Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  "Who are you? What are the names of the rest of your group?" barked the SS officer.

  Tony forced his answer through teeth clenched tight against the pain which suffused his body, but his eyes were direct.

  "I am Albert Fouqet. I belong to no group."

  Steinhauser was angry and kicked out, the toes of his well-polished boot contacting with Tony’s stomach and knocking the air from his lungs. Tony doubled over in agony as Steinhauser’s boot caught him again and again in the ribs. His vision was blurred and there was a terrible racing noise in his ears. He fell onto his side, hitting the floor hard as he was unable to use his hands to save himself. Steinhauser continued to kick the prostrate form three, four, five times, but now there was no response. Tony was barely conscious, his eyes closed and the sounds of the room coming and going like waves upon a distant shore. He vaguely heard the major’s voice as though it came from miles away.

  "Get him out of here. I'll see him again in the morning." The two soldiers stepped towards the battered and bloodied figure. As they reached down to haul him to his feet, fresh waves of agony coursed through Tony’s tortured body. As he slipped towards blessed oblivion, the last thing he was conscious of was Steinhauser’s voice.

  "And send someone up here to clean my boots. This filthy pig has bled all over them!"

  107

  Jean-Paul walked determinedly down the street towards the bakery. Ever since the moment when his eyes had locked with Tony’s his mind had been in turmoil. He stood for a time in the midst of the silent crowd, subliminally aware of their feelings of happiness, however well-disguised, at the death of a German officer. All the time his mind was a whirling confusion of thoughts. What would the group do without Tony? Who would lead them? More importantly, would he betray them? Jean-Paul knew that he would not do it in order to save his own life, but what if others were threatened? What if they tortured him until he could no longer resist? As he turned and began to make his way home, sick at heart at having to leave Tony in the hands of the SS, the thoughts whirled around Jean-Paul’s mind until he finally came to the inevitable conclusion. However much he disliked the idea, there were only two choices. Either they must help Tony to escape or make sure that he was unable to talk.

  Jean-Paul spent the remainder of that day and the long hours of the night deep in thought at his home. But no matter how hard he tried, he could find no other solution. They should try to get Tony out, there was no other way. After a long sleepless night, Jean-Paul set out for the city at dawn. He approached the bakery later in the morning after Vincent’s regular customers had been. It would give him time to be alone with Angeline and Vincent, to discuss what should be done. The bakery was empty when he entered. He closed the door, put up the closed sign and made his way behind the counter and through to the living area beyond. He found Vincent and Angeline sitting at the kitchen table. They looked up in surprise as he entered.

  "Jean-Paul! What are you doing here?"

  "I’m sorry to intrude, Vincent, but I must speak to Angeline."

  Angeline looked up from her coffee.

  "We heard about the shooting, and that the assassin was arrested. It was Albert, wasn't it?"

  Jean-Paul nodded, glad that he would not have to be the one to break the news.

  "What do you plan to do?"

  Jean-Paul turned to Vincent and shrugged. "I’m not sure. All I know is that we have to get him out of there. Do you have any suggestions?"

  Angeline gave a sad smile which did not quite reach her eyes. "We’ve thought of little else all night. We think we have a plan. Do you think someone in the group could get hold of some German uniforms?"

  Jean-Paul shrugged. "I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible."

  "Good. The plan is that your friends dress up as German soldiers and pretend that they’ve taken me prisoner. We go into SS H.Q. and down to the cells, where we release Albert."

  "Then what? The whole German army will be looking for him. Where can we hide him?"

  "Leave that to me." Angeline poured a coffee for Jean-Paul as she spoke. "I’ll get in touch with London, and try to arrange for a plane to pick him up. I'll leave you to get the group organised. As soon as London let me know when the pick-up will be, I'll be in touch."

  "You will tell them to be quick, won't you? I doubt if Albert is having an easy time of it."

  Angeline frowned. "I know, but he’s trained to cope with this sort of thing. We'll just have to hope that he can hold out until we get to him."

  "You’ve been trained too, Angeline. If the SS find out you’re a spy, you will be dead, and we would have no more contact with England. Maybe you shouldn’t come with us on the rescue."

  "But I must help! Albert would do the same for me!"

  "Perhaps you haven’t thought it out fully." Jean-Paul sat at the table and leant earnestly towards her. "Madeleine or one of the others could just as easily pretend to be a prisoner, but would any of them be able to set up a runway to allow the plane to land?"

  Angeline bowed her head and sat silently for a moment before finally nodding.

  "You’re right, Jean-Paul. If the runway isn’t set up properly it will jeopardise the whole operation. I'll get in touch with London and make all the arrangements. You get the group organised and I'll be in touch. Do you know the log where I leave messages for Albert?" Jean-Paul nodded. "Good. I'll leave a message for you there. I'll only have twenty-four hours notice of the plane coming, and that could change with adverse weather conditions. So we must be flexible. Understand?"

  Jean-Paul nodded. "Yes. There’s just one problem. If Georges and I pretend to be Germans and take Madeleine as our prisoner, we’ll have to leave the car unattended. How can we be sure it won't be moved while we’re in the SS H.Q.?"

  "Easy. I’ll drive."

  Angeline and Jean-Paul both turned towards Vincent.

  "Are you sure?"

  Vincent nodded. "Of course. I told you I wanted to help, didn’t I? I may not be young or fit anymore, but I can still drive a car."

  Jean-Paul smiled. "Thank you. Now," he rose to his feet as he spoke, "I’d better be going. I have a lot to do." He walked towards the door then turned to the couple seated at the table. "I’ll wait to hear from you, Angeline."

  With that he turned and was gone.

  108

  Tony lay on the cold stone floor of the cell, his body wracked with pain. Thinking that he might be forced to stand for hours at a time once the guards realised that he was conscious, Tony kept his eyes closed and began to make a mental check of his condition. Someone had untied his hands and he wriggled his fingers experimentally. They all moved and did not appear to be damaged. His whole torso ached where he had been beaten by the soldier, but there was a far more searing pain in his chest. Slowly he took in a deep breath, expanding his lungs to the maximum, and the agony increased. Apart from using his hands to check the damage, a movement which would obviously attract the guard’s attention, there was no way of finding out how badly hurt he was. He guessed that his ribs had been badly bruised, some of them probably fractured, by the boot of the SS major.

  Tony was stiff and cold. His body cried out for warmth, for food and for water, but he made no move. He realised that the beating was just the beginning of the interrogation. Things would get much worse before the Germans executed him. His mind and his body needed to rest as much as possible. He needed to hang on to whatever reserves of strength he had, in order to resist the coming questioning.

  As he lay on the floor, Tony’s mind sought refuge in happier times. He imagined himself at Heronfield, basking in the warm summer sun. The strength of his longing and the weakness of his body helped to banish the chilling cold from his thoughts, and gave him respite for a time. His closed eyes saw everything brighter, clearer than it really was. But he did not care. The image he had created to comfort him in his suffering allowed him to walk hand in hand with Sarah, beside the crystal waters of the river, and watch as a heron took flight from the lush r
eed beds. In his mind Sarah squeezed his hand gently, and he turned to look at her as a brilliant smile danced across her lips. The sun behind her head caught the auburn hair, shining through to create a golden halo about her head. Her eyes fixed on his, full of love and longing, and he leant down to kiss the soft, warm, welcoming lips.

  The guard by the door frowned. He had watched over many prisoners who had been beaten, but this was the first to have smiled in his agony.

  Tony was not able to keep the fact that he had regained consciousness from the guard for more than an hour. As he lay still upon the floor the pain increased, and forced the images of home and of the woman he loved from his mind. Finally he had had to move to relieve his discomfort. The guard was swift to pounce.

  "On your feet, swine."

  He dragged the battered man to his feet, forcing an involuntary cry of pain from his lips in the process, then looked him over. Eventually he smiled grimly.

  "You'll live. For a time."

  Tony said nothing, but began to slowly flex his arms and legs to relieve the tension in his muscles, then he paced back and forth across the cell to bring warmth back to his chilled body. Finally he stood beneath the naked light bulb and waited. The hours passed slowly, hours when in his mind he relived the horrors of the war as he had seen it, the road to Dunkirk, the beaches, David’s death, the brutality of the occupying forces in Saint Nazaire, the swastika flying above his grandmother’s home, the injuries and deaths of his comrades who had fought beside him. He reviewed the facts again and again, focussing on the horror and the pain, determined to build up his hatred for the Germans so high that he would never give in. But he tired quickly in his weakened condition. As the hours passed, his thoughts became less coherent. His head began to fall onto his chest as he slipped towards the welcoming arms of sleep only to be brought brutally back to the present by a punch from the guard, causing fresh agony to sweep through his bruised and battered body.

  Tony did not know how many of those endless hours passed before the routine was finally broken, and the door opened to admit a second soldier. For a moment, Tony thought that it was just the regular changing of his guard, but then he noticed that the other man was carrying a small card table, which he placed on the floor to the right of the door. He went out, only to reappear moments later with a jug of water and a glass which he placed on the table, and a bucket which he put on the floor. Tony licked his cracked and dry lips, his eyes focussed longingly on the water. He did not see the two men who entered next. He became aware of them as the first placed a chair beside the table. It was the soldier who had administered the beating to Tony, a face he would never forget and which would haunt his nightmares for months to come, if he lived that long. The last to enter the cell was Steinhauser who walked casually over to the chair and sat down, legs stretched out in front of him in his habitual manner. He perused the prisoner.

  "Do you wish to answer my questions now?"

  "I have nothing to say." Tony’s voice was cracked and hoarse.

  Steinhauser slowly poured a glass of water. The sound was torture to Tony as he watched the crystal clear liquid flow from one receptacle to another. He would have licked his dry lips, but his tongue felt too swollen to be of any use and besides, he did not want to give his adversary the satisfaction of seeing the extent of his thirst. Steinhauser stood up slowly and walked towards Tony, glass in hand.

  "You’d like some of this, wouldn't you?” He took a sip of the water, noting the longing which Tony was unable to conceal from his eyes. Then the SS officer held the glass in front of Tony’s eyes. Slowly, so very slowly, he poured the contents onto the floor, where they formed a small puddle and splashed Tony’s lower legs. A malicious smile lit the German’s face, as the longing in the prisoner’s eyes turned to anguish and hatred.

  "Let’s talk first, shall we?" He made his way back to the table, put down the glass and resumed his seat.

  "Now, who were you working with?"

  Tony said nothing.

  "Where did you get your weapons from?"

  Silence.

  "Are you in contact with London?"

  Tony still refused to speak.

  "If that is the way you want it, I have only one course of action left open to me." Steinhauser’s voice was pleasant, almost conversational as he waved a hand to indicate the soldier, whose rubber truncheon was now held prominently before him. "Are you going to answer my questions, or must I ask this man to persuade you?"

  "I have nothing to say."

  Steinhauser nodded imperceptibly. Tony tensed as the soldier stepped forward. There was a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face. Tony realised that he liked his work. The truncheon was raised. Tony watched as it fell towards his shoulder anticipating the impact. When it came with a sickening crunch, it sent waves of agony coursing through his battered body. The blows continued to fall. Tony stood with eyes closed, brows knotted as he fought against the pain. When the truncheon connected with his broken ribs he cried out in agony. Steinhauser’s face broke into a broad grin, though Tony did not see it through the red agony which clouded his brain. After that first cry, Tony took his lower lip between his teeth, determined not to cry out again. The blood flowed where his teeth broke the skin. Suddenly, from no-where, a blow caught Tony on the temple and he slipped into unconsciousness.

  "You imbecile!" Steinhauser’s voice was hoarse with rage. "You know that I don’t want him hit about the head! How can he tell me what I want to know, if you damage his brain!"

  The soldier cringed before the major’s tirade.

  "I’m sorry, Herr Major, but he moved as the blow fell, and I didn’t have time to stop."

  "Don’t give me excuses! You should be better at the job than that. Wake him up; I want to continue with his interrogation."

  “Yes, sir.”

  A second soldier stepped forward. He picked up the bucket, throwing its contents of icy cold water onto the figure on the floor. The shock of the water dragged Tony back to consciousness, and a groan escaped his lips. He dragged himself up onto his hands and knees and then to his feet. His knees buckled and he almost fell, but with an incredible effort of will he forced his legs to stand firm. He straightened his shoulders before carefully opening his eyes. The light from the single bulb hung suspended from the ceiling seemed blinding, sending arrows of pain knifing through his brain. The sound of a voice seemed to come closer and then recede, but he was unaware of what it was saying.

  "Will you answer my questions?" Steinhauser frowned at the man who was almost unconscious on his feet. "Do you want some water?" It was obvious that his words were not registering, and he turned angrily towards the soldier with the truncheon. "Do that again, and you will be on the Russian Front before you know it! You!" he indicated the guard who had so far taken no part in the interrogation, "he’s of no use to me in that condition. Give him some water and let him rest. But don’t give him any food. I want his mind clear but his body weak, the next time I see him."

  Steinhauser turned and stormed from the cell, followed by his two companions. The guard poured some water and held it to Tony’s cracked and bleeding lips. Some of the cool, refreshing liquid slipped down the parched throat before Tony realised what it was, then he reached out trembling hands, took the glass and drank greedily. Half of it spilled down his front, but he was unaware of that as the life-giving liquid flowed through his body. He held out the glass for more. The soldier took it, but before he could fill it Tony slumped to the floor. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  109

  Jean-Paul sat at the back of the darkened church and watched as the priest genuflected and rose to his feet, before going out of the side door and leaving the Frenchman alone. He had received a message from Angeline asking him to meet her here to discuss the plans for Tony’s rescue. He found the environment calming. Church had always been able to soothe him in times of stress and he was grateful to her for the choice of location. He had been waiting for only a few moments when h
e heard someone slip into the pew behind him. A voice whispered into his right ear.

  "It's me, Jean-Paul. Don't turn round." Angeline got down onto her knees as she spoke and bowed her head as though in prayer. "Have you managed to make your arrangements?"

  Jean-Paul picked up a prayer book and opened it, pretending to read as he answered the Englishwoman.

  "Yes. Georges has got two uniforms, the car is ready and the tank is full."

  "Do you have swastikas on it?"

  Jean-Paul shook his head.

  "Fix a couple of small flags to the front. It might help if you need to get through a road block."

  Jean-Paul nodded imperceptibly.

  "Does everyone know what they have to do?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you reach them quickly?"

  "Yes. All of the arrangements are made. We can be ready to move as soon as you give the word."

  "Good. London is sending a small plane. It will land just south of Montoir, to the west of a small wood with a lake on the other side of it. Do you know the place?"