Her room was on the second floor, and she therefore risked breaking a leg, or both legs, if she jumped to the ground. Not to mention escaping would be a full admission of guilt. But then again, she was accused of spying in a neutral country, and even the flimsiest proof would land her in prison, not to be liberated until the war was over.
She sighed, deciding it would be better to face the charges brought against her rather than run from them. She emerged from her room to find the policemen waiting in the hall.
“Gentleman, I am ready,” Alouette told them.
It must have been around 9 pm, Alouette guessed as the police led her to a carriage in the driveway. They rode into town and parked in front of the police station. There was not a gleam of light in any of the shop windows facing the deserted streets. Only the footfalls of the three of them broke the silence of the night. Everything in the town appeared strange to her; if the Swiss police decided to throw her into prison, Alouette knew no one would ask any questions. She was absolutely alone.
One of the men opened the door to the station and gestured for her to enter first. As she stepped into the dimly lit room, another man who had been dozing in a corner woke up with a start. He sleepily led Alouette to yet another badly lit room, this one windowless with only a sorry-looking bed in the corner for furniture. She heaved her bag onto it with a sigh. Swiss jails were apparently no better than French ones.
The new policeman told her that the commissary had gone home for the night and she would need to spend the night in the lock-up.
Somehow Alouette managed to fall into a fitful sleep. She was determined not to despair, no matter how grim the situation seemed from a Swiss jail cell.
Based on the dim light in the hall outside, dawn had broken when the policeman from the previous night reappeared. “The chief wants to see you.”
Chapter 15
Marthe
December 1914
Marthe did not sleep any better in the days leading up to the bombing. She was especially restless Tuesday evening and, around 3 am, when the ordnance train was due to arrive, rose and went to the window.
She gasped as she saw a low light coming into town. The buzzing of an airplane followed, and she was filled with elation when she realized that the Allies were indeed going to bomb the ordnance train. The message had gotten through! A low, thunderous noise started, and her heart sank as she realized it was the sound of a German anti-aircraft gun.
She hurried to her mother’s bed and shook her awake. “The cellar, Mother. You must get underground!” Her mother rose sleepily and, without asking questions, allowed Marthe to lead her and the grocer’s family to the cellar.
Once she was sure her mother was secure, Marthe ran back upstairs and threw a cloak over her nightdress. Seized with a sudden need to make sure the train station was destroyed, she went outside through the back door and crouched underneath some shrubbery.
She tilted her head upward and, using the German searchlights combing the sky, tried to track the Allied planes. Marthe could only discern one single-engine plane.
One plane? It seemed ill-advised to send a solitary aircraft to face the onslaught of German guns. But the plane was holding its own among the clouds of shrapnel.
Then came a ghastly shriek, growing louder and louder until the earth shook. A yellow light flashed above the rooftops of her neighbors. The airplane was bombing the town. She closed her eyes and pictured the ordnance train—loaded with weapons of destruction meant to destroy the Allies—obliterated.
Thud after thud shook the ground beneath Marthe’s feet, but still she could see the long shadow of the train waiting at the station. The bombs missed their mark! Soon the spraying of machine guns started, the projectiles creating red and yellow stars against the gray smoke.
Marthe’s legs crumpled and she hit the mud hard as another explosion sounded. Covered in soot and evergreen needles, she rose unsteadily. The shingles from the house next door floated in the air as if they were dust being blown by unseen lips. The view toward the train depot was obscured by smoke, but she knew that last bomb had hit its target and once the smoke cleared, nothing more would be seen of the ordnance train.
Still, the rat-a-tat-tat of German machine guns filled the air, aiming for the Allied plane above. She heard screams and sobs from her neighbors, the sound of broken glass shattering as people ran from burning houses. Was this harrowing situation her fault? Would innocent bystanders, acquaintances or even friends, die because of the intelligence she passed on to the Allies? But it’s war, she reminded herself, clenching her hands. And the Germans have done far worse to many Belgian villages. That thought didn’t stop her from shivering uncontrollably, however.
Marthe considered going to the Grand Place to see if anyone needed help, but her feet seemed cemented to the ground. She raised her head again, only just able to catch a glimpse of the plane as it climbed higher, trying to reach the clouds and the safety they provided from the German guns. But then its tail caught fire, as if it were a dragon breathing from the wrong end.
The terrible burning grew brighter and brighter against the black sky. Marthe barely had time to register that the plane was falling before it crashed into the ground. The roar it made on impact reverberated through her entire body. She pictured the British aviators lying mutilated in a field, their khaki uniforms engulfed in flames, suffering a slow, agonizing death. In the morning, nothing would be left of the heroes but unrecognizable, charred remains. Once again, bile rose in her throat, and she leaned over to vomit in the nearest bush.
As she straightened, she saw that both the station and the ordnance train had indeed been demolished. The mission had succeeded,
but at what cost? The machine guns were still rattling and smoke permeated the night air—there was nothing she could do until morning. She wiped off the bile residue with her sleeve and headed back into the house.
After escorting her mother back upstairs, Marthe sat in her bed wide awake, knowing as busy as the hospital would be tomorrow, she’d never be able to sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were houses in flames, crashing airplanes, and mangled bodies. What new horrors would daylight bring? And what had become of poor little Fischer, the train station manager with the shiny boots?
She finally broke down in tears, crying for all that the world had lost since the war began.
Chapter 16
Alouette
January 1915
It took some convincing for the Swiss police to let Alouette go, but eventually she managed to prove the letters were fakes by pointing out that she’d only been at the mansion for a week, not nearly long enough to receive a piece of mail from France. Luckily the police commissary had an affinity for all things French and decided to allow her to return to her native land. Obviously Otto and Gerda had over-estimated Swiss sympathy for Germany when they attempted to arrange to have her sentenced without a trial.
The first place Alouette went when she reached Paris was to visit with “Monsieur Delorme.”
She barged into the parlor at 26 rue Jacob, intending to tell Ladoux just what she thought of his spying methods when he turned around, the same shrewd look on his face as before. “Madame Richer, I’ve arranged for you to travel to Spain.”
Alouette was too flabbergasted to form a coherent reply. “But Captain—”
“Immediately,” he continued.
She finally found her voice. “No. I don’t need a repeat of my failed mission in Switzerland. Clearly I’m not cut out for espionage.”