With the arrival of Hoch on the scene, the crowd who had been watching melted away. Adelaide moved with them, fighting the tears as she watched the lorry and its miserable cargo prepare to leave. She should not be in the square at all, she knew that. She couldn’t afford to be conspicuous, but neither could she bring herself to walk away from Sarah. She could do nothing for her but be there, and so she had stayed.
The German soldiers returned to their HQ, as the lorry rumbled out of the place, and Hoch, with a final glance around the square, followed them inside. Once back in his office, he called for Lieutenant Weber. The lieutenant found him standing by the window that overlooked the square.
“You wanted me, sir?”
Hoch looked round. “Come here, Weber. Look out there. You see that girl crossing the square now? I want to know who she is and where she goes.”
“Shall I have someone bring her in, sir?” asked Weber.
“No,” snapped Hoch. “I just want her followed. I want to know where she lives, who she meets, who she talks to, where she goes. But discreetly, Weber. I don’t want her to suspect she is being watched. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get someone on to it.”
“And Weber, when you’ve done that, come back. I need you to go up to the convent and speak to the new reverend mother.”
“Yes, sir!” The lieutenant snapped a salute and left the colonel watching Adelaide walking slowly away. Hoch was almost certain she was the young woman who had been working at the convent, but was she the one who had escaped his men last night? If she were the young woman, Antoinette, who had taken the Auclon children away, then she was the important one now. She clearly had links with a wider network. Hoch needed her to lead him to this Marcel, whoever he was, and anyone else she had been working with; maybe to the whole network. With enough rope, he would hang them all. He would leave the minor players, the Charbonniers and Launays, for the time being. They weren’t going anywhere; he could round them up later on. If he arrested them too soon, it might alert Marcel, he would go to ground and Hoch would never catch him.
Unaware of this scrutiny, Adelaide made her way slowly across the place. With the departure of the lorry, people began to drift back onto the square once more, carrying on their everyday business. A queue of housewives formed outside the boulangerie for the daily ration of bread, workmen called to each other as they repaired a fire-damaged shop. Two young women pushing prams across the square paused to perch on the edge of the fountain and chat; a woman was cleaning her front window, another sweeping her step. An elderly car chugged in from a side road, a man with a briefcase hurried along, consulting his watch as he went; the priest came out of the church. Life went on.
How could everything seem so normal, Adelaide wondered bleakly as she watched them? How could life go on as usual when there was such an evil presence in their midst? She wanted to weep. Impotent fury and grief boiled up inside her, knotting together, a visceral pain. Her heart and mind were in that dreadful lorry, transporting its desperate human cargo to God alone knew where, and though she knew her own situation was precarious, she couldn’t give it her attention.
Hardly looking where she was going, Adelaide almost cannoned into a young German soldier heading the other way. He put out a hand to steady her, and smiled. “Enschuligen!”
Adelaide was jolted back to the present and with a duck of her head she muttered, “Pardon!” and hurried away.
Horrified at her own stupidity, she forced herself to continue at an even pace, though her mind reeled. The soldier watched her appreciatively for a moment before going into the café. He had not recognised her, but, Adelaide realised with a sudden chill, he could so easily have been one of those who had given chase last night, and she, too, could have been gathered into Hoch’s evil web.
Focus! Focus on what needs to be done, she admonished herself. There’s no time to think about Sarah now. You must put her out of your head and focus your mind on what to do next.
But try as she would, she could not banish the battered and bruised faces of the two nuns from her mind’s eye. And she was responsible; it was as simple as that. If she hadn’t hidden the Auclons at the convent, Sarah and Sister Marie-Marc would be safe and Aunt Anne would be alive.
A tiny voice inside reminded her that she had saved the children. She thought of the two little boys she had passed on to Father Bernard and wondered where they were now. Were they safe or had that been in vain as well? What about Father Bernard himself? If she were to be caught now, he too would be in jeopardy. The colonel had obviously been brutal in his questioning of the four prisoners, and Adelaide knew she must be in acute danger. She had no idea what he had been able to extract from them, but she guessed that they would not have been sent on their way had they still held information that Hoch needed. She had to assume that they had told him everything.
Now, more than ever, she needed to see Marcel. She had no direct means of contacting him, she had to rely on Madame Juliette. That was a security cut-out. Indeed she realised, as she didn’t even know Marcel’s real name, he would be safe if she were caught, but even so, she knew that she had to get away. Madame Juliette. She was another who would be at Hoch’s mercy should Adelaide fall into his hands, for if she were caught, she knew that she would be unlikely to withstand Hoch’s questioning for long. If there was no message from Marcel, or if he didn’t or couldn’t come to the farm, Adelaide decided that she must use the fallback rendezvous he had given her in Albert.
The longer I stay in the area, the more I endanger everyone concerned, Adelaide thought. Pull yourself together, woman, and get yourself away from here.
The first thing to do was to get out of sight. There were off-duty German soldiers sitting at tables outside the café. Any of them could be among those who’d been at the convent, any of them might recognise her. Whatever happened next, she had to warn the Launays and the Charbonniers. Adelaide quickened her pace and took the alley along the side of the café down towards the river. If Marcel did not come quickly she must contrive her own escape.
As she walked she considered her options. She thought about Madame Juliette’s cellar. Perhaps she could hide there until Marcel did come, until he brought news from London, but the idea appalled her. She knew she couldn’t survive in that claustrophobic underground room for long, and she would yet again be putting the old lady at risk. No, that would truly be a last resort. Marcel had told her that in an emergency she should head for Albert and he would look for her in the Café Rousseau every morning at eleven. Better to go there, she decided, than put Juliette at further risk.
As she reached the end of the lane, a young man in workman’s overalls came pedalling along the towpath on an elderly-looking bike. He raised a hand in greeting as he passed, and as she watched him riding on along the path, she thought about the bike she had used to carry the children. Perhaps she could simply get on her bike and ride away. She hadn’t used it today. After some discussion they had decided that Gerard should take the child seat off the back before she used it again, in case someone remembered seeing her with one of the boys up behind her. Still, the bike was a possibility. She might simply ride out of the area… if the Germans weren’t already on the lookout for her. Could she get as far as Albert without being picked up? And when she got there, where should she go until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning?
Adelaide reached the old stone barn and turned down the track that led to the Launays’ farm. Further up the towpath, she saw that the cyclist had stopped and was energetically pumping up his back tyre. He must have got a puncture, Adelaide thought sympathetically. The path was rough enough, jagged stones bedded in rutted mud. If she did decide to use the bike to get away, she must remember to take the puncture kit and pump with her. She couldn’t afford to get stranded at the side of the road.
As Adelaide turned onto the farm track, Horst Braun stood up from his bicycle wheel and looked back. Pushing the bike, he walked back to the end of the track and glanced along it. The girl was walking briskly, striding out, almost running. In the distance Braun could see farm buildings among some trees, obviously her destination. He climbed onto his bicycle and rode quickly back to the town hall, taking the direct route rather than the circuitous one he had used to disguise his approach.
“She’s gone to the farm in the river bend,” he reported to Hoch.
Hoch’s eyes gleamed. “By the river, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see.” Hoch thought for a moment. Weber had been up to the convent and spoken to Sister Marie-Paul, the new reverend mother. He’d come back with the information that the girl Hoch was looking for no longer worked there, she had been sacked just that morning.
“Her name’s Adèle Durant,” the reverend mother had said. “She lives with her aunt and uncle at a farm out along the river. The Launays.”
The Launays. Hoch had smiled with grim satisfaction at this. Launay was one of the names given by Joseph Auclon in his efforts to save his wife. So, there definitely was a connection. Joseph had said the girl’s name was Antoinette, but he could have been wrong. Adèle? Antoinette? Hoch was certain in his own mind that Adèle and Antoinette were one and the same; the girl Hoch had seen and recognised in the square today. And now young Braun had watched her heading down the lane that led to the Launays’ farm. The problem was going to be how to keep watch on her without being seen. Hoch had no doubt now that she was the link and must eventually lead him to the man Marcel, and Hoch was sure that Marcel was a key figure in the emerging local resistance movement. He wanted them both: the girl, Antoinette or Adèle, and Marcel.
“Shall we bring her in?” Braun asked.
“No!” snapped Hoch. “I’m waiting for someone to contact her. For now I just want her watched.”
“It will be difficult to get near and keep watch without being seen.”
“What’s it like there?” demanded Hoch. “Is there no cover?”
“Very little, sir, until you reach the farm buildings. There are a few trees round the house, but the fields are pretty open, just some low hedges. Oh, and there’s a derelict barn at the end of the track. But that’s not very near the farmhouse itself. You wouldn’t see much from there.”
“But you could watch the track itself? The approach to the farm?”
“Yes, sir. That would be easy enough.”
“For the moment that’s all that’s necessary,” replied Hoch. “I’m looking for someone. Take two men and watch from the barn. If anyone goes to that farm, or anything suspicious happens, you’re to report back. Use one man as a runner to keep me up to date.” He thought for a moment. “Who’s watching the place now?”
“No one, sir. There was no time for backup.”
Hoch cursed under his breath and then snapped. “Well, get back there, man. Get back to that barn and keep watch. And Braun, remember, don’t stop anyone going into the farm, but let me know at once if anyone does.” He thought back to Joseph’s description of the man Marcel. “I am looking for a man, thirtyish, quite tall with dark hair and eyes. If someone who fits that description approaches the farm, send word immediately.” Hoch gave a malevolent smile. “And I shall come myself.”
“Suppose he tries to leave again, sir? Before you get there?”
“If possible follow him, if not, arrest him. And the girl too, if she is with him. But I want them alive, Braun. Injured if necessary, but alive.”
“Yes, sir.” Braun saluted smartly and left the room.
When Adelaide reached the farm, Marie came running out to meet her.
“Adèle, are you all right? What’s happened?”
“It’s bad,” Adelaide replied. “Where’s Gerard?”
“In the top field, mending a fence.”
“Quick, Marie. Go and get him. We have to talk.”
With scared eyes, Marie nodded and set off, out of the farmyard. Adelaide went into the house and gathered up her few possessions. She was calmer now. She knew that she was on her own. The Launays could do nothing for her, and if the Auclons had talked, they would have problems of their own soon enough. If Marcel did not come in the next half-hour, she would strike out alone. She slipped her knife into her garter where it nestled comfortingly against her leg. She knew there would be no escape if she were cornered, no point in being unarmed and innocent. She had no gun, but the feel of the knife against her flesh gave her an illusion of security.
Marie and Gerard came back into the yard as Adelaide was pushing the old bicycle out of the shed. Gerard had already removed the child seat, and there was now just a small parcel carrier behind the saddle, to which she had strapped her small suitcase.
“Adèle!” cried Marie. “What’s happened? Where are you going?”
Adelaide quickly told the couple what she had seen that morning. “We are all in danger now,” she said. “The Auclons must have talked, so it’s almost certain Hoch knows about me. So, it’ll be better for you if I’m not here. You can say that I got the sack from the convent this morning, so I’ve gone to Paris to look for work.”
“But where will you go?” asked Marie.
Adelaide smiled at her. “To Paris, to look for work. That’s all you need to know. What’s more important for you is to know nothing about the Auclons. Hoch will know I was involved, but you must plead ignorance. You had no idea what I was doing. Innocence and ignorance. Just stick to the fact that I came to help you out on the farm and earned some extra money working up at the convent. You had no idea that I was involved with anything else.”
“You think that Hoch is going to buy that?” asked Gerard scornfully.
Adelaide shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends what the Auclons were made to tell him. But you’ll just have to stick to that and hope he does. We must warn the Charbonniers, too. He’ll know about them as well.”
“If he knows all this, why isn’t he here already?” wondered Marie. “Why hasn’t he arrested us yet?”
“I don’t know,” conceded Adelaide. “Let’s just be grateful he hasn’t, and take advantage of the time he has given us. One of you should go over to the Charbonniers and warn them. In the meantime, I’ll leave. If a man called Marcel comes, tell him I will be at the fallback rendezvous tomorrow.”
The sound of a vehicle coming along the track made all three of them spin round, and for a moment Adelaide thought it was a German staff car edging into the yard. It had, indeed, the familiar long bonnet and inverted chevrons of a Citroën similar to the one that Hoch had requisitioned, but instead of a German at the wheel, Adelaide saw, with an explosion of relief, that it was being driven by Marcel. On the windscreen was a large sign saying “Doctor”. Leaving the engine running, he jumped from the car, slamming the door behind him.
“I got your message,” he said. “Time to go.”
Adelaide looked across at the Launays who stood staring at Marcel. “What about them?” she asked. “They’re in as much danger as I am.”
“Nothing we can do for them,” Marcel snapped. “They can’t leave their home. They’ll have to brazen it out. The only thing they know about is you… right?”
“Yes, and the Auclons.”
“Hoch already knows about the Auclons. They can tell him nothing more.”
“He may think they know more,” cried Adelaide.
“Adèle, there’s no way we can protect them if he takes it into his head to arrest them. But it will be far worse if you are taken too… for everyone. Now get in the car!”
“He’s right, Adèle,” Marie said. “We’ll be safer when you’ve gone. The only other thing we know is about Étienne and Albertine, and if Hoch knows about us, he’ll know about them as well. It’s a risk we all took, but please, go now before things get worse. Don’t worry, we’ll warn them too.”
Adelaide looked at her for a moment. As always it was Marie who was the stronger of the two Launays, Marie who had defiantly fought death for her man and nursed him back to health, Marie who had faced Fernand’s knife and given nothing away. Adelaide hugged her tightly, loving her for her courage.
“Hurry,” Gerard urged, taking her case off the bike. “There’s no time to lose.”
Adelaide broke away and climbed into the car. “Thank you both,” she said, “and good luck.”
Marcel turned the car in the yard and then drove slowly back along the track.
“Message from London,” he told her. “They want you home again. There’s a plane bringing someone in tomorrow night. It’ll pick you up.”
He was driving up the track as he spoke, but before Adelaide could answer a man in workman’s overalls stepped into the road, barring his way, and flagging him down.
“What the…? Christ!” exploded Marcel as he saw two others in German uniform step out behind the first, training machine-guns on the car. “Hold tight,” he rasped. “Get down when I say.”
He continued towards the three men, slowing down and raising an acknowledging hand, as if complying with their signals, but as he reached the end of the track he bellowed “Down!” and slamming his foot on the accelerator the car leapt forward and he drove straight at them. As the three Germans dived clear, Marcel wrenched the wheel and took the corner onto the towpath at full speed. Adelaide ducked below the dashboard clinging to the seat, as she was nearly thrown across the car into Marcel’s lap. A machine-gun rattled behind them, the bullets thudding into the ground around them as they sped away. The back window shattered showering them with glass, and Adelaide wrapped her arms round her head and face in a belated effort to shield herself from the flying shards. Even as she did so the windscreen disintegrated. Marcel grabbed a pistol from between the seats, and using the butt as a hammer smashed away the remains of the glass. They careered along the path and out into the lane, and there were several thuds and bangs as more bullets pounded into the body of the car. At one moment the car slewed drastically to one side, as a tyre burst, but Marcel, wrestling with the steering wheel, managed to keep them moving, the car slumping heavily on the flattened rim.
“Stay down!” he yelled as Adelaide shifted in the seat beside him. The machine-guns continued to blaze behind them but the turn in the road hid them from view, and for the moment they were safe. They reached the main road and Marcel swung the car towards Albert.
“You all right?” he asked without taking his eyes off the road.
“Yes.” Adelaide’s voice was shaky. “Yes, I think so.” She sat up cautiously. “Ouch! There’s broken glass everywhere and it’s vicious!” Blood seeped from cuts to her face, hands and arms, but otherwise she was uninjured. She looked across at Marcel. Blood was streaming down his face and neck, but he continued to grip the steering wheel, keeping the damaged car limping along the road.
“Marcel, you’re bleeding,” she cried. “Are you hit?”
“Only glass, I think,” replied Marcel through teeth clenched in pain. “They’ll be after us, Adèle, we must dump the car. It’s had it!”
“They haven’t got a car,” Adelaide said, “or a motorbike. If they had, they’d be here by now. Keep going until we find somewhere better to ditch the car.”
Even as she spoke, Marcel slumped down across the wheel, his foot slipped off the accelerator and the car shuddered to a halt.
“Marcel!”
Marcel groaned, and shifted in his seat. “My shoulder!”
“Quick, swap places. I’ll drive!” Adelaide leapt out of the car and rushed to the other side. “Come on, Marcel!” She opened the driver’s door and hauled him out. His jacket was soaked and sticky with blood and Adelaide realised it was not just from the gashes on his face and neck. He must have been hit in the shoulder.
“Come on, Marcel,” Adelaide urged. “Get in the back!” She managed to heave him into the back seat, slamming the door shut to hold him inside. A glance behind her showed her no Germans in hot pursuit, but it also showed her a thick slick of oil on the road; the car had definitely been hit.
With a curse she clambered into the driver’s seat and tried to start the engine again. It coughed and died, refusing to catch.
“Come on! Come on, damn you!”
Her mind raced. They had to find some sort of cover. If the car would go no further they would have to go on foot, and, with Marcel in the state he was, that truly would be a lost cause. Capture would be inevitable. Adelaide gave one last despairing pull on the self-starter, and miracle of miracles, the engine spluttered into life. Carefully she eased the clutch and the accelerator and the Citroën began to edge forward, its blown tyre thumping and bumping on the road. They moved slowly, but at least they were moving.
We shan’t be able to go far like this, she thought, and they’ll be right behind us. She glanced into the back of the car. Marcel was slumped as she had left him on the back seat.
“Marcel! Are you awake? Can you hear me? Marcel! Marcel!”
The only reply from behind her was a grunt and the sound of rasping breath.
As the car limped forward, Adelaide considered their options, and there appeared to be none. She pressed hard on the accelerator, and despite the shredded tyre the car picked up some speed.
“Come on! Come on!” she muttered, willing the car forward, but as they rounded a bend in the road, a second tyre blew and the car slewed sideways. Adelaide wrestled with the steering wheel, but the car did not respond and they cannoned into a tree at the side of the road with a resounding bang, and the engine died.
“Christ!” Adelaide was flung forward, hammering her ribs against the steering wheel, leaving her winded. For a moment she sat still, fighting the stabbing pain in her chest, trying to regain her breath. An ominous ticking came from the engine and there was a strong smell of petrol. Adelaide heaved herself out of the car, and jerking the back door open she struggled to pull Marcel clear. He tumbled out onto the road, and she saw that his shoulder was bleeding steadily now. This was no wound caused by flying glass, and Adelaide knew that it was bad. He was dazed but he was conscious as she reached under his arms to drag him away from the car. He was heavy, a deadweight, and she struggled to move him.
“Come on, Marcel,” she snapped. “Help me! We’ve got to get away from here. They’ll be here any minute!” She pulled him to his feet and, as he took some of his own weight, supported him against her as they made their way slowly along the road towards a gate leading into the adjacent field. Pursuit could not be far behind and Adelaide knew that they must, at least, get out of sight. For a moment Marcel rested on the gate, regaining his strength, and then they moved into the field.
“We must find somewhere to hide,” Adelaide said, “while we do something about your shoulder. You’re losing blood.”
“Copse over there,” Marcel rasped, pointing to a stand of trees on the further side of the field.
“Too far. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Leave me here,” Marcel said. “You could make it on your own.”
“Shut up and let me think,” snapped Adelaide.
Even as she spoke she heard the sound of an approaching car. Too late to do anything but hide and pray. Adelaide looked round and saw the dry ditch that ran along the back of the hedge.
“Into the ditch!” She rolled Marcel into the ditch and giving him the pistol she had brought from the car pushed him down under cover of the overhanging branches.
“Stay here,” she hissed. “I’ll be back.”
The sound of the engine told her it was only one car, not a convoy of troops come searching. Pray God it was only a civilian car and not the Germans at all. She slipped along the field side of the hedge until she was level with the wreck of their car, then she too dropped into the ditch, and watched through the hedge as the approaching car came to a halt.
As the Citroën had disappeared drunkenly round the bend in the lane, Braun bellowed at the other two. “Hold your fire. They’re out of range!” He looked round to discover only Schilde on his feet. Taube lay motionless on the verge where the lurching car had tossed him. Braun checked for a pulse. “Out cold, but alive. Right. I’ll go back to HQ and tell Colonel Hoch what’s happened. You do what you can for Taube, make him as comfortable as you can and I’ll send help.”
Leaving Schilde to attend to his comrade, Braun grabbed his bicycle from inside the barn and set off to the village. He was not looking forward to making his report. He had failed, and Colonel Hoch did not tolerate failure.
“Well?” Hoch growled when the unfortunate Braun came into his office.
“They’ve made a break for it, sir,” Braun said. “Two, in a car. A man and, I think, a woman.”
“What!” the colonel bellowed. “And you let them go? What car? Why didn’t you report to me when the car arrived?”
“We didn’t see it arrive, sir. It must have been at the farm before we set up in the barn.”
“Why the hell didn’t you stop it, as it came out?”
“We did, sir. We flagged it down as it drove up the track. It had ‘Doctor’ displayed on the front windscreen and it was slowing as it reached us. Schilde and Taube had them covered and I stepped forward to speak to the driver.
“What did he look like?” demanded Hoch.
“Difficult to tell, sir. I only saw him briefly. Dark hair. Not an old man, probably somewhere in his thirties.”
“Marcel!” Hoch leapt to his feet. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
“We thought he was stopping, sir, then at the last minute he put his foot to the floor and simply drove us down. Taube was knocked unconscious, he’s still out. We opened fired and the car took several hits.”
“But they’ve got away,” growled Hoch.
“I don’t think they’ll get far, sir,” Braun replied. “One of the tyres blew, and the car took a definite hit.”
“Weber!” Hoch’s bellow could be heard all over the building, and the lieutenant appeared at the run.
“Colonel?”
“Get the car!” barked Hoch, and as Weber rushed to fetch the car Hoch turned on Braun with a tirade of invective, damning him for his stupidity, incompetence, cowardice. “You should have stopped the car at any price!” Hoch roared. “Doctor indeed! It was a wanted resistance leader!”
Braun did not remind the colonel that his orders had been to take prisoners, to take them alive. He valued his own skin too much for that. “They drove straight into us, sir. By the time we were on our feet again they were away. But the car was damaged. They won’t get far, sir.”
“And the girl was with him, you say?”
“There was a passenger.”
“Which road did they take?” Hoch interrupted impatiently.
“They headed north-east, sir, towards Albert. You should easily catch up with them; the car sounded in a very bad way. Shall I call for reinforcements, sir?”
Weber and the car appeared on the square, and the colonel strode out to join him. “Twenty men!” he snapped over his shoulder. “Find Major Thielen and send him after me with twenty men, along the Albert road. Warn him I want no more cock-ups. Tell him to bring the dogs. And you,” he added ominously, “I’ll see you when I get back.”
He scrambled into the car. “Drive!” he ordered, and Weber, revving up the engine, roared out of the square.
Braun went in search of Major Thielen, but it took him a little while to find him, as he was off duty and had returned to his billet.
“Résistants, you say?” The major listened to Braun in surprise. He thought Colonel Hoch was only interested in searching out Jews, and the way he had gone about it the night before had sickened him. Thielen had heard about the night-time arrests at the convent, and although he was not unduly worried that two more Jews had been shipped out, he was concerned that two nuns, one of them the reverend mother no less, had been sent with them. Thielen had not seen them go, but he had heard the gossip that had described the state in which they had been loaded into the lorry. Making war on a convent full of nuns was not acceptable to Major Thielen, but there was little he could do about it. Hoch outranked him, and even if he had not done so, Thielen would have thought long and hard before he crossed swords with any SS officer. But résistants? They were another thing, and when he heard from Braun what had happened at the farm, Thielen gave brisk orders. Within minutes a truck was drawing up in the square and twenty men piling on board.
“You stay here and see to your wounded,” he ordered Braun as he swung himself up into an armoured car beside two dog handlers and their dogs. “Let’s go!”
The little convoy swept out of the square and headed at speed along the road to Albert.
“Looks like trouble up ahead, sir,” the driver said. Thielen looked up to see thick smoke swirling up into the sky.
“Foot down, Sergeant,” he ordered and braced himself as the armoured car swung round a corner.
Hoch and Weber had quickly reached the main road leading from St Croix to Albert. Although it was the main road, all of it was narrow and much of it was twisting, and Weber slowed instinctively as he approached the corners.
Hoch snapped. “Get a move on, Weber!”
“There’s oil on the road, sir,” said Weber. “They must have taken a hit.”
As they rounded another sharp bend Weber hit the brakes and they skidded to a halt. There, in front of them, its bonnet crunched against a tree where it had slewed off the road, was the Citroën. Its doors were open, as if its occupants had fled the car in haste.
“Come on,” Hoch said, “let’s take a look.” He drew his pistol, and easing open the car door stepped down onto the road.
Weber did the same. “Shouldn’t we wait for some backup now, sir?” he suggested uneasily. “We don’t know what we’re going to find.”
“We’re going to find an empty car,” snapped Hoch. “Whoever was in it isn’t going to hang about waiting for us. Come on.”
Cautiously they approached the car. There was the drip, drip, drip of oil, and Hoch could see it pooling under the car. The rear offside tyre had completely disintegrated, with the rim buckled and bent; the front nearside tyre was flat. Clearly the driver had lost control of the vehicle as he had rounded the corner too fast and slammed into the tree. Slowly Hoch edged his way round to the driver’s door, gesturing with his pistol that Weber should take the other side. The car was full of broken glass, vicious shards scattered over the floor and the seats, more in the road. The inside of the car was spattered and smeared with blood, and on the back seat was a dark stain, clearly blood and far more than a smear.
“Be careful, sir, it might be booby-trapped!” Weber was not enjoying this. He felt himself over-exposed. Here they were, just two of them, in pursuit of desperate fugitives, résistants, who had already mown down those who stood in the way of their escape. Weber felt it was time to await the coming reinforcements. Let them scour the area and catch or kill these dangerous fugitives. “It might blow up, sir!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” scoffed his colonel. “They’ve had no time for that. Look at the blood, here on the back seat. One of them at least is wounded. They won’t get far.”
“They may be armed, sir,” ventured Weber. He looked nervously round him, but all was quiet; there was no sign of the résistants. Where had they gone? Were they lurking in the hedgerow waiting to pounce? A rustle in the bushes made him spin round, his pistol levelled at the sound, but it was merely a bird, hopping from twig to twig.
“What a coward you are, Weber.” Hoch’s voice was icy with contempt, but even so he moved aside from the car and looked round. The road curved away in front of them, low hedges on either side, punctuated by tall poplar trees.
“They went this way,” he said. “Look, one of them is bleeding.” Pistol in hand, he followed the trail of blood along the road to an old gate leading into the adjacent field. He jerked his head for Weber to follow him, and reluctantly the lieutenant did so, his eyes swivelling nervously as he continued to search for any sign of the fugitives.
They edged along the hedge towards the old wooden gate. It was almost closed, hanging askew on its ancient hinges as if it had been dragged across in a hurry. The trail of blood stopped there, but there was another smear on the top bar, as if someone had leaned on it for a moment to regain his breath. Before going through the gate, Hoch surveyed the field beyond it. In the distance was a small copse, the trees standing tall from the bushy undergrowth that covered the ground beneath.
“Over there.” Hoch pointed at the copse. “They’ll be holed up in that wood.”
Weber looked where he pointed. “I’m sure you’re right, sir. But we can’t flush them out on our own, not just the two of us. We need men to saturate the place.”
Hoch eyed him grimly. “I know that, Weber. I’ll wait by the car. You stay here and keep watch on those trees. Shout if you see any movement.”
Adelaide had watched as the car pulled up beside theirs. It was a German staff car, but there were only two men in it, and as they got out to have a look, the inkling of an idea twitched into her mind.
Given enough time and a little luck, she thought, we might yet get away.
She watched as the two officers got out of their car, pistols drawn and ready for trouble. Hoch she recognised at once; the other, a younger man, she had seen before, but did not know his name. He was obviously ill at ease, his pistol unsteady in his hand as he stared round him. The two men stood talking for a moment before Hoch pointed to something on the ground and they moved slowly up the road.
Adelaide wormed her way under the hedge and out into the lane. The staff car had been pulled off the road just behind their crash. Adelaide peered from behind it and saw the two men making their way cautiously towards the field gate. A quick glance into the staff car showed her the keys still dangling in the ignition. She snatched them away and stuffed them into her pocket, before ducking back into the safety of the hedge.
The two men had reached the gate now and were looking over into the field. It would probably be moments only before they found Marcel, but she had to assume they wanted to capture him, not kill him, and she made no move.
Keep a cool head! she told herself. Wait your chance!
She watched as they went through into the field, and the moment they were out of sight she sped after them, hidden by the hedgerow, her feet soundless on the grass verge. As she reached the gateway she heard their voices and then the sound of someone coming back. Pressed into the shelter of the hedge, she waited, poised, her knife in her hand. Surprise must be her ally.
The man came through the gate; it was Colonel Hoch. As he turned back towards the cars Adelaide launched herself at him, bringing her knife up, hard and strong towards his chest. In the moment that she moved, he saw her and twisted away, striking out at her. Her knife rammed home into his shoulder, and he gave a bellow of pain, staggering away, dropping his pistol, but still on his feet. Wrenching the knife free she attacked again, aiming at his groin and this time her knife found its mark. With an agonised shriek, Hoch doubled up and Adelaide gave the final thrust deep into his side. Shots rang out, and she lurched sideways as Lieutenant Weber hurtled out through the gate, his pistol in an unsteady hand, firing as he came. The shots went wide, and Adelaide sprang to her feet, diving forward as another bullet zinged over her head. Her knife still clutched in her hand, she twisted violently, rolling away, coming again to her feet, but Weber shouted, “Halt!” A glance showed her that he had her covered. He was afraid… his hands were shaking, but they held the pistol out in front of him, and at that distance he could not miss.
“Now, drop the knife!” He spoke first in German and then in schoolboy French. “Drop the knife and lie on the ground.”
Adelaide did as she was bidden. For the moment she had no alternative… maybe later, if she complied now. Her eyes flicked to where Hoch’s pistol had fallen, several yards away, measuring the distance and gauging her chances of reaching it before Weber shot her. They were nil.
“You are a résistant,” the lieutenant was saying. “You will stay where you are till my men arrive, or I will shoot you dead.” Weber stood well clear of her as she lay spread-eagled on the ground. He held his pistol at arm’s length, clutched in two hands and pointing at her. He was taking no risk that she wouldn’t attack again. His eyes flickered across to the inert body of Colonel Hoch. “And a murderer. For this killing, you will be shot.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Marcel’s voice was a drawl, and as Weber spun round two bullets thudded into his chest. The lieutenant fell where he stood and Marcel leaned awkwardly against the gate. “Takes care of those two,” he said. “Time to move before the rest get here.”
“We’ll take their car,” Adelaide said. “Come on, let’s get you into it.”
“All in good time,” Marcel said. “Let’s get them into ours first.”
“What! Come on, Marcel! They’ve got troops coming!”
“So, let them find a car crash. The cars are the same. They’ll realise in the end, but it will give us more time.”
“The cars are the same…?”
“Use your eyes, Adèle,” snapped Marcel. “Come on, we have no time. Get them into the wreck.”
Together they dragged the two bodies along the road to the crashed Citroën, and heaved them into the front seats. It wasn’t easy. The bodies were a deadweight and Marcel was struggling with the wound in his shoulder, but somehow they managed, heaving the two men into the car and slamming the doors against their sagging bodies.
“Move their car up the road,” ordered Marcel, and, retrieving a jerry can of petrol from the boot, he splashed it generously over the bonnet and inside the crashed car, before striking a match and tossing it in through the open driver’s window. The petrol ignited with a whoosh and Marcel leapt backwards, almost falling over before staggering to the waiting staff car. Adelaide had the engine running, and as Marcel hauled himself into the passenger seat she let in the clutch and pulled away.
“I’ll direct you,” Marcel said, his voice weak as he collapsed back against the seat.
Even as they accelerated away, Major Thielen was thundering along the road from St Croix in his armoured car, the truckload of men behind him. He saw the black smoke pouring into the sky and as he rounded the corner he almost ran into the burning Citroën. His car and the following truck screeched to a halt. Men jumped down into the road and the two dog handlers with their dogs jumped out of the armoured car. There were yells of “Keep back! Keep back!”, but Major Thielen ran towards the burning car. He could see two bodies inside, could make out the insignia on the burning jacket of the driver. The heat was intense, driving him back, his hands held up to shield his face.
“There are people inside!” he yelled. “Give a hand here!”
There were indeed hands, but they dragged him back from the burning car. “There’s nothing you can do, sir,” one of his junior officers shouted. “It’s too late, they’re gone. Keep back!”
Even as he dragged the major clear, the petrol tank of the burning car exploded and they were all thrown backwards as a fireball erupted into the air, raining burning debris down on their heads as they dived for cover. Pandemonium reigned for a few moments as the troops beat out the sparks that smouldered on their clothes and burned in their hair. Patches of dry grass ignited along the roadside, and the tree against which the car had been wedged flamed like a torch above the burning remains.
Later, when the fire had been doused and the car had cooled enough to be approached, Major Thielen peered into what remained of its blackened shell. The explosion and subsequent conflagration had incinerated the two bodies he had seen, but he had no doubt who they were. Braun had passed on orders from Colonel Hoch to follow him in pursuit of two résistants, and this Thielen had done.
It was clear to him, he told his men gravely, that in his haste to apprehend the résistants, the colonel’s driver had taken a corner too fast and crashed into a tree. There was oil on the road, which must have made him skid.
He didn’t believe it, of course, but whatever the cause of the accident, Thielen was glad to be rid of Colonel Hoch. He considered him a disgrace to the Fatherland. Thielen was fighting a war, but he had no time for thuggery, torture and murder, practised on civilians, and he knew that Hoch had committed all three. Life without him would be a welcome relief indeed. He was glad Hoch was dead and he was not going to look particularly hard at the circumstances; he had no intention of suggesting that the colonel’s death was anything more than a dreadful accident, happening in the course of his duty. Such would be his report.
“Should we search the area, sir?” demanded Hartmann, the young officer who had dragged him back from the burning vehicle.
“Certainly,” agreed Thielen. “Let the dogs loose and see if they pick up a scent.”
The dog handlers did as they were ordered, and the dogs ran round in excited circles, as they discovered patches of blood in the dust of the road.
“Blood, sir,” reported one of the handlers. “Looks fairly fresh.”
“See if they pick up a trail,” ordered Thielen. He might still find the résistants that the colonel had been chasing. The dogs were released again, but apart from nosing about in a dry ditch at the edge of the field for a while, they found nothing to take their interest, and after a while they were returned to the armoured car.
“I wonder how they came to crash,” Hartmann said, studying the remains of the Citroën. “I suppose this is Colonel Hoch’s car.”
“Of course it is,” snapped Thielen. “We’ve seen him in it a hundred times. Please see to the removal of the bodies, Hartmann, and arrange for the burial of the remains. I will report back to SS Headquarters in Amiens.”
Hartmann appeared to be about to speak, but thinking better of it he snapped a salute and turned to give the orders to his men. Hoch had been feared almost as much by his own men as he had by the local population. A sadistic and ambitious man, he would be mourned by no one.
Thielen realised that the knowledge Hoch had gained from the torture of his most recent prisoners had died with him, but even so, he didn’t despair of catching the résistants. Braun had actually seen them, so he could give a description, and Thielen himself already had one contact in the locality. He could be tapped for more information. No, Thielen didn’t despair of catching them at all… and the credit would be his.
“Get the road cleared,” he ordered Hartmann, “then report to me at HQ.”
Unaware that pursuit, for the time being, was over, Adelaide and Marcel turned off the road to Albert, and, with Marcel navigating, took the lanes and by-ways, travelling across country until they bumped along a dirt track and through the gate into a farmyard. As they turned in, Adelaide recognised it as the farm Marcel had taken her to on the night she had landed. She pulled up in the yard and the elderly woman, Maman, who had looked after her the last time, came out. When Maman saw Marcel slumped in the front seat of the car, she began issuing orders to Adelaide, and between them they managed to get him out of the car and into the house.
“Put the car in the barn for now,” Maman said as she took hot water from the kettle on the range and set about removing Marcel’s shirt. “We’ll hide it properly later. Now,” she said, turning her attention to Marcel, “let’s have a look at you.”
Adelaide did as she was told, driving the car into the open-ended barn so that it was not immediately apparent to anyone who came into the yard. The front seat was covered in blood, and she realised that Marcel had been bleeding steadily ever since they had made their break. His wound was worse than she had realised, and the effort he had put into moving the two German soldiers into the wrecked car, and his determination to get them both to a safe house, had made it worse. She found a bucket in the yard and filling it at the pump set about trying to remove the bloodstains from the leather seat. She got the worst off, but the stain needed more than clean water and a cloth to remove it completely. Next, she found a screwdriver in a box of tools and carefully removed the number plates. There was no point in making identification of the car easy. Someone had lost his car; the German staff car was almost identical; with a little careful work it might be a replacement.
When she finally went back into the kitchen she found Maman bandaging Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel was pale, his face drawn with pain, but he managed a weak smile as she came into the room.
“Where’s the car?” he asked.
“Taken care of, for now,” she replied, putting the number plates on the table beside him. “All we have to do is get rid of these and replace them.” She spoke to Maman. “How bad?”
“Not good,” replied the old lady, tipping the bowl of bloodied water down the sink. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll live. Now, what about you?”
“Me?” Adelaide sounded surprised.
“Sit down and let me look.” Maman poured clean water into the bowl, and taking Adelaide’s hands washed them thoroughly. The water made the cuts from the flying glass sting, but none was very deep, and Adelaide had been almost unaware of them in their flight.
“And your face. Hold back your hair.”
Adelaide did as she was told and the old lady washed and anointed the cuts to her face and neck. “You’re lucky, there’s only one bad one here on your chin. It really needs stitching or you’ll have a scar.” She turned to Marcel. “Perhaps when the doctor comes…?”
“No doctor until we’ve got Adèle away,” Marcel said firmly. “Too risky.”
“But you…” began Maman.
“I will wait until Adèle has gone.”
“Surely you can trust Dr Clabot.”
“Of course, I still have his car…” he laughed, “well, one just like it. But there are other eyes and ears, and I won’t take any unnecessary risks until Adèle is safely away.” He tried to stand up, but his legs seemed to buckle under him and he sank back onto the chair. “I have to contact the reception group,” he said. “There’s another drop coming in tomorrow night, and we have to be ready. The same plane will take Adèle out. Will you contact Rousseau for me? I need to talk to him.”
“In the morning,” Maman promised. “What you need now is some hot food and a good sleep… and no argument,” she said fiercely as he began to protest. “Time enough for Rousseau then.”
Adelaide was given the same bedroom she’d occupied before. As she lay in bed trying to sleep, she considered all that had happened since she was last in that bed ten weeks ago. Ten weeks! Was it really only ten weeks since she had parachuted into France, into the war of occupation? She thought of the people she would be leaving behind, everyday people who were trying to live normal lives; and the others who were living anything but normal lives as they fought against those who had taken over their towns, their homes, and in some cases their families. She thought of Sarah, quietly courageous, and the valiant little Sister Marie-Marc. She thought of Sister St Bruno, hiding a fugitive Jew under her bed; of Father Bernard sheltering those hiding from the Germans, those on the run and in fear of their lives. She thought of the Auclons, the parents prepared to give up their children in an effort to save them; of the twin boys so wary of anyone but each other. Madame Juliette, the Launays and the Charbonniers, simple folk prepared to put their own lives at risk to fight against the evil that had overtaken their country.
And then she thought of Colonel Hoch, the embodiment of that evil. She had plunged her knife into him without compunction. The memory of Sarah, battered and bruised, and of Sister Marie-Marc, almost unable to stand, flooded through her, and the tears streamed down her cheeks. She had made sure that the monster would never torture and murder again, but for so many that was too late. She had been trained to kill, to be prepared to kill, and she had done so. Fernand, rotting at the bottom of the Launays’ old well, and Hoch, whose eyes gleamed as he inflicted pain; Adelaide felt no more remorse than she would have destroying any other vermin.
Next day Marcel, though still pale and weak from loss of blood, seemed a little better. Adelaide was sitting with him in the farm kitchen when a young man arrived. He was introduced to Adelaide as Rousseau.
“We have to be prepared for a landing tonight,” Marcel told him. “Incoming, another wireless operator, outgoing, Antoinette. Can you make the arrangements?”
Rousseau nodded. “Of course, leave them to me.” He looked gravely across at Marcel. “I must tell you though, Marcel, I am concerned about young Benoit. He’s been acting very strangely these last few days. I think I won’t include him in the reception party. You need to talk to him. To find out what’s wrong.” Rousseau grinned suddenly. “I saw him today. He came into the café and gave me one bit of news to brighten my day.”
“Oh?” Marcel looked up with interest. “And what was that?”
“He said two German officers were killed yesterday in a road accident over St Croix way.” He laughed. “Don’t care how they die as long as they do!”
“How did he hear that?” asked Marcel sharply.
Rousseau shrugged. “He didn’t say, just said he’d heard it. May not be true of course.”
“Keep an eye on that young man,” Marcel warned. “He’s too free with his tongue. Does he know about the drop tonight?”
“I haven’t told him, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. To be honest, Marcel, the whole group chat too much among themselves. You should talk to them all.”
Marcel nodded. “I’ll have a word,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Surely you’re not coming tonight!” exclaimed Rousseau. “Not with your arm useless and in a sling. You won’t be any help and it’s an added risk.”
“I shall be there,” Marcel said in a voice that brooked no argument, and Rousseau shrugged:
“You’re the boss,” he said and took his leave to go and make the arrangements.
When he had gone Adelaide asked, “Who is this Benoit? Is he a security risk?”
Marcel shrugged. “Everyone is a security risk,” he said. “Benoit is probably no worse than anyone else, except that he’s young and can be careless.” Marcel smiled across at her. “Don’t worry, chérie, the risks are there every time, they are no greater tonight than any other.”
The night was dark with only patchy moonlight between the scudding clouds. Adelaide stood with Marcel in the shelter of a hedgerow at the side of the field that would be the landing strip for the incoming aircraft. His arm was in a sling, but he insisted, as he had to Rousseau earlier, that he was coming with her to see her safely away.
During the afternoon they had talked, sitting side by side at the big kitchen table, left on their own as Maman had made a discreet withdrawal.
“When you arrived I wondered why on earth they had sent someone so young and inexperienced,” Marcel admitted. “I reckoned you were a tremendous risk to us all.”
Adelaide grinned at him. “Yes,” she agreed with a smile. “You made that abundantly clear!”
He took her hand in his and held it against his cheek. “How wrong I was! You’re the gutsiest girl I’ve ever come across… and the most beautiful.”
Adelaide felt the colour flood her cheeks and she pulled her hand away. “Come on, Marcel. We both know there’s no future in talk like that.”
“Isn’t there? This bloody war isn’t going to last forever, and when it’s over I’m going to come over to England and find you.” His eyes were intent upon her face. “I love you, Adèle. Didn’t think it could happen to me… falling in love at my age… far too cynical… but it has. I love you and when we’ve kicked the bloody Boche out of France, I shall come and find you.” He reached out to her with his good arm, pulling her to him. Adelaide allowed herself to rest against his heart, for a precious moment feeling safe within his embrace, and each of them had drawn comfort from the closeness of the other.
“I mean it,” he said. “When this war is over, I shall come and find you, wherever you are.” He spoke in English, his accent, as he spoke her language rather than his own, imbuing the words with added depth. “Look for me after the war, for if I survive I will come.” He kissed her then, holding her a little awkwardly with one arm, the passion in his kiss reinforcing the passion in his words.
The sound of the Lysander throbbed in the air and the reception party switched on the bicycle lamps set out to illuminate the makeshift runway.
The pilot made a single pass overhead, and then the engine note changed as he throttled back and made the approach to land. Marcel pulled Adelaide into his arms one more time and kissed her as if he would never let her go, and she, responding, returned his kiss with equal passion.
“Remember,” he said fiercely, “and never doubt it, I shall come and find you, chérie.”
The plane touched down, and almost before it had come to a halt the door was opened and the incoming wireless operator was scrambling down the ladder. Reaching back, he heaved his wireless suitcase from the plane.
For a moment Marcel stared down at Adelaide’s face as if to imprint it on his memory forever, and then he gave her a little push. She ran across the grass and scrambled up the ladder into the plane. The moment the door slammed behind her, as she was scrambling into the observer’s seat, the pilot revved the engine and taxied round to take off again.
As he did so, there was a rattle of machine-gun fire from somewhere outside.
“Christ!” bellowed the pilot. “Ambush!”
One glance sideways through the canopy, and the pilot’s face became a mask of grim determination. The plane was gathering speed and Adelaide was flung against the fuselage as the Lysander lumbered across the field before lifting into the air. The sound of gunfire continued, and as the Lysander banked away, Adelaide looked down to see muzzle flashes from the field below. The moon sailed out from behind the clouds, and in its pitiless light Adelaide saw figures running in all directions, some stumbling and falling, others diving for cover in the surrounding woodland. And then they were gone, as cloud enveloped the plane and she could see nothing.
“Just got you out in time,” shouted the pilot above the roar of the engine. “Sorry for the poor bastard we just took in! He’s probably bought it!”
Adelaide huddled against the throbbing fuselage of the plane, the tears flowing, unchecked, down her face. For the first time she allowed herself to acknowledge what Marcel had come to mean to her. Strong and brave, he came to the drop to make sure she got away safely… because he loved her, and she had seen him mown down by machine-gun fire. His words echoed in her ears. “Look for me after the war, chérie, for if I survive I will come.”
As the Lysander droned its way home across the Channel, Adelaide knew with a despairing, aching heart that Marcel had not survived and that he would not come.