Angeline was surprised to find that her hands were not shaking as she opened up the case, attached the battery leads, plugged the crystal into the set with the tongs provided and put on her headphones. Sitting back on her heels, she looked anxiously at her watch, waiting for the hands to reach five minutes past midnight.
At last the moment arrived and Angeline’s finger began to tap the key.
"Angeline. EODFNZLGRZ."
Her home station was ready and waiting. Hardly had she ceased sending her name and code than the reply came.
"Receiving."
Angeline’s finger tapped rapidly on the key. It sounded loud to her, but she knew that it would not carry too far. Swiftly the message asking for supplies and specifying the drop zone was sent. The reply was immediate.
"Received. Out."
There was no time to waste on pleasantries. A message must be sent quickly, then contact broken before the enemy could trace the sender. Angeline packed away swiftly so that by ten past midnight the warehouse was deserted once more. She had covered only half of the distance back to the bakery when the air-raid sirens sounded. Despite the curfew, people began leaving their homes to head for the nearest shelter and Angeline found that she could now move with less fear of discovery. She still had not reached the bakery when the first of the British planes flew overhead. The sound of their bombs falling on the docks could be heard like the distant rumble of thunder drawing ever closer. Angeline broke into a run. She had managed to evade the German patrols, how ironic it would be if she were now injured or killed by a British bomb. Turning into the delivery yard behind the bakery, Angeline cannoned into a dishevelled Vincent.
"Angeline! Where have you been? I looked for you in your room but you weren’t there!"
Angeline took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Vincent. When I heard the sirens I was afraid and ran. Then I realised that I’d left without you, so I came back."
Vincent nodded, and she was glad to see that he accepted her story in the heat of the moment, not even wondering why she was fully dressed.
"All right, but you can’t take all your belongings to the shelter. Give that to me." He took the case containing her radio and thrust it into the bakery. "It will be as safe there as anywhere else. Now, come on. Let’s get to the shelter!"
The two ran down the street and into the cellar beneath the café on the corner. Angeline was terrified, but not of the bombs. Her radio was sitting in the doorway of Vincent’s bakery, where anyone could find it. She leant back against the wall of the cellar and closed her eyes, trying to suppress the fear. What if someone entered the shop? A burglar? A German soldier? What if the shop were hit and the radio found in the ruins? What if Vincent discovered what was in the case? Her heart was thumping wildly. Her mouth was dry with fear, yet her hands were cold and clammy. She breathed deeply, mentally struggling to control her nervous tension, her fear of discovery.
Mistaking the cause of her fear, Vincent laid a hand on her arm.
"Don’t worry, Angeline. We are quite safe here."
She opened her eyes and smiled weakly. "Thank you, Vincent."
The raid was thankfully short, aimed at the ships in the docks. In less than thirty minutes the sound of exploding bombs fell silent; moments later the All Clear sounded. Vincent led the way up from the cellar and back through the darkened streets to the bakery, where he handed Angeline’s case back to her. Her relief was enormous. She had come so close to discovery, yet here she was, safe at last. Angeline smiled wanly at Vincent, who indicated the case with a wave of his hand.
"Remember next time. Just leave everything and run. Now, get to bed, we have to be up in a couple of hours."
Angeline returned his smile.
”Goodnight, Vincent. And thank you."
As she made her way back up the stairs to bed, she wondered what on earth had induced her to volunteer for this job.
83
Madeleine sat at a pavement table in front of the Café de Maritime, a cup of what passed for coffee in occupied France on the table in front of her. Clothes, along with everything else, were rationed, but she still managed to look smart, despite the age of her charcoal grey suit. One or two heads turned her way as she sat reading the paper and taking occasional sips of her coffee. But she did not notice the effect that her obvious good looks had on men. Seemingly engrossed in her newspaper, Madeleine sat on long after her cup was empty. But if anyone had been watching her closely, they would have noticed how her eyes strayed from the paper to take in the fencing, and the guards who protected the docks.
This was her fourth visit to the Café de Maritime. Every evening she came to drink coffee and read her newspaper, where she could watch the routine of the guards at the time of day when it was most likely that the group would try to enter the docks. As curfew drew closer each evening, she made as if to go home, but then returned and hid in a dark alleyway, watching the guards throughout the night. On all three previous visits the routine had not varied at all. She knew the placing of the guards and the times they were changed, she knew when they left their posts to walk around the fence, and she knew when they slipped away for a warm coffee during the long cold night.
Madeleine smiled. Her time spent watching the docks had been very productive. As she folded her paper and rose to her feet, turning away from the sea front and heading back to her apartment in the centre of Saint Nazaire, she hoped the others had been equally successful in their tasks.
Claude also spent a great deal of time studying the docks. With the blackout, he would have found it difficult to see anything of value at night, so he spent his afternoons in the attic of a deserted house no more than ten yards from the fence surrounding the docks. From this vantage point he had been able to see a great deal of what went on inside the docks, although certain areas were outside his line of sight and he was unable to see what happened there. He now carried in his head a fairly accurate plan of the docks. As far as he could see, there had been little damage caused by the recent air raid. Many of the bombs had missed their target, either falling into the sea or on the buildings surrounding the docks. From his secret eyrie, he could see that the majority of the stocks of fuel and supplies in this part of the docks had hardly been touched. He wondered if it was really worth sending planes all this way for so little gain. It was obvious why Albert wanted them to get inside the docks; any sabotage that they perpetrated would do far more damage than half a dozen air raids.
After seeing all he could, and memorising it carefully, Claude abandoned the derelict house and returned to work at his garage, eager for the days to pass and their meeting on Saturday to arrive.
Charles also began his study of the docks from an attic, but he was younger than Claude and impatient. The things he saw from there were not detailed enough to satisfy him, and he decided to have a closer look. Waiting until after dark, the young Frenchman crept to the fence that surrounded the docks and climbed over it. He was surprised how easy it was. He could see no guards, and was able to hide in the deep shadows created by the blackout. With slow, careful deliberation he crept silently from one warehouse to another. Inside he found everything the Germans would need to re-fit and re-equip any of their warships which put into Saint Nazaire. One warehouse was crammed with ammunition; - shells for the huge guns of the battleships of the German navy, depth charges, ammunition for machine guns and small arms. In another warehouse he found spare engine parts and drums of engine oil; another contained food supplies; another was filled to capacity with drums of diesel.
Charles spent a whole night surveying the docks. Sometimes he was forced to hide from guards or workers who had a task to complete that could not wait until morning. But at other times he moved freely amongst the shadows, surprised how complacent the guards seemed to be. As dawn’s pale light began to paint the sky, Charles slipped quietly out of the dock area and made his way home to bed.
It was Saturday evening. As usual after dinner, Tony and Jean-Paul listened to the BBC broadcasting the
war news and messages to British agents in occupied territories. It was a peaceful time. The sound of Marie and the children washing up after dinner giving a sense of normality to a situation that could cost them their freedom if they were to be found with the radio. But they did not fear that. Jean-Paul’s cottage was too isolated for the Germans to come to, unless they were looking for something specific.
The two men leant forwards to listen to the news, Tony translating any items which Jean-Paul did not understand. Then came the messages. It was a short list, just four items.
"Bring the dog a bone...Peter Pan has grown...The man in the moon...Lady Godiva."
Tony looked at Jean-Paul and the two men smiled. 'The man in the moon'. The drop would take place the following night.
"It’s a good job we’re meeting tonight, I won't have to try to contact everyone tomorrow."
Tony nodded and looked at his watch. "Yes. Perfect timing from London. Now, if we’re not going to be late for our meeting, we had better get going."
Jean-Paul nodded and rose to his feet. Switching off the radio, he lifted it up and crossed to the other side of the room where the corner of a rug had been thrown back and two floorboards lifted out. He put the radio in the cavity underneath, then replaced the floorboards and the rug before turning back to Tony.
“Right, Albert. We have an hour until we meet the others."
Tony nodded.
"Yes, they should have got some useful information about the layout of the docks by now." He grinned boyishly. "As long as everything goes to plan, we should have made our mark on the docks by the end of the week."
Jean-Paul laughed. "I certainly hope so. It feels so good to be doing something to help my country."
In an ebullient mood, the two men left the cottage and set out for their rendezvous in the woods.
The clearing in the woods was now familiar to Tony, a place where he could meet and plan in safety with the French members of his group. When Jean-Paul and Tony arrived, their three companions were already waiting for them.
"Bonsoir."
“Bonsoir, Albert”
"Right. Let's get down to business." Tony crouched on the ground as he spoke and spread a piece of paper out in front of him, holding it in place with a rock at each corner. "This is a plan of the perimeter of the docks. What I want to do tonight is to get your information onto it." He turned to Madeleine. "What did you found out?"
"The guards are situated here, here and here." She pointed to the map. "They’re changed every six hours. Those who go on at seven p.m. are always the same, so I have got to know their routines. They tend to stay at their posts, and only walk the perimeter once an hour on the hour. The guard here," again she pointed at the map, "sneaks off to have a quiet cigarette after he has done his patrol at eleven, while the guard at the main gate always seems to disappear at ten thirty for ten minutes or so."
Tony nodded. "Good. That information could prove useful when we are planning how to get in and out of the docks." He turned to Claude. "What did you find out?"
Claude quickly catalogued the stores and guards he had seen from his hiding place, while Tony marked them on the map, filling most of the eastern part of the docks. The western end still remained a blank.
"Thank you, Claude. That’s very useful. Now," he turned to Charles who was eagerly awaiting his turn to speak, "what have you found out?"
Charles grinned impishly as he began to point out the sites and guards he had seen at the docks. After a few moments Tony stopped writing and looked up, a frown furrowing his brow.
"This is all very detailed, Charles. How did you come by this information?"
Charles' face broke into a broad grin. "I found a stretch of fence that seemed to be unguarded, so I climbed in and spent a whole night surveying the docks from the inside."
His four companions looked at him incredulously, mouths agape.
"You bloody fool!"
The grin left Charles' face at Tony’s exclamation. He looked like a schoolboy who had got a beating instead of the praise he had been expecting.
"What do you mean?" His voice was puzzled. "I got the information, didn’t I?”
"Yes. But I told you not to take any risks!" Tony fought hard to control his rising anger. "You did some foolish things while I was back in England, Charles, but I thought you were going to be more careful now that I'm back. Don't you understand?" His voice became less angry and more persuasive as he spoke. "Not only could your action have jeopardised the whole operation, it could have cost you your life too."
Charles nodded. "I’m sorry, Albert."
"Sorry is not good enough." Tony’s voice was hard. “If you get taken by the Germans, it could lead them to the rest of us. Do you want to have our deaths on your conscience?"
"I didn’t think about that, Albert. I just wanted to help."
"Well, if you want to continue working with this group, you must think carefully about it. You are to obey my orders and take no stupid risks that could endanger our work, or our lives. Do you understand?"
Charles lowered his gaze and nodded. "I understand Albert. I give you my word that if you will allow me to continue to work with you, I won’t do anything like this again."
Tony looked at the dejected Charles, then at the other three members of the group who had said nothing during his tirade. Their safety lay in their ability to work closely together and to trust each other, and the last thing he wanted was for this incident to drive a wedge between them all. He smiled and laid a hand on Charles' shoulder.
"All right, Charles. I know you only did it to help us. And let's face it, the information you've brought us is extremely valuable. Let's get it all on the map, shall we?"
Charles looked up, the relief that he was to be allowed to remain with the group evident in his eyes. Noticing the relaxing of the atmosphere as the other three leant over the map, Tony breathed an inward sigh of relief that the situation had turned out as well as it had. He had no training in how to deal with difficulties created by members of his group and had worried that he might do or say the wrong thing. But everyone seemed happy with the outcome, and eager for the plans to go ahead. For a time they worked over the map, until they were sure that all of the information that they had on the docks was there. Then Tony sat back on his heels and grinned.
"Right. I’ll study this and plan the attack." He glanced over at Jean-Paul as he spoke. "Now we have some good news for you all. Don't we?"
Jean-Paul nodded.
"Yes. The weapons will be dropped tomorrow night. We meet at ten in the same place as before."
There were smiles all round at the news, and Tony was pleased with their eagerness.
"Tomorrow night we’ll hide the weapons and get out of the drop zone as quickly as possible in case the plane has been spotted. We’ll meet back there on Tuesday at ten, so I can show you how to use the weapons." He folded the map of the docks. "I should have the plan of attack ready by then, so be prepared to go into action at the end of the week." He was thoughtful for a moment then spoke again . "On Tuesday, you’ll have to take some of our equipment back into the city with you. Make sure you have something to carry it in, and a good hiding place ready. It must be somewhere where the equipment can be kept dry and be reached fairly easily. I'm sure I don't have to tell you to be careful. If those weapons are found, it will cost us our lives."
The other four nodded seriously as Tony rose to his feet.
"Right. Now let's get out of here. Take care on your way back to the city. Bonne nuit."
"Bonne nuit."
The sabotage group faded into the trees. Moments later the clearing was empty once more.
Sunday night was clear, with only a sliver of moon to light the sky. As Tony made his way up to the drop zone, he thought what perfect conditions these were for the plane bringing their supplies from England. He and Jean-Paul arrived at the high pasture shortly before ten, and were cutting turfs for a fire when the others arrived. With everyone helping, the bonfire
was soon ready, only waiting for the sound of the approaching plane for Tony to put a match to the tinder.
As Tony perused his companions, he noticed that they did not appear as nervous as they had done at the time of the first drop. He smiled. They were moulding together as a unit, and he felt confident that they would be able to work well together.
Jean-Paul first heard the plane as it flew in from the north. The fire was lit and, moments later, the first parachute was seen. Tony counted them as they came down. One...two...three...four...five…six. It would take some time to get them all hidden away in Jean-Paul’s cave. As the plane turned away and headed back towards England, Tony shouted out his instructions.
"Madeleine, get that fire out and replace the turfs. The rest of you, get these containers into the edge of the woods over there.” He pointed as he ran. "Detach the chutes and leave them for Madeleine to bury, but don't open the canisters. We don't have time. We'll have to carry them up to the cave as they are."
Within minutes, the six containers were concealed beneath the sheltering branches of the trees. Each was almost six feet long and one foot in diameter, weighing about one hundred kilograms.
"It will take all four of us to carry each of these. Let's get going."
They lifted the first cylinder and made their way off in the direction of the cave while Madeleine removed all traces of the signal fire. It took them a little over twenty minutes to reach the cave, where the four men concealed the container at the rear before going back for the next one. It was almost three hours before the back-breaking task of carrying all six cylinders up to the hiding place had been completed. By the time they had finished they were tired and their bodies ached, but everything was safely concealed, and Madeleine had ensured that the drop site carried no traces of their activities. Tony glanced at the pile of rocks hiding their new supply of arms.
Heronfield Page 43