The miserable camp on the edge of the plateau made Gaspard’s shit-covered field look like a paradise, but Nancy had been here ten minutes and no one had knocked her over the head yet, so on that score at least things were improving.
Tardivat beckoned them over to a lank-limbed man in his forties with a heavy brow and a rifle over his shoulder. Fournier. Nancy had counted thirty men with them and spotted two barrack buildings hidden under the trees and well covered in foliage. An enemy plane could buzz over at a hundred feet and not spot them. That was an improvement too.
“When’s the next London transmission?” she muttered out of the side of her mouth.
“Ten minutes, ducks, but there won’t be anything for us on it! We’ll have to tell them we haven’t been eaten by wolves before they’ll send us anything. Not to mention they’ll need coordinates for a drop site. They won’t be listening for my signal until tomorrow at three.”
“Can you get the radio together in ten minutes? I want to make a point.”
He looked at her then sighed. “It’ll be ready and buffed to a shine.”
Nancy went forward and put out her hand to Fournier with a smile. He shook it, but did not smile back.
“I’m Captain Nancy Wake,” she said. “And London wants me to give all the weapons I can to Gaspard and his men. But Gaspard and I did not get on. Would you like them instead?”
He looked her up and down, a cool assessing look. “Perhaps. What have you got to offer, Captain Wake?” He stressed her rank, making it sound as contemptuous an insult as anything she’d heard at Gaspard’s camp. She had a sudden picture of herself trekking around the Auvergne until hell froze over, looking for a group of fighting men who could get over themselves long enough to take what she was offering with a polite “thank you.”
No time for that.
“I’d be happy to explain,” she said.
The Maquisards watched as Denden put the radio receiver together and Nancy sat on the grass next to the set, watching them. Undernourished the lot of them, and it didn’t look as if they were taking proper care of their weapons—not that they had many. Mostly they were very, very young. Early twenties. They should have been chasing girls in the villages and annoying the graybeards, not rotting up here in the forest, dodging the Germans trying to draft them into factory work in the Reich, or preparing to sacrifice themselves to drive them out of France. Nancy once more felt that wave of anger she had felt in Vienna and Berlin rising in her throat. The world was already a broken, violent place; why did the Nazis have to make it worse with their poison? That rally she had witnessed in Berlin—the wild abandon on the faces of the people in the crowd as they screamed their enthusiasm for the unreasoning hate spilling from the stage.
“It’s time, Nancy,” Denden said.
She pulled herself out of the clamor of that sweating auditorium and into the heavy peace of the Auvergne forests. “Switch it on,” she said.
A hiss of static, then a voice broke through. “This is London,” the voice said in French, and the men lifted their heads, Fournier turning toward them. “The French talking to the French. But first some personal messages. Jean has a long mustache. There is a fire at the insurance agency.” The Maquis exchanged bemused glances. “The frog croaks thrice.” A couple of them laughed.
Nancy grinned. “This isn’t gibberish. It’s code. London confirming with agents like me across France that parachute drops are coming tonight. It can bring you canned meat and juice. Chocolate and cigarettes.”
“French cigarettes?” one of the Maquis asked.
“Son, you look too young to smoke, but yes, French cigarettes.” The boy blushed. “And French tents to protect you from the French rain and boots to tramp through the French mud.” They were all grinning at her now. Well, all except Fournier. “Best of all we can supply you with arms, plans and intelligence. Sten machine guns, plastic explosive, timed detonators, grenades, revolvers, a target list so we know exactly where to hit the Germans where it will hurt most, and plans on how to take them out.”
Fournier lit a cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “And you just give us this, yes? Out of the kindness of your English hearts?”
Any more of a sneer and he’d pull something. Bloody Frenchmen, Nancy thought. Sure, she’d married one of them, but en masse they were the most pig-headed, touchy…
“There’s no charge, Fournier,” she said, meeting his eye, “if that’s what you mean. You won’t have to sell your best pig to get hold of a case of machine guns.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
She nodded. “All requests to London go through me. And I’ve seen how the English are sweating and bankrupting themselves to get you this stuff, so no bloody way I’m going to see it wasted. I’m going to train you in how to use these weapons, I’m going to insist on proper security measures and I’m going to rain merry hell on anyone who can’t keep up. You’ll launch no attacks without the nod from me, and remember this is all about getting ready for when the Allies invade and liberate France, so no settling scores or pursuing vendettas. We coordinate.”
“We’re not your bitches,” Fournier growled.
“And I’m not yours. We work together. That’s the deal. Now tell me what you need and let us deliver you… salvation.”
The men all looked to Fournier. He didn’t smile, but he did nod. The men relaxed. Fournier pulled a neat black notebook out of his top pocket.
“I have a list of things we need, Captain.”
He still managed to say her rank as if it hurt him to make the sounds, but it was a start and hey—still not knocked out or tied to a chair.
“Let’s go through it then,” Nancy said, then twisted round to Denden. “Think you can put your box of tricks away for now. Go make friends.”
“Ooh good, you can be strict Mummy and I can be Daddy who spoils his pretty French children.” She flinched. “What did I say, darling?”
“Nothing. Get going.”