Liberation

by Ellie Midwood

  “Philippe wouldn’t tell him anything; Barbie got angry and shot him,” Etienne quickly said. No need for her to know the truth. Let it haunt only his dreams.

  Giselle nodded slowly and stepped away. Etienne watched her closely. Her face didn’t betray a single emotion; only, her eyes were cold and deadly. She’ll kill him, Etienne realized with surprising clarity. She’ll find him, and she’ll kill him, as she did with Wünsche. Good. I’ll help her.

  Jürgen Sievers waited patiently by the table, where three chairs and glasses with brandy already stood. Etienne shook his hand but refused a drink. Sievers shrugged and downed his glass in one shot. Giselle sat between them, staring into space.

  “So, Monsieur Delattre.” The Chief of the Paris SD threw a quick glance at the window that shuddered at an explosion a few streets away. The glass would hold; they were still far enough away. “What do you have to offer me?”

  “Not freedom, I’m afraid.” He paused, letting that sink in.

  Sievers astonished him by laughing vacantly.

  “I’m relieved to hear that, to be completely honest with you. Even though running through Switzerland to someplace distant and warm was my initial plan, my own kind started executing ‘traitors’ on the slightest of provocations. I’m afraid my own Gestapo will hang me from a lamppost if they catch me crossing the border. They all happen to know my face, you see. I’d hardly be able to persuade them that I’m Herr Brandt, traveling on business.” He produced a passport from his pocket, studied it for some time the way one studies the photos of their youth, and threw it, disdainfully, on the table. “Ja, Monsieur Delattre. That plan, I’m afraid, is a no-go from now on. Be kind to me, please; I’m afraid, I’m at your complete mercy.”

  Etienne contained a sigh of relief that was ready to fly off his lips. He now realized that Sievers had never planned to execute the SOE agents; he just wished to get a better deal for himself. Etienne couldn’t blame the man.

  “I’ll be as kind as my superiors allow me, Herr Sievers. You saved my life. I won’t forget that.”

  “Your petite amie asked for you,” Sievers replied with a grin, nodding at Giselle. “I couldn’t refuse her.”

  Etienne threw a quick glance at Giselle. She sat motionless, seemingly indifferent to everything around her.

  Another bomb exploded in the distance, followed by rapid gunfire.

  “So, what will my sentence be, Monsieur Delattre?” Sievers pulled forward eagerly, regarding him with his steady blue eyes.

  “The best I can offer you is ten years,” Etienne said carefully, searching Sievers’ face. He seemed to take it well. “You’re only forty-seven; by the time you come out of prison, you’ll still have quite a few years ahead of you. I can’t guarantee it with all certainty, but perhaps they will be able to release you earlier than that. You’ve saved many agents from execution, after all.”

  Sievers listened attentively, a mild smile appearing on his face.

  “You knew of the plot against Hitler that took place in July and didn’t inform anyone. That certainly saved some lives as well and will look exceptionally good in court.”

  Sievers nodded several times, rubbing his chin. “I like what you’re saying, Delattre. It does sound good, doesn’t it?”

  “If you place a call to your people right now, release all those SOE people and come with me, voluntarily surrendering, it will look even better in court,” Etienne spoke slowly, rationally. Rushing Sievers would only ruin things. He had to come to this decision on his own, without any force. Etienne would hate for him to get cold feet and back out of the deal at the last moment. The passport still lay between them on the polished wooden surface, and Sievers still wore civilian clothes. He could disappear into the crowd in a matter of seconds; in the mayhem outside, it was an easy thing to do.

  “Ten years?” Sievers seemed to be thinking the proposal over.

  “Etienne, do you think the Brits will knock off some more time if he testifies against somebody else?” Giselle chimed in suddenly, picking up her glass.

  Etienne didn’t have to ask whom she had in mind.

  “Perhaps,” he replied carefully. “I think yes, they may do just that. The more Herr Sievers cooperates, the better.”

  “That little brat Barbie is who you’re talking about, right?” Sievers looked at Giselle and chuckled softly. “My dear, he’ll be long gone before you try to put him before the court. I know his type. He won’t stay to see how things turn out.”

  “We’ll find him,” Giselle promised confidently.

  “Well, in that case, you have my full support.” Sievers suddenly rose to his feet. “Let’s not delay any longer. You two will want to celebrate your victory once you hand me over to your people. Go ahead. Go fight. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

  SD Standartenführer Jürgen Sievers was taken away soon after and interrogated by the SOE and a few officials from the Free French, in quite a comfortable hotel room, when 2nd DB – 16,000 men, 4,200 vehicles, and 200 tanks entered Paris to aid the fighting résistants. After the surrender of the city had been signed, General de Gaulle made a speech which was destined to go down in history. Etienne and Giselle, together with the freed SOE agents, including Tommy, listened to it on the radio in the newly established French Army headquarters. On everyone’s face, tears of joy shone.

  “Why do you wish us to hide the emotion which seizes us all, men and women, who are here, at home, in Paris that stood up to liberate itself and that succeeded in doing this with its own hands?

  No! We will not hide this deep and sacred emotion. These are minutes which go beyond each of our poor lives. Paris! Paris outraged! Paris broken! Paris martyred! But Paris liberated! Liberated by itself, liberated by its people with the help of French armies, with the support and help of all France, of the France that fights, of the only France, of the real France, of the eternal France!

  Well! Since the enemy which held Paris has capitulated into our hands, France returns to Paris, to her home. She returns bloody but quite resolute. She returns there enlightened by an immense lesson, but more certain than ever of her duties and her rights.

  I speak of her duties first, and I will sum them all up by saying that for now, it is a matter of the duties of war. The enemy is staggering, but he is not yet beaten. He remains on our soil.

  It will not be enough that we have, with the help of our dear and admirable Allies, chased him from our home, for us to consider ourselves satisfied after what has happened. We want to enter his territory as is fitting, as victors.

  This is why the French vanguard has entered Paris with guns blazing. This is why the great French army from Italy has landed in the south and is advancing rapidly up the Rhône valley. This is why our brave and dear forces of the interior will arm themselves with modern weapons. It is for this revenge, this vengeance, and this justice, that we will keep fighting until the final day, until the day of total and complete victory.

  This duty of war, all the men who are here and all those who hear us in France know that it demands national unity. We, who have lived the greatest hours of our history, we have nothing else to wish for than to show ourselves, up to the end, worthy of France. Long live France!”

  “Long live France!” A victorious roar reverberated through the room. They cried in relief; they kissed each other and cried again. Overcome by sudden emotion, Etienne pulled Giselle close and kissed her on the mouth, not paying any heed to the crowd around them.

  “Vive la France,” he said quietly, half-expecting her to slap him.

  “Vive la Resistance,” she replied instead and kissed him back.

  Epilogue

  Paris, September 1965

  The audience watched as a young woman made her way to the podium and smiled, smoothing out a sheet of paper in front of her. It was a typical Parisian summer day, dusty and hot. A warm, honey-colored afternoon poured through the tall windows, lighting up the gilded wooden paneling, shining the polished hardwood floors w
ith gold.

  The speaker was in her early thirties, elegant and collected in her simple black dress. A strand of white pearls adorned her neck; her dark, almost black hair was put away in a neat bun.

  “Good afternoon,” she began in a pleasant, confident voice, the attentive gaze of her intelligent eyes circling the auditorium. “When Monsieur Aubrac asked me to speak before you today, I must admit at first I refused. I tried to explain to him that, unlike previous speakers, I was no one important. When the war started, and the German army marched in, I was only eight years old and needless to say, throughout the whole occupation I didn’t contribute to the Resistance fight in any other way than drawing little V’s on walls, like many children of my age.”

  A wave of chuckles rolled through the room. The young woman lowered her eyes with a grin.

  “So, the honor of my standing here before you is due to what I owe my family. Unlike me, they contributed to what soon became a new, liberated France, and I couldn’t be more proud. My name is Violette Blanchard-Hartmann. My step-father, Joachim Hartmann, was a member of the German Resistance. Together with my mother, Kamille Hartmann, they participated in the July Plot. Both committed suicide as soon as they realized that their plans failed and that the Gestapo was coming to arrest them. Together with Major Erwin Holstoff and his wife Marthe Holstoff they chose death over revealing their fellow conspirators’ names under the torture that they knew would follow.” Violette paused, her face pensive. “I only found out about their fates in 1946. My mother was also a member of the French Resistance. She sent information from Germany to France in coded letters, through her friend who was looking after me at that time, Augustine Maureau, known to the members of the Resistance under the alias Mariette Savatier. My step-father first met Madame Maureau and her daughter Lili through my mother. Risking his own life, he helped to hide them from one of the first roundups which the German-occupied forces soon started implementing on a regular basis. Lili, who was very sick at that time, only survived because he managed to secure a doctor for her. She still has the fondest memories of him and the chocolates he fed her.”

  The atmosphere in the auditorium grew even warmer after another round of chuckles.

  “After Paris was liberated in August 1944, my aunt Giselle Legrand took care of me before she and my uncle, Etienne Delattre, legally adopted me in 1947. Some of you know my aunt as a writer; some as a résistante; some as a collaborator. Luckily, those charges had been finally dropped after her second trial ten years ago, which has completely cleared her name from all allegations. I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to all the people who not only worked in the same cell with her but all the survivors of the infamous Montluc Prison in Lyon, whom she helped escape while working there in 1943 and who came to speak in her defense in court.”

  Bowing her head in gratitude for the round of applause which followed, Violette continued.

  “My aunt joined the Resistance at the very beginning of the occupation. In the summer of 1940, she started writing for one of the first clandestine newspapers in the country, La Libération, under an alias, of course. It was through La Libération and its editor-in-chief, Monsieur Michelle Demarche – he’s sitting right there,” together with everyone, she clapped towards the elderly man who rose from his seat with a visible effort and bowed deeply, “that she met my uncle, Etienne Delattre. My uncle was the first person to start smuggling illegal copies of La Libération into the Free Zone, and he soon came into contact with the local communist cell, which started reprinting and distributing the clandestine newspaper for him in Lyon and its surrounding areas. Soon, he was offered the position of the Sous-Préfet of Lyon, which he accepted, taking into consideration the possibilities it would give him as a resistance fighter. Unfortunately, it was that position which also put him before a judge, after he was accused of collaborating with the Vichy government. Thankfully, due to the interference of many families, which he saved from the roundups after my uncle bribed multiple German officers and hid many children in the orphanage that he and his fellow résistant, Father Yves, were in charge of, his name was also cleared. The Prefect of Lyon, though, Raimond Bouillon, was sentenced to twenty years for collaboration and wartime crimes. He is currently incarcerated in his hometown of Lyon.”

  Violette took a pause, seemingly collecting herself.

  “My aunt once told me that there was another uncle, who was an extremely brave fighter and a true patriot, but unfortunately he didn’t survive the war. In the fall of 1942, the German forces occupied what was known before as the Free Zone. It was in the fall of that year that my aunt was transferred from her position in Montluc Prison to Hotel Terminus, which would soon become a symbol of terror for the whole city of Lyon. It was there that the war criminal Klaus Barbie had set up his Gestapo headquarters, and where countless lives were lost to him and his henchmen’s brutality. One of his victims was Philippe Bussi, the hero of the Civil War in Spain and one of the bravest resistance fighters that will always be fondly remembered by his comrades. As a matter of fact, he saved my aunt’s life once. Dressed in an SS French Legion uniform, he brazenly took her off the train that was taking her out of the Gestapo jail to a camp in Germany, where she would most certainly perish. Unfortunately, the second time she was arrested, together with my uncle Etienne and the leader of the French Resistance, Jean Moulin, his attempted rescue operation ended in a blood-bath. He was brutally tortured by Barbie personally and died of his injuries at Barbie’s hands. A street in Lyon now proudly bears his name, just like another one which bears the name of the legendary Jean Moulin, also murdered in the same Gestapo prison, by the same monster who took far too many lives. One of the massacres which Barbie implemented in 1944 during his operations against the ever-growing maquis and aimed at the innocent civilian population, was personally witnessed by my uncle, Marcel Legrand. At that time, he was fighting among other brave maquisards under Major Petit’s command and saw firsthand how Barbie wished to punish those whose only guilt was aiding the partisan fighters.”

  A faint glow lit Violette’s cheeks as she spoke. She straightened out imperceptibly, before continuing.

  “One of the reasons why I’m standing here today and telling you about my family history is that all those lost lives demand justice, something which hasn’t been carried out yet. In the past few months, my remaining family members who currently live here in Paris but often travel to Lyon, have not only been in touch with others searching for Klaus Barbie to bring him to justice but have also managed to find his approximate whereabouts. After Barbie killed all of his former prisoners, his own informants who used to work for him and even his girlfriend at the time, Antoinette ‘Mimiche’ Murot, he destroyed all evidence that could prove his fault to the court and ran to the relative safety of Germany. Easily escaping capture with the help of a newly-assumed false identity, he stayed in Germany for some time before he was almost captured by one of his former victims, who now led the manhunt for him. From our last source, we managed to find out that Klaus Barbie is currently living in Bolivia under the name of Klaus Altmann, together with his wife and children.”

  A murmur passed throughout the hall. Violette nodded and continued, with more force.

  “As I have already stated, the reason I came here today is not only because I wanted to tell you my personal story but to ask you to all rally for justice to be served in the names of those who died by The Butcher’s hand. As of now, the Bolivian government refuses to extradite him as he is helping them with matters which I don’t even wish to consider. We need to stand together, as a nation, and demand that they hand him to us, so the surviving victims can finally look him in the eyes. I know my uncle wants to look him in the eyes and demand justice not just for himself, as he was brutally tortured for a few weeks, but for his friend Jean Moulin, whom he saw on the verge of death. It was Jean Moulin and his resolve to not start speaking even when faced with a terrible death that gave my uncle the resolve to follow suit.

 
Barbie must be brought to justice. For Philippe Bussi. For the Jewish families. For the French farmers. For the whole French nation that will not sleep while Barbie walks free and lives his life after he took so many. We need to do this together. We here are the new generation; international lawyers, journalists, writers. We must never forget what our parents went through. We must never forget all the lives lost. We must continue the fight together with those who fought for us to live as free people, in a free France. We need to be brave like they were. It was never easy, but if they did it, so can we. Spread the word; join our growing forces. We will fight our cause to the end. The freedom of the future Free France is in our hands. Let’s make our parents proud.”

  Afterword

  In 1947, Klaus Barbie was recruited as an agent for the 66th Detachment of the US Army Counterintelligence Corps (CIC). The French discovered that Barbie was in the US hands and, having sentenced him to death in absentia for war crimes, made a plea to John J. McCloy, US High Commissioner in Germany, to hand him over for execution. McCloy allegedly refused. Instead, the CIC allegedly helped Barbie flee to Bolivia assisted by “ratlines” organized by US intelligence services. Barbie lived in Bolivia as a businessman under the name of Klaus Altmann from 1951 onward. Though he was identified in Bolivia at least as early as 1971 by the Nazi hunters Beate and Serge Klarsfeld, it was only in February 1983 that he was flown to France to stand trial.

  In 1984, Barbie was indicted for crimes committed as Gestapo Chief in Lyon between 1942 and 1944. The jury trial started on 11 May 1987 in Lyon. On 4 July 1987, Barbie was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. He died in prison in Lyon four years later of leukemia and cancer of the spine and prostate at the age of 77.

  Thank you so much for reading “Liberation!” Even though it is a work of fiction, many events described in the novel indeed took place in Lyon and Paris. If, after reading this novel, you still have some questions left or would like to continue with further reading, feel free to contact the author.