A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

  She handed me a small cup of acorn coffee, which tasted horrible, but I gulped it down nonetheless and rose from bed to get ready.

  A short while later, we were strolling down the cobblestone street, swinging our handbags as if we were heading off to the picture show. The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly, but as soon as we rounded the corner, I got my first look at a German guard patrolling the street with a machine gun.

  “Is he with the SS?” I whispered, stiffening slightly.

  “Yes, but you can ignore him.” Deidre linked her arm through mine. “His name is Ralph, and he’s harmless. I had a drink with him once, and he showed me pictures of his wife and children. He’s softhearted.”

  “That’s good to hear. They can’t all be bad, right?” I knew very well that they weren’t.

  “No, I suppose not. I’m sure there are a few more out there like him, but not many, so don’t count on it. Most of them would shoot you on the spot if they found out you were a British spy. Or at the very least, they’d drag you off to be questioned and tortured and wouldn’t lose a single night’s sleep over it.”

  My stomach coiled with a mixture of anger and fear, but I had no chance to contemplate it further because we had arrived at the café. We didn’t use the front entrance, however. Deidre led me down the street and around the corner to a door at the back of the building. She pushed through it, and inside we found a group of young men standing around, sipping coffee. They all fell silent when we entered.

  “Is this her? The new courier?” one of them asked, looking me over from head to foot and settling his ice-cold eyes on my face.

  “This is Armand,” Deidre whispered in my ear. “Our circuit organizer.”

  Feeling immediately as if I were being scrutinized and judged, I moved more fully into the room. “I arrived last night, along with the supplies drop. Buck says hello.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds, then looked down at his coffee and took a sip. “All right, then. Let’s get you up to speed. This is Francis and Roger.”

  I shook their hands, and for the next fifteen minutes, Armand explained to me how he was in charge of a large network of resistance groups that supported the Miller Circuit, and he listed all the bridges and rail lines that had already been destroyed before D-day. He told me, rather proudly, that every German train carrying troops or supplies from southern France to the front had been derailed at least once, and he was, quite frankly, exhausted, trying to keep track of it all.

  He was competitive. I would give him that.

  “Your job,” he said, jabbing the tip of his finger onto the map of France that was spread out on the table, “will be to deliver messages between cells and help organize reception committees to receive more drops of arms and explosives. When you’re not busy doing that, you can look for sites where a radio might be operated without the German sniffer dogs catching onto the scent. It’s been a problem lately.” He looked at me carefully. “Can you handle that?”

  “Yes,” I replied flatly.

  He continued to watch me. “You’ll be traveling almost constantly through occupied towns and villages, so I hope you can be charming when you need to be and that the pressure won’t get to you.”

  “She can handle it,” Deidre replied.

  Armand’s gaze shot to her face. “And how do you know this?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  One of the Frenchmen laughed. “Come now, Armand, you’ve learned to trust Deidre’s hunches, haven’t you?”

  Armand cracked a smile—the first I’d seen from him—and some of the tension lifted. He stepped away from the map on the table and leaned against a wooden cabinet. “Thank you for coming, Simone. We can certainly use your help.”

  I let out a sigh of relief that he was finally warming to me.

  The door to the front section of the café swung open just then, and the two Frenchmen drew pistols, fast as a wink.

  A brown-haired man in a shabby blazer and corduroy pants entered, and everyone relaxed. “This is Hans,” Deidre said to me. “Hans, this is Simone. She’s new. Buck sent her last night.”

  “She came with the drop?” Hans’s German accent hit me like a brick, and I glanced around at everyone with uncertainty.

  “He’s Jewish,” Deidre explained, “so he’s on our side.”

  Hans regarded me with a pair of deep-brown eyes that disarmed me immediately. “It’s good to be suspicious, Simone. You never know who you can trust these days. But if Buck sent you, you must be all right.” He stepped forward to shake my hand. “It’s good to have you with us.”

  “Thank you.” I took an immediate, inexplicable liking to him.

  “I have news,” he said, turning toward Armand. “A German division in Bourges will be on the move Tuesday morning, scheduled to cross over the bridge at Jargeau, midday on Friday.”

  “Broad daylight,” Francis said.

  “We could blow the bridge just as they’re crossing over,” Roger added. “Take out the whole division, if we time it right.”

  Armand finished his coffee and returned to the map. “We’ll need help from Evergreen. Deidre, can you make contact and arrange for them to collect machine guns from last night’s drop? I’ll take care of the explosives.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll take Simone and pop her cherry.”

  The others chuckled.

  Later, Deidre and I were back on the sun-bathed street, heading to the flat.

  “How did Hans find out about the movements of that German division?” I asked.

  “He has contacts everywhere,” she explained. “Sometimes he disappears for days, and then he returns with information that’s pure gold. The Germans call him the Gray Ghost, and there’s a price of two million francs on his head. He has to be very careful.”

  “Two million francs? It’s a miracle no one has turned him in.”

  “I’m surprised he even showed up this morning,” she continued. “I usually only see him at rendezvous that happen after dark. And you never know when he’s going to pop in, unexpected. He never makes commitments to be in a specific place at a specific time. He just floats in and drops information on us, and we take it and run. We can never contact him. He finds us when he has something to share.”

  Deidre linked her arm through mine, and I felt a burst of exhilaration at the prospect of getting in the way of a German panzer division. I wondered if it could be Ludwig’s. What were the odds? Probably not likely at all. But how would I feel if it was Ludwig’s, knowing that I was helping to plant explosives in his path?

  I couldn’t think about that. For now, I just had to stay focused on my job and on being careful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  June 7, 1944

  Within an hour, Deidre and I had mounted our bicycles and were riding on a dirt road to the village of Mardié.

  “So far, I haven’t seen many Germans,” I mentioned, swerving around a pile of horse manure. “Only that one sentry in the street and a few others.”

  “Just wait,” she replied. “You’ll see plenty soon enough. The stomping of those boots will be a spectacle you’ll never forget, not as long as you live. But I’ll admit it was strangely quiet this morning. Too quiet. There might have been some sort of assembly to raise morale, because they must know the Allies are here.”

  A fly buzzed around my head, and I waved it away. “I hope our troops are all right. We took the beach, but it’s a long way to Paris.”

  “We’ll make it,” she said, her bicycle rattling over the bumpy gravel road.

  “Do you have a hunch about that too?” I asked with a smile.

  She grinned in return. “I’m very good at predicting things.”

  “Like you and Armand?”

  She pedaled steadily alongside me, keeping an equal pace. “You caught on to that, did you?”

  “It was hard to miss. How long have you been with him?”

  “About six months. Buck doesn’t know, so don’t say anything, because he wouldn’t let us
work together if he found out.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” I pedaled faster, and she easily kept up.

  “I’ll race you!” she shouted.

  At the sound of her voice, I experienced a sudden flash of memory of a day in Hyde Park when Vivian and I had watched RAF planes fly overhead. It seemed a lifetime ago, yet something about this experience felt the same, as if I were my old self again, not Vivian or Simone. I was just April, and it made me realize that ever since Vivian had died, I’d begun to forget the person I once was. When I looked in the mirror, I saw my sister, and when I smiled, she smiled back at me. Before now, I hadn’t wanted that to change, but today, it was nice to be with Deidre and leave Vivian out of it. I was surprisingly lighthearted as we raced along the road, which was unexpected under the circumstances.

  When we cycled into the town, whatever lightheartedness I’d felt on the country road vanished like a drop of water on a hot stove. German soldiers were everywhere, patrolling the streets, sitting in cafés and restaurants, driving past us in shiny black cars and open-topped army vehicles. I had to work hard not to appear shaken as I slowed my bicycle to a halt and dismounted.

  Deidre had shown me on a map exactly where we were to meet the chef de réseau, so we walked gingerly, chatting in French and laughing like two young girls without a care in the world. At one point, a car full of Gestapo officers slowed to a snail’s pace as it drove past us. I squirmed inwardly as the officers took a good long look at us. One of them touched the shiny brim of his cap and gave a nod. Then they drove on.

  “Don’t worry. They just thought we were pretty,” Deidre said as we watched the vehicle grow distant. “You never know, though. Sometimes they’re on the hunt for spies, and if they get hold of your picture, you’re done for.”

  We walked our bicycles through a wide arched entrance that led to a cobblestone courtyard beyond. After leaning our bikes against a wall, we made our way into one of the buildings and up three flights of stairs. Deidre knocked at flat number six, and the door opened a crack.

  “The fish weren’t jumping this morning,” she said, and the man invited us inside, locking the door behind us.

  “We need to see Marcel,” she told him.

  He led us to a small kitchen at the rear of the flat, where Marcel was sitting at a table drinking wine with Benoit. The room was thick with cigarette smoke. Benoit and I simply nodded at each other while Deidre relayed the information about the movement of the German troops and the bridge that needed to be destroyed at Jargeau. She had all the information memorized because it was best never to carry papers with incriminating information written down, in case you were stopped and searched.

  She gave Marcel instructions about how and where to pick up the detonators. When it was all worked out, Benoit turned to me. “Can you do something for me, Simone?”

  “I can try,” I replied.

  He put out his cigarette on a small saucer in the center of the table. “My transmitter got damaged in the drop, and I’ll need you to bring me a replacement part right away. Armand has what I need. Can you be back here before curfew?”

  Deidre and I had just ridden over an hour to get here, and it would take just as long to return. Then I’d have to locate the part and cycle back again. It was a good thing I was fit.

  “No problem,” I replied.

  “You can sleep here tonight if you need to,” he added. “There’s an extra cot in the lounge.”

  “Thanks, but I’m a fast rider. I’ll make it here and back in time.”

  Later, when Deidre and I returned to our bicycles, she said, “Don’t worry about Benoit. It might seem like he’s just trying to get you to stay for the night, but he’s not like that. He only wants you to be safe. He’s not a risk taker when it comes to the curfew—at least not where female couriers are concerned.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I wasn’t sure.”

  As soon as we reached the edge of town, we hopped on our bicycles and pedaled as fast as we could, because I had another return trip to make that day. This time, I would make the delivery alone.

  Three hours later, I approached the village of Mardié for the second time, but now there were German soldiers with guns at a barricade, stopping all the traffic entering the village and checking identity papers. My stomach turned over with nervous butterflies, because I was carrying a radio transmitter at the bottom of my leather bag. It was hidden inside a book with a square hole cut into the pages, but if they searched my bag and opened the book, I would have the shortest career ever as a female SOE agent.

  Slowing my bicycle to a halt, I waited behind a large black car with children in the back seat. The German soldier checked the family’s papers and waved them through. Then he turned his attention to me.

  Still on my bicycle with one foot on the ground, I pushed my way forward. “Bonjour.” I produced my false identity papers, which were in my jacket pocket.

  The soldier studied my picture carefully and compared it to my face. Then he glanced at the bag slung over my shoulder. “What’s in there?”

  Though my stomach was on fire with fear, I said in all seriousness, “A dozen hand grenades.” He frowned at me, and I smiled brightly and laughed. “There’s a sandwich and a book. Do you want to see?” I made a move to unbuckle the sack, but he stepped back with a smirk.

  “No need to bother. But you shouldn’t joke about things like that, Fräulein. It could get you into trouble.”

  I slid my bum onto the bicycle seat and placed my foot on a pedal. “I couldn’t help myself. You looked so serious just now. You need to smile more. Life’s too short.”

  “You’re right about that,” he agreed, waving me along.

  I started off, saying cheerfully, “Au revoir!” But I lost my smile in a flash as soon as I was away from him. I was terrified he would change his mind and come running after me.

  When I reached the archway for the safe house and turned into the courtyard, I felt sick to my stomach and had to sit down on a low garden wall to recover.

  A moment later, I was knocking at door number six on the third floor, mentioning fish jumping, and delivering the radio transmitter to Benoit.

  Later, as I rode out of town, I felt both relieved and energized, knowing that I would make it back to my own safe house with plenty of time to spare before curfew.

  Not a bad first day for an inexperienced agent in the field. I was rather proud of myself.

  “You said what?” Deidre asked with shock and amusement when I told her what occurred at the checkpoint. “You’ve got courage. That’s for sure. I don’t think I could have pulled that off.”

  Utterly exhausted, I removed my shoes and flopped onto the bed. “I might not have tried it with a different soldier, but I could tell he needed a laugh.”

  Deidre lay down as well and told me how she’d spent her day after I left the village. She and Armand had gone to the farm to open the canisters from the supplies drop, take an inventory, and arrange for delivery of the weapons.

  “They sent some chocolate too,” she said, “and I managed to save you some.” Pulling the bedside table drawer open, she passed me a large square wrapped in white paper.

  “Thank you. This is going to taste like heaven.” I unwrapped it, took a bite, and let it melt slowly in my mouth.

  “Armand will be impressed when he hears how you handled yourself at the checkpoint,” Deidre said, fluffing up her pillow. “You did well, Simone. Tomorrow, we’ll make preparations to create some mayhem for the Wehrmacht. Lord knows they have it coming. Good night.”

  She rolled over and faced the window, leaving me to delight in my chocolate, while imagining what I would do if I spotted Ludwig on that bridge we were about to destroy.

  Could I simply stand there and watch a bomb explode in his path? Or would I try to save him somehow? How would that even be possible without betraying my country?

  Deciding to save the last square of chocolate for another time, I wrapped it up and placed it back
in the drawer. Then I closed my eyes and thought of that rowboat on the River Thames. This time, I wasn’t alone. Edward was with me, and Ludwig was there, too, his grip tight and steady on the oars as we floated past a weeping willow that dipped its graceful branches into the water. In my fantasy, the war was over, and the white swans were plentiful.

  My third day in the field felt more like a trial by fire. Tensions—and spirits—were high as we planned every detail of our sabotage operation at the bridge.

  The timing had to be just right, and the force of the explosion could not be underplayed. But Armand was an experienced saboteur, and he was confident in our success, determined to achieve it through a lightning stroke of surprise and military action.

  Though I knew nothing about explosives and had no experience firing a gun in the field, I was given an important role—that of signaling when the panzer division was approaching. The plan was this: I was to wait with my bicycle on the road, about half a mile from the bridge, as if I had stopped to fix my hair. When I spotted the first vehicles approaching, I would pedal toward the bridge and ride across it as fast as I could. The mission was intended to be a full ambush from all sides with men from the maquis stationed in the woods and along the riverbanks. We would take no prisoners.

  So, there I stood, not far from the river before noon, watching and waiting, my ears attuned to the slightest sound of approaching vehicles. All my senses were on high alert as I thought of the words Armand had spoken just before he sent me to my station: “Remember—everything you do today will help win the freedom for thousands of innocent people.”

  I was moved, motivated, and fiercely determined to destroy a piece of Hitler’s war machine. Yet at the same time, a small part of me was hesitant in case Ludwig was leading this division. I forced myself not to think about that, because I knew, rationally, how slim those odds were—that out of all the Wehrmacht units in Europe, he would actually be here on this bridge today. It wasn’t likely. He could be on the Eastern Front fighting the Russians for all I knew. Or he could be dead.