"I’ve brought you a hot drink and some soup. You should have them now, and save the apples and water for when you’re alone. Can you manage to feed yourself?"
Charles nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Theresa. You should go now or you’ll be breaking curfew. I’ll be all right until the doctor comes tomorrow, thanks to you." He smiled and noticed the blush which coloured the young girls cheeks.
"I’ll try to come back tomorrow and cook you a proper meal. Be careful, Monsieur Charles."
Charles smiled at the young girl. "Thank you, Theresa."
As the child turned and skipped down the stairs he marvelled at her qualities of self-control under stress, and the way she seemed to know just what to do in an awkward situation. He was saddened that war should come along to force youngsters like Theresa out of their childhood and thrust them forward into an adulthood and maturity for which they were not prepared. He hoped she would not be hurt by this war.
95
Georges slowly pushed his broom along the corridor, listening to the sound of voices coming through the open office door.
"We have to do something, Karl!" Major Steinhauser's voice was raised in anger. "This sort of thing can’t go on!"
“Yes, sir. We have hundreds of troops combing the area."
"That’s no good, Karl. If we didn’t find them in the first hour we’re not likely to find them now, twenty-four hours later."
"The guards said they shot at least one."
"Yes, but he still got away and he was not seen trying to get back into the city, which probably means that they have a hideout somewhere out in the country."
"We will find it, sir."
"How?"
Georges moved closer to the door. From his position he could see Steinhauser pacing back and forth across the room.
"They seem to be able to hit us whenever they want and then just disappear into thin air. Even the wounded seem to just vanish. I don’t care what it takes, Karl, we have got to get them. If we can’t flush them out with our soldiers, we will have to rely on informers." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I want posters all over the city, a reward of fifteen thousand francs for information received. I also want another train load of workers sent to the factories. That might encourage someone to come forward with information"
Sergeant Dresner nodded. “Yes, sir. Men or women?"
"Women this time, Karl. We must keep a fair balance after all!" Steinhauser laughed, a sound without mirth which sent a shiver along Georges’ spine. "And Karl, I want you to work on some ideas to trap this group of bastards. They cannot be allowed to get away with it. They have wiped out a whole supply convoy, killing or wounding upwards of forty Germans, with only one of their group wounded and the rest getting away scot-free. We’ve got to get them, and when we do, Karl, they’ll wish they’d never been born!" He laughed again, a laugh which brought no light to the cold ice blue of his eyes. “I am looking forward to having them in my power. It will give me great pleasure to extract every possible piece of information from them."
A German orderly turned the corner of the corridor ahead of Georges, a sheaf of papers in his hand, and the young Frenchman began to push his broom faster, working his way down the passageway until the sound of voices from Steinhauser’s office receded into the distance. His face was grim. It looked as though the people of Saint Nazaire were going to suffer once again for the group’s activities. But rather than making Georges feel guilty it made him angry. He determined that he would work harder than ever to drive the hated Germans from his homeland.
“Are you sure Leclerc said he would come here?”
“Of course, Albert. Now sit down and relax.”
Tony stopped his pacing of the kitchen and turned to face Jean-Paul.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so worried. What if something has gone wrong?”
“We’ll know soon enough. I know Theresa isn’t experienced, but she seemed to think that the bleeding was stopping when she left Charles last night. And Leclerc said that he would get there this morning. All we can do now is wait.”
Tony sighed and flung himself into a chair. “It was the right decision. Too many people coming and going to Charles’ house would be unusual and draw attention to him, and that’s the last thing we need at the moment. But,” he stood up and began pacing again as he spoke, “I hate the waiting most of all.”
Jean-Paul nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“What’s that?” Jean-Paul made his way over to the door as the sound of a car reached his ears. He looked out and a broad grin spread across his face.
“It’s the doctor! At last!”
The two men went out to greet their visitor, who kept the engine of the car running and did not get out.
“Bonjour, my friends.”
“How is he?”
Leclerc smiled at Tony’s question. “Don’t worry, it’s good news. I’ve seen Charles and, although very weak from loss of blood, he’s doing fine. He was lucky, the bullet seems to have caused very little internal damage. It entered from the back and exited at the front. Both clean wounds. It shouldn’t be long before he’s up and about again, although he’ll be stiff for a few weeks to come.”
“Thank God for that! And thank you, doctor, you’ve saved us yet again.”
“Don’t think about that, Albert, you won’t have to do without me as long as this war lasts.”
Tony reached across and shook the older man’s hand. “Thank you.”
Leclerc gave an embarrassed smile as he continued. “Charles should be all right on his own, but he won’t be able to go out to the shops for a while. Do you have any plans to help him?”
Tony nodded. “Yes, we will take care of that, don’t worry.”
“Good.” The doctor put his car into gear. “’I’ll try to get in and see him again in a couple of days.” He smiled at his comrades. “Don’t hesitate to call on me again if you need me. It makes me feel good to be able to do something to avenge my son’s death.”
“What are the Germans saying about the attack?”
“They seem to be at a loss to know who and where you are.”
“Good.”
“Not so good.” Leclerc frowned. “They’re offering a reward for your capture, and they’re shipping a train full of women to the labour camps.”
“The bastards!”
Jean-Paul laid a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder.
“We knew it might happen. We just have to accept it.”
Tony’s face was grim. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Leclerc nodded. “I know what you mean. Now, I have to go. If I miss my surgery the Germans might become suspicious. Good bye and good luck.”
“Goodbye, my friend, and thank you.”
“Take care, doctor.” Tony smiled. “We really appreciate all your help!”
With a smile and a wave Leclerc drove away. The two younger men watched him go. When the car had disappeared from sight, Jean-Paul turned to his companion.
“What now?”
“We follow the plan. Tomorrow you will take a load of vegetables into the city to sell. I want you to try to gauge the feelings of the civilian population.”
“And Theresa?”
“That’s up to you, Jean-Paul. Charles would no doubt benefit from having someone to look after him. But if you feel that it will be too dangerous then she stays here.”
Jean-Paul set off for the city soon after dawn had painted the sky with its rosy palette. Theresa was seated beside him on the horse-drawn wagon, once again eagerly offering her services as nurse to the group. This time the young girl was looking forward to her duties with an eagerness which she hid from her father. He would never understand how a girl her age could be so fond of a man who was ten years older. How she wished she could grow up overnight!
The journey into the city was uneventful. Jean-Paul drove through the streets of the suburbs at a steady walk, finally halting two streets away from Charles' home.
“Right, Theresa. You get down here. I don't want to stop outside the house." He helped his daughter down, then handed her the basket of food which her mother had prepared earlier that morning. "I’ll meet you back here in two hours."
“Yes, Papa."
Jean-Paul smiled fondly at his daughter. "Just be careful.
Theresa nodded and began walking down the street, the summer sun warm on her bare arms as she happily swung the basket to and fro. Jean-Paul watched her for a moment and then drove away, wishing that the war had not come to disrupt her childhood yet proud of the way she was helping the Resistance movement.
When Theresa reached Charles' house, she entered without knocking and ran up the stairs. The bedroom door was open. As she approached she saw Charles struggling to rise to his feet. When he saw her, he relaxed back onto the pillows.
"Oh, it’s you, Theresa."
Theresa raised a hand to her mouth in alarm.
"Oh! Monsieur Charles! I’m so sorry! I should have called up from downstairs!"
Charles grinned weakly. "Don’t worry, Theresa. Just remember to call out next time. I thought you were the SS coming to get me!"
Theresa placed her basket on the floor and approached the bed. She smiled shyly at her patient as she plumped up the pillows and helped him to settle comfortably.
"How are you feeling today, Monsieur Charles?"
“Sore. But it won’t take long for the wound to heal. Then I can get back to fighting with the rest of the group."
Theresa sat on the edge of the bed, a faraway look in her eyes.
"I wish I could fight too. I want to help get rid of the Germans."
Charles smiled. "You’re doing a vital job as it is, Theresa. Don’t wish the years ahead of you away. I hope the fighting will be over long before you’re old enough to carry a gun."
Theresa sighed. She knew what she was doing was worthwhile, but it was a job for a girl not a young woman. She looked at the handsome man in the bed, certain that he would show her more attention if she were able to fight by his side.
"Age has nothing to do with it." She grinned impishly. "I can use a gun. I’ve helped Papa to keep the rabbits away from the crops in the past. Surely shooting the Germans would be no different."
Charles laughed at the refreshing naiveté of the girl, then winced at the pain.
"When you’re older, you’ll understand how different it is when you have a man in your gun sights."
Theresa frowned. There he was, talking about her age, or lack of it, again. She climbed down from the bed and made her way over to the door where she picked up her basket.
"You just relax Monsieur Charles, I’ll go downstairs and get some food ready for you."
As he watched her go, Charles grinned. Jean-Paul was lucky to have such a daughter.
96
Angeline, with flour up to her elbows, was kneading dough vigorously, while Vincent was removing another tray of bread from the oven. It was hot. She brushed a damp wisp of hair out of her eyes with her arm, leaving a streak of flour on her brow. When Vincent saw it he grinned.
"Don’t worry, this is the worst time of the year. It’s hot enough without the ovens."
Angeline continued to knead the dough. "Don’t worry, Vincent. I shan't give up the job, if that's what you're afraid of." She stopped her work for a moment and turned to face her older companion. "At least I’m being paid for this work. Not like those poor women Steinhauser had transported to the work camps last week. Just think of the poor children who are now without mothers! I sometimes wonder if it’s all worth it."
Vincent nodded. "I know what you mean. They don’t seem to give in, do they." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "But it is all worthwhile. We will win in the end. We just have to persevere."
Angeline smiled. "I know. I suppose I'm just hot and tired." She frowned. "Do you think anyone will betray the Resistance for fifteen thousand francs?
Vincent shrugged. "I suppose there are always people who will do anything for money. But most people won’t betray them, always assuming that they know where they are."
Angeline smothered a smile. She knew. As she continued to knead the dough, Vincent was working thoughtfully. When he finally spoke, Angeline was surprised at his words.
"I wish I knew where to find them."
"Why?"
"Maybe I could do something to help." He grinned. "I was feeling old and useless until you came along. But having someone to talk to and help me with my work has helped me to realise that I have more to offer my country than I thought." He shrugged. "Still, I don’t suppose they would be able to use someone like me."
Angeline smiled. "You never know." She was glad that he wanted to help, but knew she would not take the risk of approaching Tony on his behalf. Having an English agent operating an illegal transmitter from his home was dangerous enough, even though he did not know that it was happening. To have an active member of the Resistance group there as well would make the risks unacceptable. As Angeline continued with her work she mused on the irony of the situation. Here was someone with whom she could talk about her clandestine activities and relieve some of the burden which rested on her shoulders, yet she was unable to say anything to him. Strangely, she found that more difficult that the job itself.
97
The next two weeks passed quickly. All places of military importance were under increased guard by the Germans, who still sought the Resistance group which was causing them so much trouble. They knew that their chances of stumbling on the saboteurs by accident were slim, so they concentrated their efforts on the civilians of the city. Checks on papers were increased and beatings common. The families of the three hundred women who had been deported were slowly coming to terms with their changed circumstances. Anger at the Germans seethed hidden in every heart.
The members of Tony’s group continued to lie low, doing nothing to vary from the routine of the lives which they had been pursuing ever since the German Occupation began. Charles was the only one whose life changed to any extent, though no one knew, for he never ventured from his house. As Leclerc had said, the wound was healing quickly. With the help of Theresa, who visited every other day, he was soon up and about. Theresa was in her element, providing food and caring for the man she idolised. Charles grew increasingly fond of her, treating her very much like the little sister he had never had. Soon, too soon for Theresa, Charles was well enough to care for himself, and was able to return to the routine of his life. The wound had healed, leaving angry red scars and a stiffness which Leclerc said would fade in time. Charles began to exercise, gently at first but building steadily until he felt that he was well enough, despite his wound, to participate once again in the activities of the group. He found himself looking forward to the next call to action. He did not have long to wait.
.
98
Georges worked his way steadily along the corridor, sweeping as he went. Most of the office doors were closed, while those that were open showed rooms which were occupied, and so he continued on his way without a second glance. As a cleaner he was ignored by the Germans who worked at the SS Headquarters. It was as though he was not there as far as they were concerned. That gave him ample opportunity to look around and try to glean information which might be of some use to the group. As he shuffled on, blue overalls blending with the dull background of the painted corridor, he finally found what he was looking for, an empty office with its door left invitingly open.
Georges glanced along the empty corridor, then slipped inside the office. It was tidy, with rows of filing cabinets along the walls. He knew from experience that they would all be locked. The office was used by the transport officer, who arranged for all supplies of food and munitions to be brought into Saint Nazaire. Since the débacle of the supply convoy, all information had been carefully filed and locked away. Georges doubted that there would be anything of any use to him. He searched the desk quickly, and his face broke into a broad grin as he spied a piece of paper lying on top of
the green blotter. As he studied it, easily deciphering the German words, he heard voices through the door which connected this office to the next. The door was ajar. Georges realised that the transport officer was just next door. He read the paper quickly, then moved back towards the door as the voice drew closer.
"Thank you, Franz. Why do I always run out of ink in the middle of the day? I shall have to get onto supply about it!"
There was a muffled reply which Georges did not quite hear. Then the connecting door opened wider to admit a German officer. He glanced at the paper on his desk, then glared at Georges who was sweeping the floor close to the door.
"What are you doing?" The officer spoke in German and Georges shook his head as though he did not understand. The officer frowned and struggled to speak French. "What here you do?"
“Cleaning, sir." Georges held out his broom. "May I do your office?"
The officer shook his head and waved his hand towards the door.
"No. Go. Come later."
Georges nodded and retreated from the room as the officer made his way over to the desk and perused it carefully. It did not look as though anything had been touched. He placed the new pot of ink on the desk, and frowned thoughtfully in the direction of the door. Then he shrugged. He had only been out of the office for a few moments, hardly time for the Frenchman to get into his office, and even if he had seen the papers, he obviously could not speak German. He began to re-fill his pen. He had better get the paper signed and on its way, before someone who could speak German saw it.
As the transport officer signed the paper on his desk, Georges made his way down the corridor. He grinned. Albert would be pleased with the information he had gleaned today.
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