by Hilary Green
‘Merde!’ said Jean Claude again. ‘That’s the place where my friend works. Now we’re stuck.’ He drove round the corner and stopped the van out of sight of the convoy. ‘What do we do now? Wait until they go?’
‘It’ll look suspicious if we just sit here,’ Christine said. ‘Can’t you just drive into the garage and pretend you’ve come to check the oil or something?’
The Frenchman shook his head vehemently. ‘I dare not show my face in there. I’m the right age for the STO. I was supposed to go. If they question me I’ve had it.’
‘You were supposed to go for STO? How did you get out of it?’
‘The morning we were supposed to assemble at the station, I scarpered and went to the Maquis. That’s why I can’t risk being asked to show my papers.’
‘I see.’ Christine was thinking hard. ‘I can see why it’s a problem for any man your age. But they wouldn’t question a woman. I could walk in on some pretext. The way I’m dressed,’ she glanced down at her grease-stained dungarees, ‘they would probably think I worked there.’
‘You can’t!’ Jean Claude protested. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I don’t see why. I bet the Boche wouldn’t even notice me. What’s your friend’s name?’
‘Laurent. But he won’t know you. Why should he trust you? You could be a collaborator, spying for the Germans.’
‘You’re right. I need some kind of signal, some kind of code word, that would tell him I must have come from you. Think! Is there anything you used to do or say at school that only you and he would know about?’
Jean Claude frowned. Then his face cleared. ‘There were three of us, who were always together. We called ourselves the Three Musketeers. I was Athos, Laurent was Aramis.’
‘Who was Porthos?’
‘That was Albert.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He was called up for STO the same time as me – but he went. I tried to persuade him to come with me, but he was too scared.’
‘Why wasn’t Laurent called up?’
‘Medical grounds. He had polio when he was a kid and it left him with a weak leg. Are you definitely set on trying this?’
‘Yes. Why not?’
‘OK. You’ll probably find Laurent in the workshop. Say that his friend Athos sends greetings to Aramis. Then he’ll know you must come from me.’
‘Right.’ Christine opened the door. ‘Wait for me for half an hour. If I’m not back by then get back to the Maquis and tell Gregoire or Cyrano what has happened.’ She looked at her companion’s face, creased with worry, and smiled. ‘Don’t look like that. I’ll be fine.’
She walked back to the corner. The convoy was still waiting. Her heart was pounding and she felt that her hands were beginning to shake. To still them, she thrust them into the pockets of her dungarees, pouted her lips and forced herself to whistle. Auprès de ma blonde…. The tune wavered, then gained strength as she sauntered across the road and onto the garage forecourt. The officer was now haranguing the unfortunate mechanic, who was having difficulty removing the wheel with its flat tyre. None of them looked at Christine. At the rear of the forecourt, she could see the open door of a workshop and hear the sound of someone using a file. She walked in and a slight young man straightened up from the workbench and peered at her.
‘Yes?’
‘Your friend Athos sends his greetings to Aramis.’
He gave a gasp, quickly suppressed. ‘You have come from Jean Claude?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you are … you are …’ he left the sentence unfinished, staring at her in confusion.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘We need your help. Can you supply me with a new set of these?’
She produced the old points from her pocket and held them out. Laurent took them and examined them.
‘Wait a moment, please, Madame … Mademoiselle …’ he stammered into silence again and disappeared into a storeroom.
Christine waited, biting her lip. Outside, she heard the mechanic give an exclamation of triumph and guessed he had finally succeeded in freeing the recalcitrant wheel. It occurred to her to wonder if there was a telephone in the storeroom and if even now Laurent was ringing someone to inform on her. He returned at last and held out a packet.
‘These are the right ones. I knew we had some somewhere. You need them for…?’
‘For a car that won’t start, obviously.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. Your friend will be very grateful.’
‘Give him my best wishes.’
‘I will. Goodbye – and thanks again.’
As she crossed the forecourt, the mechanic was tightening the last nut on the replacement wheel. The officer glanced at her, then walked out into the road and shouted an order. She heard the clatter of boots as the men climbed back into their trucks. The driver revved the engine of the staff car and the officer jumped in and the whole convoy moved off. Christine watched them go and then moved over to where the mechanic was packing up his tools.
‘Dirty Boche! What are they doing here?’
The mechanic spat expressively.
‘God knows! But it looks as if they’re planning to stay. The officer was agitating because he was supposed to meet the advanced party at the camp site half an hour ago.’
‘Camp site! You mean they’re going to make camp somewhere near Montsauche?’
‘Looks like it, damn them! But what can we do?’ He squinted at her suspiciously. ‘Anyway, who are you? I’ve never seen you round here before.’
‘Oh, I’m just visiting. My uncle needed some new points for his Citroën. I’d better get back. He’ll be waiting. Au revoir!’ She gave a quick wave and hurried away to where Jean Claude was parked.
‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed as she climbed into the van. ‘I was beginning to think the Boche had taken you with them.’
‘No. They didn’t even notice me. But we’d better get back. The mechanic who changed the wheel thinks they are here to stay. Gregoire needs to know.’
Back at the Maquis camp in the woods above the town, they found Luke pacing the area in a ferment of anxiety.
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried out of my mind.’
She looked at his face and felt suddenly contrite.
‘I’m sorry. You weren’t around to tell and I had to make up my mind quickly. We’ve been to get these from Jean Claude’s friend at the garage.’
‘You’ve been into Montsauche? Are you mad?’
Cyrano had seen her arrive and joined them.
‘You could have told me, Chris. I was here and I’ve been worried, too. You really shouldn’t go off without telling someone.’
Christine scuffed the dead leaves with her toe. She regretted worrying her brother but being told off by Cyrano, even as gently as that, really hurt.
‘I’m sorry.’ She looked up. ‘But I’ve got some really important news. The Germans are in Montsauche.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
As quickly as she could, she related what had happened.
Jean Claude, who had stood by silent until then, said, ‘She was brilliant! I was too scared to go into the garage, but she didn’t turn a hair.’
Cyrano looked at her and shook his head. ‘Chris, I don’t know what to say. You shouldn’t take risks like that but … you really are an amazing girl! Well done!’
Luke was looking at her with an expression she could not quite read.
‘My God, Sis. Don’t put the wind up me like that again.… Please!’
Gregoire was still absent but Cyrano sent the young man with the motorcycle to fetch him from the Maquis Vincent. He listened to her story in silence and when she had finished, he nodded briefly.
‘OK. You’ve got some useful equipment and brought back some important intelligence. But in future you refer all such expeditions to me or Cyrano before you set out. Understood?’
‘Yes, Gregoire.’
He smiled. ‘Cheer up. You’ve shown ini
tiative and a cool head. Luke, you should be proud of her.’
Chapter 17
Three days passed without further excitement, then Gregoire called them together and spread out a map.
‘This is our next objective. Luke, you and Christine will be particularly interested in this. Those gunboats you saw being hauled out at Auxerre – you were quite right that they are heading for the Saône. But it’s a long, cross-country route from Auxerre to Chalon and I’ve just received some very interesting intelligence. Between Arcy-sur-Cure and Voutenay-sur-Cure, there is a road tunnel and apparently it is too narrow for those huge vessels to go through. So they have had to divert along the valley of the Yonne to Mailly, and then cut across to rejoin the main road at Voutenay.’
‘Just a minute,’ Xavier interjected. ‘That’s in the Maquis Jean’s neck of the woods.’
‘It’s through them that I heard about this,’ Gregoire said. ‘In order to get through the village of Avigny, the Huns had to demolish several houses, including the bar. The owners’ son was so incensed that he took himself off to the Maquis to tell them what was going on. Jean doesn’t have the necessary equipment or expertise to do anything useful, so he passed the word to me.’
‘So what have you got in mind?’ Xavier asked.
‘Look here at the map. Just before reaching Voutenay, the road passes through the Bois de Mailly. It is thickly forested on both sides – perfect for an ambush.’
‘Marvellous!’ Xavier said. ‘We can blow them all to kingdom come.’
‘Not quite, I’m afraid. The convoy will be very heavily guarded and we should be very foolish to try a pitched battle and we don’t have enough explosive to be sure of causing real damage. What we can do is bring them to a halt and then call in the heavy mob, in the shape of the RAF.’ He paused and regarded the bemused expressions on the faces of the men around him with a grin. ‘Cyrano and I have been hatching a little plot. He has already been on to London and they have agreed to have planes standing by. By my reckoning, the distance from the airfields on the south coast of England to Voutenay is roughly three hundred miles. A Mosquito fighter/bomber can cruise at 300 mph easily, more if necessary. From Avigny to Voutenay is eight kilometres and my informant tells me that the convoys can only average about five kilometres per hour. So this is the plan: we create some kind of obstacle that will stop them before they get into Voutenay. As soon as a convoy passes through Avigny, the boy from the bar will telephone Father Martin, the curé at Montsauche. Cyrano will be set up ready to transmit from the church tower and at his signal, the Mossies will be scrambled. If everything goes according to plan, they should arrive just about the time the convoy reaches our barricade. It won’t be easy for the pilots to spot it under all that tree cover, but I can talk them in with the S-phone. Any questions?’
‘Won’t it be dangerous for Cyrano to transmit from the church, now the Germans are in Montsauche?’
The men turned to look at Christine with expressions of irritation, but Gregoire nodded. ‘It’s not ideal, but as far as we can ascertain, the Boche do not have radio detection vehicles in the area at the moment. And the message will be very short. Just a single code word.’
‘When is all this going to happen?’ Xavier asked.
‘I’m told one convoy goes through every day, so we’ll plan for the day after tomorrow. We’ll need to reconnoitre the area to decide the best approach, so I plan to leave tomorrow morning. It will take several hours to get there. I’ll take four of your men, Xavier, plus Jules and Fernand,’ with a nod towards his two inseparable bodyguards.
‘Only four!’ Xavier exclaimed. ‘Surely you need more men than that.’
‘Not for what I have in mind. So can I have four volunteers?’
Hands went up all round the group. Luke put his up too, in a desperate effort to attract the leader’s attention. Gregoire looked around and indicated four men, then just as Luke was about to drop his hand in defeat, he said, ‘All right. You can come along, too, Luke.’ Overriding the murmur of disappointment from the rest he went on, ‘There are two more important jobs. We have been promised another parachutage but we need to find a more convenient DZ; somewhere we can get transport in to remove the containers instead of having to open them and carry back the contents piecemeal. Xavier, can you and some of your men scout for somewhere suitable? You know what’s needed, a reasonably open area, not too close to any villages but accessible by some form of wheeled transport.’ Xavier nodded. ‘And finally,’ Gregoire went on, ‘we need someone to go down and check out the situation in Montsauche. Are the Germans still there and in what strength and for what purpose? Do we have any informants in the town, Xavier?’
‘Plenty,’ Xavier replied. ‘It’s just a matter of contacting them.’
Christine raised her hand eagerly. ‘I could do that.’
Gregoire shook his head. ‘No, you have taken enough risks already.’
‘But I’ve been thinking,’ she hurried on before he could turn to other things. ‘Xavier’s men can’t show their faces while the Germans are there, because any young men who have not been sent on STO are liable to be stopped and questioned. But that wouldn’t apply to a woman, or a girl. I could walk around town without anyone taking any notice at all.’
He looked at her with a frown. ‘Well, you have a point … but you would need to look … to blend in with the locals. Local girls don’t dress like that.’
‘No, I know. If I could get hold of a skirt somehow.…’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ Cyrano said.
‘I don’t want to wear stuff belonging to that girl at the Beau Rivage,’ Christine said hastily. Then, when they both looked at her in surprise, she added, ‘They wouldn’t fit. She’s much bigger than I am.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of her,’ Cyrano said. ‘You remember I told you I was trying to arrange some private pupils for music lessons? Well, one of them is the daughter of Madame de Labrier, who owns the château at Lantilly. Her name is Colette and I’d guess she is about the same size as you. They are already supporters, so I’m sure they would be prepared to help.’
‘Oh, right,’ Christine said, embarrassed by her outburst. ‘That sounds fine.’
‘I could take her over this afternoon,’ Cyrano suggested. ‘Now my ankle is strong enough for me to drive, I want to get to know the area better. I can drop Christine outside Montsauche on the way back and then pick her up again.’
‘OK. But no heroics, Christine, understand? Xavier will tell you whom to contact. It shouldn’t be difficult to find someone who can tell us what we need to know. Everyone will have been asking the same questions. Then you come straight back here. OK?’
‘OK.’ Christine sat back.
As the meeting broke up, Luke drew her aside. ‘Chris, I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘Volunteer yourself for jobs like that.’
‘You’ve just volunteered yourself for something much more dangerous,’ she pointed out.
‘I know, but.…’
‘But what?’
‘I feel responsible. Well, I am responsible.’
‘We’re responsible for each other,’ she said, with sudden warmth. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can sit back and let other people do all the dangerous things. And don’t tell me it’s different because I’m a girl. It’s being a girl that makes it less dangerous. You do see that, don’t you?’
He sighed. ‘I suppose so. But do take care.’
‘I could say the same to you. We must both be as careful as we can, under the circumstances.’
The sabotage contingent set off the following morning in two cars. Gregoire led the way in the Mercedes, with Luke, and his two bodyguards, and the four men he had chosen followed in the most serviceable of the two Peugeots. Loaded into the boots of the two vehicles, was a quantity of plastic explosive and a selection of connecting wires and time pencils. Luke was uncomfortably aware that if they were to be stopped and searched, the
re was no chance that they could pass themselves off as innocent farmers. They headed north, along forest tracks or narrow lanes until they saw the great cathedral of Vezelay towering above them on its hilltop. Here, they had to cross the main road to Avallon, which was in regular use by German patrols. Gregoire stopped the car and went forward on foot. He stood for a moment, peering in either direction, then at his signal Fernand accelerated forward and slowed just enough for Gregoire to jump aboard.
‘Turn right! We’ve got a kilometre to cover before we can turn off again. Put your foot down!’
At top speed, the Mercedes roared along the road. Looking back, Luke saw the Peugeot struggling to keep up. Mercifully, the road was deserted, but he felt as if he was holding his breath until they swerved left into a narrow lane no wider than a cart track and, with a whine of gears the Peugeot swung in behind them.
In the woods outside the tiny village of Blannay, they were flagged down by three bearded men, who identified themselves as Jean and two of his Maquis.
‘A convoy went through just after dawn today,’ Jean told them. ‘They seem to keep to a pretty regular schedule and we know there is another one on its way, so you can expect it about the same time tomorrow.’
‘Ideal!’ said Gregoire. ‘Jump in. You can show us the way.’
A few miles further on, they found themselves looking down on a narrow road winding through the forest. They left the cars parked in the shelter of the trees, guarded by two of Jean’s men, and worked along the hillside from one vantage point to another while Gregoire studied the road through his field glasses.
‘That’s our best bet,’ he said eventually. ‘See that line of tall poplars where the road leaves the forest? If we can bring them down it will take the Boche quite a long time to clear them all.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘There’s nothing more we can do now until dark. We may as well go back to the cars and relax for a while. We shan’t get much sleep tonight.’