Edelweiss

by Madge Swindells

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Back in ’37, Marie, in the garden at Hallein, I was madly attracted to you. I wanted you more than anyone I’d ever seen. Without doubt you were the loveliest, sexiest, most desirable girl I’d ever set eyes on.’ His voice was thick with emotion and he had to clear his throat. ‘I’ll never forget the way you looked, your blue eyes like pools of water, that perfect profile, those blue clothes you wore and your hair sun-bleached and falling all over the place. You were like a vision. I was obsessed by you.

  ‘Much later, I fell in love with the woman behind the beauty. This time it was real love, Marie. I’ll never forget the day it happened, nor the way you looked. You were dirty, scruffy, scared, skinny, your eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, you had a funny pinched look about you. Your hair was greasy and scraped back in a bun, and your clothes were crumpled. One of the kids had vomited over you, but I don’t think you were aware of that, you were too damned scared to notice. You were sitting in a carriage, trying to calm your little fugitives.

  ‘I found out later from the Pastor, you’d found half of them on your own and hidden them in the attics of Plechy Palace, until he stepped in to help you. You were telling them a fairy story . . . remember? At that moment, the beauty that came surging out of you had nothing to do with your eyes, or your teeth or hair or perfect profile. It had a lot to do with goodness and compassion. It was like an aura, shining around you, an aura of love, transcending your appearance: I fell deeply in love with that beauty and you could as well have been the ugliest woman ever born.

  ‘I love you Marie, and my love has nothing to do with the way you look. Maybe that’s why I recognised you at once, because I love the you inside there. I guess one should recognise the woman one loves,’ he added shakily.

  ‘Can I turn round yet?’ she asked, in a small, strangled voice.

  ‘No. Not yet.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I thought you were dead, but I could never shake free of the past. Although, for a while, I did try. Now Marie, I’m here on a mission and you, too, are in constant danger. There’s a long and difficult road ahead for both of us, but we’re going to get through it and we’re going to make all our dreams come true. I promise you. I’ll never lose you again.’ She turned abruptly and saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and his face was wet. Wonderingly, she stroked his cheek.

  ‘My love . . . My love . . .,’ she whispered. ‘My dearest love.’

  *

  Ingrid hesitated outside Paddy’s shop, quaking inwardly. She had to face him, but she felt terribly afraid. Yesterday Stephen, or Major Schofield, as he had been on this occasion, had spelt out the facts to her.

  ‘The only way I can save you, is to establish you as a British agent. I can lie – and I will lie, I promise you. I will claim that you were working for me as a double agent throughout the war, but you must re-establish yourself with Paddy. I can’t do that for you, and you can only be useful to me if Paddy trusts you.’

  ‘God help me,’ she muttered, as she stepped inside.

  She could hear Paddy moving around in the back, but she was too frightened to ring the bell. Eventually Paddy emerged, rubbing his hands on a dirty tea towel. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of her and Ingrid held her breath. Then a customer walked in, and she let out a small sigh of relief.

  ‘The Czech newspapers are out the back, Ingrid.’ Paddy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be with you in half a tick.’ She sat on an upturned box and saw, to her horror, the big grey Flemish Giant tied by its heels from the ceiling, ripped open from its belly to its neck. She shivered and felt nauseous. ‘Death row,’ she thought, looking at the hutches.

  She heard Paddy’s footsteps behind her.

  ‘Where’s Fernando?’ she cried out. ‘He didn’t come to the meeting place . . . twice. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Calm down, Ingrid! We’ve been busy. I sent him to another area. Best if you bring your news here to me from now on. What have you got for me?’

  ‘Only this.’ She produced a dog-eared, pencilled Serbo-Croatian grammar book, which Scofield had given her, plus an aerial map of Sarajevo. He’d also arranged for a forgery of Bill’s letter to his uncle, with as many accurate phrases as Ingrid could remember. She crumpled and burst into tears. She didn’t have to try too hard because she felt completely helpless.

  ‘Poor Bill,’ she sobbed. ‘He was trying to help me and I’ve betrayed him.’

  She felt Paddy’s hand on her shoulder. ‘He didn’t marry you, Ingrid, did he? He could have shipped you back to the States. He would have, if he’d cared at all.’

  ‘That’s the point,’ she sobbed bitterly. ‘He didn’t care. He’s passed me on . . . as if I were an old coat, or a dog, or something . . .’

  ‘Relax, Ingrid. Tell me what happened.’

  She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘His boss is Major Stephen Schofield, as you know. Well, three days ago, the Major came round to see if I needed anything. He said Bill won’t be back for a long time and that Bill had asked him to look after me. He said . . . he’d promised Bill he’d make sure I was all right.’

  ‘You should be used to that by now. I thought you were tougher.’

  ‘So did I,’ she said, feeling safer.

  ‘Maybe you’re telling the truth,’ he said softly, without looking at her. ‘So we’ll play the game Schofield’s way and see what we get out of him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, looking and feeling forlorn. ‘There’s something else. I copied these plans from the factory. I don’t know what they are, but the manager locked them in his safe, which is unusual.’

  ‘Leave them on the table,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a look at them later. I’m having a nice rabbit pie for lunch. Would you like to stay and share some?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shuddering. ‘I mean, yes, I would like to, but I can’t. Schofield asked me out. Well, it’s up to you, really. Do you think I should go?’

  ‘Yes, you’d better go. Duty before pleasure, Ingrid. The rabbit pie can wait a while.’

  At last she was out of that terrible place.

  It was a lovely Sunday morning, a walk would steady her nerves, she decided. She hurried along the pavement thinking about her predicament. Life was getting complicated. She was no longer sure who was doing the manipulation. She had thought she was in control, but perhaps it was Stephen after all. Paddy half-believed in her. Stephen had promised to give her enough good material to convince him, given time. Stephen half-believed in her, too. And Bill? His letter to his uncle showed that he saw her as a victim. Dear Bill. He would never believe that even while she was spying on him, she had also loved him. No, she had lost Bill forever.

  *

  The worst of the pneumonia was over by the end of the first week. Bill was off the danger list, Klara told her.

  Marie nursed Bill tenderly, bathed him, fed him, shaved him, sat him upright when he lost his breath and massaged his back when he was in pain. Every day she cooked him nourishing broths, she bartered pilfered milk for a piece of mutton or beef – butter for bacon. She kept a few chickens and gave Bill all the eggs. Every night, when her work was done, they ate supper in the cellar and later listened to the BBC news. When the Allies overran Brittany and Normandy they rejoiced together.

  After the news, Marietta would snuggle into bed beside Bill and fall asleep instantly, waking from time to time to whisper a prayer of thanks, only to sleep again with a sigh of contentment.

  Chapter Seventy

  Two weeks later, Jan arrived unexpectedly. He said: ‘Major Roth looks fit. Well done! I’ve come to fetch him. Time’s running out.’

  There was no point in arguing that Bill was far from strong. She watched worriedly as Bill packed his gear and limped out to Kolar’s truck. She stood at the gate for a long time after they left, trying to imagine that she could still hear the sound of the truck’s engine.

  Two days later Marietta returned from Kova bringing the news that Alex ha
d been caught red-handed carrying a packet of explosives inside Richard’s Mine. He had been interrogated, tortured and finally executed, but he had not talked. Later that night, she went to the forest rendezvous where the men were training and broke the news to Jan. The news of Alex’s death upset everyone.

  Bill was starting the men’s training and although he didn’t yet know them too well, he felt the weight of their fear and grief. He decided to talk to them about it.

  ‘I want you all to understand exactly why Alex died so horribly, and why some of us may have to die, too,’ he began.

  Bill explained to the men about the new form of energy which could wipe out a city with one bomb, and the missiles that were being built in Richard’s Mine to transport the bomb.

  ‘If we do survive the war,’ Marietta thought, ‘then what shall I do? Live in the States and have a brood of little Bills? Shall I forget about my vows to Grandmother and Father?’ The prospect was inviting and she sat on in happy contemplation. Then guilt set in. Love or duty? It seemed she had been making this choice all her life.

  Obsessed by her problems, she was only half-listening to what Bill was saying, but then she heard: ‘I’ll go in about a month before the Allies arrive, to join those of you left inside.’

  At that moment her dreams crashed. There was no future after all. Not for them. He would be caught as soon as he entered the mine . . . how could Bill pretend to be a half-starved Czech peasant, with those shoulders . . . that self-assured manner, those cool analytical blue eyes. He looked what he was, a well-trained, fit, Allied officer. He would be interrogated, tortured horribly and then executed.

  ‘Any questions?’ Bill was asking.

  Pale and trembling, Marietta stood up. ‘You’ll destroy our mission. Surely you realise that you could never hope to survive the scrutiny of the guards. How can a well-fed American pretend to be a Czech? Not one of us has an ounce of fat. You can’t even speak Czech. Only German. Even then there’s the problem of your American accent. Your whole idea is absurd. You could bring ruin to the entire operation.’ She could hear from the men’s remarks that they agreed with her.

  ‘I didn’t call for a debate,’ Bill said, his voice ice-cold. ‘Just questions. If you don’t have any, then don’t interrupt. Right now, Franz is going in. He’ll be in charge in there. Franz is a qualified physicist and aeronautical engineer. Now let’s get on with the training . . .’

  She couldn’t listen. She stumbled into the forest and sank on to a fallen log. Despite the cool breeze she felt the sweat of fear on her face and stabs of pain in her stomach. If Bill goes into the mine he’ll never return.

  *

  ‘Thanks for trying to sabotage me.’ It was midnight and Bill had arrived unexpectedly, via the river. She had never seen him so angry. Tears burned her eyes. She clenched her fists and bit back a desire to plead and beg him to understand.

  ‘You would endanger all our lives. That’s what I believe,’ she lied stubbornly. She put some bread and cheese on the table with a glass of milk, but Bill refused to eat. He was standing astride, in the centre of the floor, his head lowered, eyes flashing, voice ice-cold.

  ‘Marie, this mission was planned in London by my superiors. I have no freedom of action or thought. I must go in because I’ll be needed there and because those are my orders. Listen to me, damn you,’ he shouted, as she turned away. ‘If all we had to do was destroy the mine, it would be so easy. My orders are specifically not to destroy the mine. It’s far more complicated than you realise. I can’t tell you anything more. You must believe that I must run the final operation.’

  ‘Karol could . . . or Franz.’

  ‘They have girls who love them, too, Marie.’

  His voice, suddenly so soft and understanding, broke through her resistance. She flung herself into his arms and gave in to a storm of tears. For a few moments she let herself go. Then she pushed him away. ‘I was so strong,’ she said in an explosion of fury, as she backed away from him. ‘Inviolate! Nothing could touch me. Now, all I think about is survival for you and me. You have taught me to care again and I know that if you go inside that camp, you’ll die.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m going in and I must beg you not to sabotage my authority again. How d’you think I feel when you drive to Kladno with a lorry full of explosives? You could be driving into a trap. Sooner or later the Bosch will find and crack Kova.’

  She looked away obstinately.

  ‘Come here, Marie. Come close. I want to hold you.’

  ‘No. No more. I will not allow any more emotions to weaken me. Loving you makes me vulnerable. I can’t take it . . . not now . . . I must be strong.’

  ‘If that’s important for your survival, then I understand,’ he said softly. ‘Our time will come, Marie, I promise you that. Someone up there has been saving us for each other.’

  *

  Marietta must be made of iron, Bill thought, two weeks later.

  Once she had made up her mind she never deviated from her path. She had decided to be a fighter, not a woman, and she never betrayed, by a look or a whisper or some slight brush of her hand that she had any feelings. She ran the dairy, liaised with Kova and delivered the explosives. She never failed to bring food each day, even if, as sometimes happened, it was close to midnight. She didn’t flag when she missed her sleep, she was never too tired to take over the radio, which nowadays Jan kept in the forest, and when the British made a drop, she was always waiting to help retrieve the supplies.

  Bill remained in the forest, training the men. Every week, new men were picked to go into the camp. Some of them died, but some seemed to live a charmed existence, like Franz, for instance, who was still alive and operating brilliantly.

  Most days, Marietta brought messages, via Kova . . . the generators had blown, the air conditioning had failed, the lighting had fused, grit was found in the fuel, there was an outbreak of food poisoning . . . and so on. Franz must be some sort of a genius, Bill decided.

  Every night, Bill, Jan and Marietta huddled around the radio to listen to the BBC overseas news. They cheered when, on August 25, French troops led the march into Paris. The Allied armies had advanced fast after the Normandy breakout. General Patton’s Third Army had swept through Orleans, Chartres and Dreux to link up with the British advancing on Rouen. On August 31, the Russians, fighting alongside the Rumanians, now their Allies, freed the Ploiesti oilfields, which had been supplying Germany with one third of her military oil. In September, Allied troops swept across Belgium to within twenty miles of the German border.

  By mid-September the Germans were on the run right across Europe. In desperate preparation for the coming Allied invasion of Germany, Hitler ordered the call-up of all able-bodied males from sixteen to sixty to form the People’s Guard.

  Then, in October, came a setback which plunged the Czech freedom fighters into gloom. While Allied troops were concentrating on freeing the Low Countries, German troops made a last effort and penetrated more than thirty miles into Belgium, hoping to recapture Antwerp, in order to cut the Allies’ vital supply route to their troops in the north. It was called the Battle of the Bulge, because German forces spearheaded sixty miles behind the Allied lines. By the beginning of December, the ‘Bulge’ was tying up Allied divisions and holding up the advance.

  Bill sweated with fright. Every delay gave the Richard’s Mine scientists more time to complete their tests and launch the new missile.

  Franz knew the score. The mine must be blown up from within rather than let that missile be fired. Franz had enough explosives hidden away to do the job, but Bill prayed it would not be necessary.

  *

  It was Sunday night, December 10, 1944, and Hugo was lying in his huge double bed curled up behind Freda who was asleep. Hugo seldom slept more than four or five hours a night, but he liked to lie in bed and plan. His best ideas came to him this way.

  Earlier that evening, Sweden had announced that the German chemist, Otto Hahn was to receive the Nobel prize f
or his work on nuclear fission. Hahn was a brilliant scientist, but totally impracticable, Hugo considered. After months of pressure, the SS had decided to exclude Hahn from the Richard’s Mine team, and leave him to pursue his own theories. Nevertheless, it was Hahn’s research which was being put to practical military purposes on the second level of Richard’s Mine. Despite Hugo’s threats, neither the warhead, nor the new long-range missiles were ready for testing. Hugo’s ulcers worsened with the tension of trying to hurry the scientists. Professor Karl Ludwig had given him a date for firing the first prototype . . . March next year. Hugo had to be content with that.

  Hugo gave a gigantic burp and scalding acid flooded his mouth. He was plagued with ill-health lately. Last night’s war news had been particularly bad: thousands more people were homeless as a result of Allied bombings. There were food riots in Germany, and several women had been killed when they overturned a wagonload of potatoes. The Fatherland was without hope as civilians frantically dug trenches to defend their cities.

  The V-3 was their only strength and their belief in the future. No one must be allowed to damage it, there was too much at stake. Hugo was not a fool. Despite their endless interrogations and their frequent executions, the plant was still being sabotaged. He could not believe that the recent spate of disasters were all due to natural accidents. Yet, exhaustive investigations could prove nothing and find no one. He knew he was up against Edelweiss who was always a step ahead, canny and cunning.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Andrea stood in the kindergarten barrack in the camp and tried not to let the children sense her tension. Her mouth was dry, and her heart was beating wildly with anticipation. Would they come? Or would the hours of pleading and planning be in vain?

  It was Christmas day and the children had been promised double rations, and something wonderful besides . . . so wonderful she could hardly believe it was true. She gazed lovingly at the half-starved mites gathered around her, looking up expectantly . . . their eyes locked with hers in absolute trust. She had told them only of the extra slice of bread . . . nothing else. She could never trust the promises of the Camp Commandant made to her publicly during a Red Cross visit.